Still by the nick-name he is known—
“Everyone’s Friend.”
“Nobody’s Enemy” stands alone
While he has money to lend,
“Nobody’s Enemy” holds his own,
“Everyone’s Friend”
“Nobody’s Enemy” down and out—
Game to the end—
And he mostly dies with no one about—
“Everyone’s Friend.”
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The Blue Sky arches o’er mountain and valley,
But I’m breaking my heart for a London alley,And fogs that shall never come back to me.I choke with tears when the day is dying—The sunsets grand and the stars are bright;But it’s O! for the smell of the fried fish fryingBy the flaring stalls on a Saturday night.And this, oh, this is the lonely…
We boast no more of our bloodless flag, that rose from a nation’s slime;
From grander clouds in our `peaceful skies’ than ever were there beforeI tell you the Star of the South shall rise — in the lurid clouds of war.It ever must be while blood is warm and the sons of men increase;For ever the nations rose in storm, to rot in a deadly peace.There comes a…
NOW, Yankee inventors can beat a retreat,
For their colours we’re going to lower:They’ve invented a wonderful plough in the West,The scientists call it “the latest and best”;It ploughs, sows, and reaps without taking a rest,And they drive it by kangaroo power.Sing hey!Sing ho!Then it’s bully for kangaroo power!O wondrous the changes our children shall meet,For soon we may travel the principal…
WE THROW us down on the dusty plain
But we rise and tramp on the track again,For we’re tired—too tired to rest.Darker and denser the shadows fallThat are cramping each aching brow—Scotty the Wrinkler! you’ve solved it all,Give us a wrinkle now.But no one lieth so still in deathAs the rover who never could rest;And he’s free of thought as he’s free of…
CHAPTER I
For I am not a sage—I shall not know until I getThe son of my old age.The mysteries of this Vale of TearsWe will perchance explainWhen we have lived a thousand yearsAnd died and come again.No doubt old Jacob acted meanTowards his father’s son;But other hands were none too clean,When all is said and done.There…
A long farewell to Genoa
Where the barren coast of ItalyLike our own coastline lies.A sad farewell to Genoa,And long my heart shall grieve,The only city in the worldThat I was loath to leave.No sign of rush or strife is there,No war of greed they wage.The deep cool streets of GenoaAre rock-like in their age.No garish signs of commerce thereAre…
Still by the nick-name he is known—
“Everyone’s Friend.”
“Nobody’s Enemy” stands alone
While he has money to lend,
“Nobody’s Enemy” holds his own,
“Everyone’s Friend”
“Nobody’s Enemy” down and out—
Game to the end—
And he mostly dies with no one about—
“Everyone’s Friend.”
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Black Scots and red Scots,
I hae dealt wi’ the red Scot,An’ dealt wi’ the black.The Red Scot is angryAmong the sons o’ men—He’ll pay you a bawbee,An’ steal it back again.Black Scots and red Scots,Red Scots and black;I hae dealt wi’ the red Scot,An’ dealt wi’ the black.The Black Scot is frien’ly—A brither an’ a’—He’ll pay you a bawbee,An’…
I want to be lighting my pipe on deck,
I want to be free of the crowded quay,While the steamer’s swinging slow.I want to be free of treachery,And of sordid joys and griefs—To be out of sight of the faces white,And the waving of handkerchiefs.I want to be making my ship-board friends,I want to be free of the past—I want to be laughing with…
From over the leagues of ice and snow, and the miles of scorching sand;
To the end of the world and our Gipsy race, to the death of our dark-eyed line,I have set the lines on my children’s palms as my fathers did on mine,That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine—I have set the lines on my children’s palms as…
While you use your best endeavour to immortalise in verse
While you glorify the bully and take the spieler’s part —You’re a clever southern writer, scarce inferior to Bret Harte.If you sing of waving grasses when the plains are dry as bricks,And discover shining rivers where there’s only mud and sticks;If you picture `mighty forests’ where the mulga spoils the view —You’re superior to Kendall,…
I’ll tell you what you wanderers, who drift from town to town;
It’s hard to go away alone and leave old chums behind-It’s hard to travel steerage when your tastes are more refined-To reach a place when times are bad, and to be standing there,No money in your pocket nor a decent rag to wear.But be forced from that fond clasp, from that last clinging kiss-By poverty!…
I mind the river from Mount Frome
The Mudgee Hills, and Buckaroo,Lowe’s Peak, and Granite Ridge.The “tailers” in the creek beneath,The rugged she-oak boles,The river cod where shallows linked,The willowed water-holes.I mind the blacksoil river flats,The red soil levels, too,The sidings where below the scrubThe golden wattles grew;The track that ran by Tierney’s Gap,The dusk and ghost alarms,The glorious morning on the…