'Twill sometimes chance when a patient's ill That a doae, or draught, or a lightning pill, A little too strong or a little too hot, Will work its way to a vital spot. The sermon was marked by a deal of humility And pointed the fact, with no end of ability. It's a wayside inn, A low grog-shanty -- a bushman trap, Hiding away in its shame and sin Under the shelter of Conroy's Gap -- Under the shade of that frowning range The roughest crowd that ever drew breath -- Thieves and rowdies, uncouth and strange, Were mustered round at the "Shadow of Death". `And there the phantoms on each side Drew in and blocked his leap; "Make room! Drunk as he was when the trooper came, to him that did not matter a rap -- Drunk or sober, he was the same, The boldest rider in Conroy's Gap. He has heard the sound of a sheep-dog's bark, And his horse's warning neigh, And he says to his mate, "There are hawks abroad, And it's time that we went away." Mr. Andrew Barton Paterson, better known throughout Australia as Banjo Paterson, died at a private hospital, in Sydney, yesterday afternoon, after about a fortnights illness. As a Funeral Celebrant, I have created this HUGE collection of poems and readings - see FUNERAL POEMS & READINGS - INDEX. Did he sign a pledge agreeing to retire?VOTER: Aye, that he did.MACBREATH: Not so did I!Not on the doubtful hazard of a voteBy Ryde electors, cherry-pickers, oafs,That drive their market carts at dread of nightAnd sleep all day. With pomp and solemnity fit for the tomb They lead the old billy-goat off to his doom: On every hand a reverend band, Prophets and preachers and elders stand And the oldest rabbi, with a tear in his eye, Delivers a sermon to all standing by. Till Trooper Scott, from the Stockman's Ford -- A bushman, too, as I've heard them tell -- Chanced to find him drunk as a lord Round at the Shadow of Death Hotel. And lo, a miracle! 'Tis needless to say, though it reeked of barbarity This scapegoat arrangement gained great popularity. AUSTRALIANS LOVE THAT Andrew Barton 'Banjo' Paterson (1864-1941) found romance in the tough and wiry characters of bush. He came for the third heat light-hearted, A-jumping and dancing about; The others were done ere they started Crestfallen, and tired, and worn out. 'Tis strange that in a land so strong So strong and bold in mighty youth, We have no poet's voice of truth To sing for us a wondrous song. Jack Thompson: The Sentimental Bloke, The Poems of C . Down in the world where men toil and spin Dame Nature smiles as man's hand has taught her; Only the dead men her smiles can win In the great lone land by the Grey Gulf-water. B. Paterson, 2008 . About their path a fearful fate Will hover always near. We ran him at many a meeting At crossing and gully and town, And nothing could give him a beating -- At least when our money was down. And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. He gave the mother -- her who died -- A kiss that Christ the Crucified Had sent to greet the weary soul When, worn and faint, it reached its goal. He rolls in his stride; he's done, there's no question!" For Bob was known on the Overland, A regular old bush wag, Tramping along in the dust and sand, Humping his well-worn swag. His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. Says Jimmy, "The children of Judah Are out on the warpath today." . A thirty-foot leap, I declare -- Never a shift in his seat, and he's racing for home like a hare. Then loud rose the war-cry for Pardon; He swept like the wind down the dip, And over the rise by the garden The jockey was done with the whip. Then, shedding his coat, he approaches the goat And, while a red fillet he carefully pins on him, Confesses the whole of the Israelites' sins on him. In the early 80s I went from New Zealand to Darwin to work. -- Still, there may be a chance for one; I'll stop and I'll fight with the pistol here, You take to your heels and run." Think of all the foreign nations, negro, chow, and blackamoor, Saved from sudden expiration, by my wondrous snakebite cure. With downcast head, and sorrowful tread, The people came back from the desert in dread. He rode all noght, and he steered his course By the shining stars with a bushman's skill, And every time that he pressed his horse The Swagman answered him gamely still. Who in the world would have thought it? And soon it rose on every tongue That Jack Macpherson rode among The creatures of his dream. A favourite for the comparison of the rough and ready Geebung Polo Club members and their wealthy city competitors The Cuff and Collar Team. But when you reach the big stone wall Put down your bridle-hand And let him sail-he cannot fall, But dont you interfere at all; You trust old Rio Grande. We started, and in front we showed, The big horse running free: Right fearlessly and game he strode, And by my side those dead men rode Whom no one else could see. Because all your sins are 'his troubles' in future. A Bunch of Roses. And up in the heavens the brown lark sings The songs the strange wild land has taught her; Full of thanksgiving her sweet