The Road to Hogan’s Gap (Andrew Barton Paterson Poems)
Now look, you see, it's this way like, You cross the broken bridge And run the crick down till you ...
Now look, you see, it's this way like, You cross the broken bridge And run the crick down till you ...
Beyond the land where Leichhardt went, Beyond Sturt's Western track, The rolling tide of change has sent Some strange J.P.'s ...
The sheep were shorn and the wool went down At the time of our local racing; And I'd earned a ...
By the far Samoan shore, Where the league-long rollers pour All the wash of the Pacific on the coral-guarded bay, ...
No soft-skinned Durham steers are they, No Devons plump and red, But brindled, black and iron-grey That mark the mountain-bred; ...
We have sung the song of the droving days, Of the march of the travelling sheep; By silent stages and ...
The London lights are far abeam Behind a bank of cloud, Along the shore the gaslights gleam, The gale is ...
The news came down on the Castlereagh, and went to the world at large, That twenty thousand travelling sheep, with ...
Far to the Northward there lies a land, A wonderful land that the winds blow over, And none may fathom ...
'The man who brought the railway through -- our friend the engineer.' They cheer his pluck and enterprise and engineering ...
This is the story the stockman told On the cattle-camp, when the stars were bright; The moon rose up like ...
"Only a pound," said the auctioneer, "Only a pound; and I'm standing here Selling this animal, gain or loss -- ...
Now the autumn maize is growing, Now the corn-cob fills, Where the Little River flowing Winds among the hills. Over ...
The boys had come back from the races All silent and down on their luck; They'd backed 'em, straight out ...
The shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong, After the hard day's shearing, passing the joke along: ...
It lies beyond the Western Pines Towards the sinking sun, And not a survey mark defines The bounds of "Brumby's ...
Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp, Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly ...
There's never a stone at the sleeper's head, There's never a fence beside, And the wandering stock on the grave ...
What! you don't like him; well, maybe -- we all have our fancies, of course: Brumby to look at, you ...
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze; He turned away the good old horse that served him ...
It was the Bondi golfing man Drove off from the golf house tee, And he had taken his little daughter ...
Oh! there once was a swagman camped in the Billabong, Under the shade of a Coolabah tree; And he sang ...
When Ironbark the turtle came to Anthony's lagoon The hills were hid behind a mist of equinoctal rain, The ripple ...
'Twas on the famous Empire run, Whose sun does never set, Whose grass and water, so they say, Have never ...
'The man who brought the railway through -- our friend the engineer.' They cheer his pluck and enterprise and engineering ...
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