Paterson, Andrew Barton "Banjo"

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me? </b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>Chorus </b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda my darling, </b></div> <div> <B>Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me? </b></div> <div> <B>Waltzing Matilda and leading a waterbag, </b></div> <div> <B>Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me? </b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>Down came the jumbuck to drink at the water-hole, </b></div> <div> <B>Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee, </b></div> <div> <B>And he sang as he put him away in his tucker-bag, </b></div> <div> <B>You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me. </b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>Up came the Squatter a-ridding his thoroughbred, </b></div> <div> <B>Up came Policemen - one, two and three, </b></div> <div> <B>Whose is that jumbuck you've got in the tucker-bag, </b></div> <div> <B>You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me. </b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>The swagman he up and he jumped in the water-hole, </b></div> <div> <B>Drowning himself by the coolibah tree, </b></div> <div> <B>And his ghost may be heard as it sings by the billabong, </b></div> <div> <B>Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me? </b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B><IMG SRC="11475f50.gif" border=0 width="373" height="245" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></b></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <U>Mulga Bill's Bicycle</U></div> <bR> <div> <B>'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;</b></div> <div> <B>He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;</b></div> <div> <B>He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;</b></div> <div> <B>He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;</b></div> <div> <B>And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,</b></div> <div> <B>The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> "See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea,</b></div> <div> <B>From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.</b></div> <div> <B>I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows,</b></div> <div> <B>Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows.</b></div> <div> <B>But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;</b></div> <div> <B>Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.</b></div> <div> <B>There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,</b></div> <div> <B>There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,</b></div> <div> <B>But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:</b></div> <div> <B>I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight."</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> 'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,</b></div> <div> <B>That perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.</b></div> <div> <B>He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,</b></div> <div> <B>But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.</b></div> <div> <B>It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak,</b></div> <div> <B>It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:</b></div> <div> <B>The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,</b></div> <div> <B>The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,</b></div> <div> <B>As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.</b></div> <div> <B>It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,</b></div> <div> <B>It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;</b></div> <div> <B>And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek</b></div> <div> <B>It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> 'Twas Mulga Bill from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:</b></div> <div> <B>He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;</b></div> <div> <B>I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet,</b></div> <div> <B>But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.</b></div> <div> <B>I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; It's shaken all my nerve</b></div> <div> <B>To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.</b></div> <div> <B>It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still;</b></div> <div> <B>A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."</b></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <U>The Man from Snowy River</U></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around</b></div> <div> <B>That the colt from old Regret had got away,</b></div> <div> <B>And had joined the wild bush horses - he was worth a thousand pound,</b></div> <div> <B>So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.</b></div> <div> <B>All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far</b></div> <div> <B>Had mustered at the homestead overnight,</b></div> <div> <B>For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,</b></div> <div> <B>And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,</b></div> <div> <B>The old man with his hair as white as snow;</b></div> <div> <B>But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up-</b></div> <div> <B>He would go wherever horse and man could go.</b></div> <div> <B>And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,</b></div> <div> <B>No better horseman ever held the reins;</b></div> <div> <B>For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand,</b></div> <div> <B>He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,</b></div> <div> <B>He was something like a racehorse undersized,</b></div> <div> <B>With a touch of Timor pony - three parts thoroughbred at least -</b></div> <div> <B>And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.</b></div> <div> <B>He was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say die -</b></div> <div> <B>There was courage in his quick impatient tread;</b></div> <div> <B>And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,</b></div> <div> <B>And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> But so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,</b></div> <div> <B>And the old man said, "That horse will never do</b></div> <div> <B>For a long and tiring gallop-lad, you'd better stop away,</b></div> <div> <B>Those hills are far too rough for such as you."</b></div> <div> <B>So he waited sad and wistful - only Clancy stood his friend -</b></div> <div> <B>"I think we ought to let him come," he said;</b></div> <div> <B>"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,</b></div> <div> <B>For both his horse and he are mountain bred."</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> "He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,</b></div> <div> <B>Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,</b></div> <div> <B>Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,</b></div> <div> <B>The man that holds his own is good enough.</b></div> <div> <B>And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,</b></div> <div> <B>Where the river runs those giant hills between;</b></div> <div> <B>I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,</b></div> <div> <B>But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>So he went - they found the horses by the big mimosa clump -</b></div> <div> <B>They raced away towards the mountain's brow,</b></div> <div> <B>And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump,</b></div> <div> <B>No use to try for fancy riding now.</b></div> <div> <B>And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.</b></div> <div> <B>Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,</b></div> <div> <B>For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,</b></div> <div> <B>If once they gain the shelter of those hills."</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>So Clancy rode to wheel them - he was racing on the wing</b></div> <div> <B>Where the best and boldest riders take their place,</b></div> <div> <B>And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring</b></div> <div> <B>With stockwhip, as he met them face to face.</b></div> <div> <B>Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,</b></div> <div> <B>But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,</b></div> <div> <B>And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,</b></div> <div> <B>And off into the mountain scrub they flew.