song rings -- And I wish I were back by the Grey Gulf-water. Lawson almost always wrote as one who travelled afoot - Paterson as one who saw plain and bush from the back of a galloping horse. Andrew Barton "Banjo" His parents were immigrants to New South Wales, Australia, in 1850. Down in the ooze and the coral, down where earth's wonders are spread, Helmeted, ghastly, and swollen, Kanzo Makame lies dead. `As silently as flies a bird, They rode on either hand; At every fence I plainly heard The phantom leader give the word, "Make room for Rio Grande!" William Shakespeare (403 poem) 26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616. Fall! I'm all of a stew. )Leaguers all,Mine own especial comrades of Reform,All amateurs and no professionals,So many worthy candidates I see,Alas that there are only ninety seats.Still, let us take them all, and Joe Carruthers,Ashton, and Jimmy Hogue, and all the rest,Will have to look for work! Now for the treble, my hearty -- By Jove, he can ride, after all; Whoop, that's your sort -- let him fly them! And then I watch with a sickly grin While the patient 'passes his counters in'. Mr. Andrew Barton Paterson, better known throughout Australia as "Banjo" Paterson, died at a private hospital, in Sydney, yesterday afternoon, after about a fortnight's illness. Make room for Rio Grande! Hes down! "But it's getting on to daylight and it's time to say goodbye, For the stars above the east are growing pale. For folks may widen their mental range, But priest and parson, thay never change." . A Change of Menu. In 1903 Mr. Paterson married Miss Alice Walker, a daughter of the late Mr. W. H. Walker, formerly of Tenterfield, a relative of Mr. Thomas Walker of Yaralla. Next, Please "I am a barrister, wigged and gowned; Of stately presence and look profound. The freedom, and the hopeful sense Of toil that brought due recompense, Of room for all, has passed away, And lies forgotten with the dead. A Bushman's Song. Is Thompson out?VOTER: My lord, his name is mud. Then he dropped the piece with a bitter oath, And he turned to his comrade Dunn: "We are sold," he said, "we are dead men both! Their rifles stood at the stretcher head, Their bridles lay to hand; They wakened the old man out of his bed, When they heard the sharp command: "In the name of the Queen lay down your arms, Now, Dun and Gilbert, stand!" `"For you must give the field the slip, So never draw the rein, But keep him moving with the whip, And if he falter - set your lip And rouse him up again. Can't somebody stop him? She loved this Ryan, or so they say, And passing by, while her eyes were dim With tears, she said in a careless way, "The Swagman's round in the stable, Jim." In very short order they got plenty word of him. Our chiefest singer yet has sung In wild, sweet notes a passing strain, All carelessly and sadly flung To that dull world he thought so vain. One, in the town where all cares are rife, Weary with troubles that cramp and kill, Fain would be done with the restless strife, Fain would go back to the old bush life, Back to the shadow of Kiley's Hill. But when they reached the big stone wall, Down went the bridle-hand, And loud we heard Macpherson call, `Make room, or half the field will fall! Gone is the garden they kept with care; Left to decay at its own sweet will, Fruit trees and flower-beds eaten bare, Cattle and sheep where the roses were, Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill. One is away on the far Barcoo Watching his cattle the long year through, Watching them starve in the droughts and die. Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! Then lead him away to the wilderness black To die with the weight of your sins on his back: Of thirst let him perish alone and unshriven, For thus shall your sins be absolved and forgiven!" [1] The subject of the poem was James Tyson, who had died early that month. He showed 'em the method of travel -- The boy sat still as a stone -- They never could see him for gravel; He came in hard-held, and alone. When he thinks he sees them wriggle, when he thinks he sees them bloat, It will cure him just to think of Johnsons Snakebite Antidote. Then he rushed to the museum, found a scientific man Trot me out a deadly serpent, just the deadliest you can; I intend to let him bite me, all the risk I will endure, Just to prove the sterling value of my wondrous snakebite cure. Clancy Of The Overflow Banjo Paterson. Enter a Messenger. And thy health and strength are beyond confessing As the only joys that are worth possessing. SCENE ISCENE: The saddling paddock at a racecourse.Citizens, Battlers, Toffs, Trainers, Flappers, Satyrs, Bookmakers and Turf Experts.Enter Shortinbras, a Trainer, and two Punters.FIRST PUNTER: Good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of the Fav'rite?SHORTINBRAS (aside): This poltroon would not venture a ducaton David to beat a dead donkey; a dull and muddy-mettled rascal. "A hundred miles since the sun went down." He was a wonder, a raking bay -- One of the grand old Snowdon strain -- One of the sort