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black</b></div> <div> <B>Resounded to the thunder of their tread,</b></div> <div> <B>And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back</b></div> <div> <B>From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.</b></div> <div> <B>And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their sway,</b></div> <div> <B>Were mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;</b></div> <div> <B>And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day,</b></div> <div> <B>No man can hold them down the other side."</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull,</b></div> <div> <B>It well might make the boldest hold their breath,</b></div> <div> <B>The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full</b></div> <div> <B>Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.</b></div> <div> <B>But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,</b></div> <div> <B>And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,</b></div> <div> <B>And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,</b></div> <div> <B>While the others stood and watched in very fear.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,</b></div> <div> <B>He cleared the fallen timbers in his stride,</b></div> <div> <B>And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat -</b></div> <div> <B>It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.</b></div> <div> <B>Through the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,</b></div> <div> <B>Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;</b></div> <div> <B>And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,</b></div> <div> <B>At the bottom of that terrible descent.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill</b></div> <div> <B>And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,</b></div> <div> <B>Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,</b></div> <div> <B>As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met</b></div> <div> <B>In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals</b></div> <div> <B>On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,</b></div> <div> <B>With the man from Snowy River at their heels.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.</b></div> <div> <B>He followed like a bloodhound in their track,</b></div> <div> <B>Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,</b></div> <div> <B>And alone and unassisted brought them back.</b></div> <div> <B>But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,</b></div> <div> <B>He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;</b></div> <div> <B>But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,</b></div> <div> <B>For never yet was mountain horse a cur.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise</b></div> <div> <B>Their torn and rugged battlements on high,</b></div> <div> <B>Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze</b></div> <div> <B>At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,</b></div> <div> <B>And where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway</b></div> <div> <B>To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,</b></div> <div> <B>The man from Snowy River is a household word today,</b></div> <div> <B>And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.</b></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <U>Clancy of The Overflow</U></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better</b></div> <div> <B>Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,</b></div> <div> <B>He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,</b></div> <div> <B>Just 'on spec' addressed as follows: 'Clancy of The Overflow'.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,</b></div> <div> <B>(and I think the same was written with a thumbnail dipped in tar)</b></div> <div> <B>'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:</b></div> <div> <B>"Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are."</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> In my wild erratic fancy, visions came to me of Clancy</b></div> <div> <B>Gone a-droving 'down the Cooper' where the western drovers go</b></div> <div> <B>As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,</b></div> <div> <B>For the drover's life has pleasures that the townfolk never know</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him</b></div> <div> <B>In the murmur of the breezes and river on it's bars,</b></div> <div> <B>And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,</b></div> <div> <B>And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy</b></div> <div> <B>Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,</b></div> <div> <B>And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city</b></div> <div> <B>Through the open window floating, spreads it's foulness over all.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle</b></div> <div> <B>Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,</b></div> <div> <B>And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,</b></div> <div> <B>Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me</b></div> <div> <B>As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,</b></div> <div> <B>With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,</b></div> <div> <B>For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B> And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to trade with Clancy,</b></div> <div> <B>Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,</b></div> <div> <B>While he faced the round eternal of the cashbook and the journal-</b></div> <div> <B>But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of 'The Overflow'.</b></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <U>Come-By-Chance</U></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>As I pondered very weary o'er a volume long and dreary --</b></div> <div> <B>For the plot was void of interest -- 'twas the Postal Guide, in fact,</b></div> <div> <B>There I learnt the true location, distance, size, and population</b></div> <div> <B>Of each township, town, and village in the radius of the Act.</b></div> <div> <B>And I learnt that Puckawidgee stands beside the Murrumbidgee,</b></div> <div> <B>And that Booleroi and Bumble get their letters twice a year,</b></div> <div> <B>Also that the post inspector, when he visited Collector,</b></div> <div> <B>Closed the office up instanter, and re-opened Dungalear.</b></div> <div> <B>But my languid mood forsook me, when I found a name that took me,</b></div> <div> <B>Quite by chance I came across it -- `Come-by-Chance' was what I read;</b></div> <div> <B>No location was assigned it, not a thing to help one find it,</b></div> <div> <B>Just an N which stood for northward, and the rest was all unsaid.</b></div> <div> <B>I shall leave my home, and forthward wander stoutly to the northward</b></div> <div> <B>Till I come by chance across it, and I'll straightway settle down,</b></div> <div> <B>For there can't be any hurry, nor the slightest cause for worry</b></div> <div> <B>Where the telegraph don't reach you nor the railways run to town.</b></div> <div> <B>And one's letters and exchanges come by chance across the ranges,</b></div> <div> <B>Where a wiry young Australian leads a pack-horse once a week,</b></div> <div> <B>And the good news grows by keeping, and you're spared the pain of weeping</b></div> <div> <B>Over bad news when the mailman drops the letters in the creek.</b></div> <div> <B>But I fear, and more's the pity, that there's really no such city,</b></div> <div> <B>For there's not a man can find it of the shrewdest folk I know,</b></div> <div> <B>`Come-by-chance', be sure it never means a land of fierce endeavour,</b></div> <div> <B>It is just the careless country where the dreamers only go.</b></div> <div> <B> </b></div> <div> <B>Though we work and toil and hustle in our life of haste and bustle,</b></div> <div> <B>All that makes our life worth living comes unstriven for and free;</b></div> <div> <B>Man may weary and importune, but the fickle goddess Fortune</b></div> <div> <B>Deals him out his pain or pleasure, careless what his worth may be.</b></div> <div> <B>All the happy times entrancing, days of sport and nights of dancing,</b></div> <div> <B>Moonlit rides and stolen kisses, pouting lips and loving glance:</b></div> <div> <B>When you think of these be certain you have looked behind the curtain,</b></div> <div> <B>You have had the luck to linger just a while in `Come-by-chance'.</b></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B><IMG SRC="0f369570.gif" border=0 width="361" height="87" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></b></div> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>