that could race and stay With his mighty limbs and his length of rein. But Moses told 'em before he died, "Wherever you are, whatever betide, Every year as the time draws near By lot or by rote choose you a goat, And let the high priest confess on the beast The sins of the people the worst and the least, Lay your sins on the goat! (To Punter): Aye marry Sir, I think well of the Favourite.PUNTER: And yet I have a billiard marker's wordThat in this race to-day they back Golumpus,And when they bet, they tell me, they will knockThe Favourite for a string of German Sausage.SHORTINBRAS: Aye, marry, they would tell thee, I've no doubt,It is the way of owners that they tellTo billiard markers and the men on tramsJust when they mean to bet. Conroy's Gap 154. He said, `This day I bid good-bye To bit and bridle rein, To ditches deep and fences high, For I have dreamed a dream, and I Shall never ride again. And so it comes that they take no part In small world worries; each hardy rover Rides like a paladin, light of heart, With the plains around and the blue sky over. A beautiful new edition of the complete poems of A. I slate his show from the floats to flies, Because the beggar won't advertise. But it's harder still, is keeping out of gaol! The scapegoat is leading a furlong or more, And Abraham's tiring -- I'll lay six to four! No need the pallid face to scan, We knew with Rio Grande he ran The race the dead men ride. And when they prove it beyond mistake That the world took millions of years to make, And never was built by the seventh day I say in a pained and insulted way that 'Thomas also presumed to doubt', And thus do I rub my opponents out. Kanzo Makame, the diver, failing to quite understand, Pulled the "haul up" on the life-line, found it was slack in his hand; Then, like a little brown stoic, lay down and died on the sand. Embossed with Australian Animals, these premium notebooks are perfect for Back To School. and his spurs like a pair of harpoons; Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course. Banjo Paterson Poems 151. He was educated at Sydney Grammar School. The Favourite drifts,And not a single wager has been laidAbout Golumpus. . A Bush Lawyer. When the field is fairly going, then ye'll see ye've all been fooled, And the chestnut horse will battle with the best. Johnson was a free-selector, and his brain went rather queer, For the constant sight of serpents filled him with a deadly fear; So he tramped his free-selection, morning, afternoon, and night, Seeking for some great specific that would cure the serpents bite. Beyond all denials The stars in their glories, The breeze in the myalls, Are part of these stories. Here his eyes opened wide, for close by his side Was the scapegoat: And eating his latest advertisement! His chances seemed slight to embolden Our hearts; but, with teeth firmly set, We thought, "Now or never! Banjo Paterson was born at Narrambla, and passed his earliest years at Buckinbah, near Obley, on an unfenced block of dingo infested country leased by his father and uncle from the Crown. . The race is run and Shortinbras enters,leading in the winner.FIRST PUNTER: And thou hast trained the winner, thou thyself,Thou complicated liar. What's that that's chasing him -- Rataplan -- regular demon to stay! It appeared in Patersons collection Rio Grandes Last Race and Other Verses after his return home. Banjo was a well-known poet and storyteller, but he was also a solicitor, war correspondent, newspaper editor, soldier, journalist, sports commentator, jockey, farmer and adventurer. And straightway from the barren coast There came a westward-marching host, That aye and ever onward prest With eager faces to the West, Along the pathway of the sun. (Kills him)Curtain falls on ensemble of punters, bookmakers,heads and surviving jockeys and trainers. From the southern slopes to the western pines They were noted men, were the two Devines. But he weighed in, nine stone seven, then he laughed and disappeared, Like a banshee (which is Spanish for an elf), And old Hogan muttered sagely, "If it wasn't for the beard They'd be thinking it was Andy Regan's self!" the 'orse is all ready -- I wish you'd have rode him before; Nothing like knowing your 'orse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore; Battleaxe always could pull, and he rushes his fences like fun -- Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun. And that was the end of this small romance, The end of the story of Conroy's Gap. "Dress no have got and no helmet -- diver go shore on the spree; Plenty wind come and break rudder -- lugger get blown out to sea: Take me to Japanee Consul, he help a poor Japanee!" In 1983 the late country-and-western singer Slim Dustys rendition became the first song to be broadcast to Earth by astronauts. (Sings)They pulled him barefaced in the mile,Hey, Nonny, Nonny.The Stipes were watching them all the while;And the losers swear, but the winners smile,Hey, Nonny, Nonny.Exit Shortinbras.SECOND RUNTER: A scurvy knave!
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