Poems by A B Banjo Paterson

All Poems Original Poems Translations

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When Dacey rode the Mule

'Twas to a small, up-country town,

When we were boys at school,

There came a circus with a clown,

Likewise a bucking mule.

The clown announced a scheme they had

Spectators for to bring—

They’d give a crown to any lad

Who’d ride him round the ring.

by A B Banjo Paterson

The Swagman's Rest

We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave

At the foot of the Eaglehawk;

We fashioned a cross on the old man's grave

For fear that his ghost might walk;

We carved his name on a bloodwood tree

With the date of his sad decease

And in place of "Died from effects of spree"

We wrote "May he rest in peace".

by A B Banjo Paterson

Only a Jockey

Out in the grey cheerless chill of the morning light,

Out on the track where the night shades still lurk,

ere the first gleam of the sungod's returning light

Round come the racehorses early at work.

Reefing and pulling and racing so readily,

Close sit the jockey-boys holding them hard,

"Steady the stallion there — canter him steadily,

Don't let him gallop so much as a yard."

by A B Banjo Paterson

Benjamin Bandicoot

If you walk in the bush at night,

In the wonderful silence deep,

By the flickering lantern light

When the birds are all asleep

You may catch a sight of old Skinny-go-root,

Otherwise Benjamin Bandicoot.

With a snout that can delve and dig,

With claws that are strong as steel,

by A B Banjo Paterson

A Walgett Episode

The sun strikes down with a blinding glare;

The skies are blue and the plains are wide,

The saltbush plains that are burnt and bare

By Walgett out on the Barwon side —

The Barwon River that wanders down

In a leisurely manner by Walgett Town.

There came a stranger — a "Cockatoo" —

The word means farmer, as all men know,

by A B Banjo Paterson

Johnson’s Antidote

Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp,

Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly stamp;

Where the station-cook in terror, nearly every time he bakes,

Mixes up among the doughboys half-a-dozen poison-snakes:

Where the wily free-selector walks in armour-plated pants,

And defies the stings of scorpions, and the bites of bull-dog ants:

Where the adder and the viper tear each other by the throat,—

There it was that William Johnson sought his snake-bite antidote.

by A B Banjo Paterson

The Last Parade

With never a sound of trumpet,

With never a flag displayed,

The last of the old campaigners

Lined up for the last parade.

Weary they were and battered,

Shoeless, and knocked about;

From under their ragged forelocks

Their hungry eyes looked out.

by A B Banjo Paterson

A Bushman's Song

I’M travellin’ down the Castlereagh, and I’m a station hand,

I’m handy with the ropin’ pole, I’m handy with the brand,

And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day,

But there’s no demand for a station-hand along the Castlereagh. +

So it’s shift, boys, shift, for there isn’t the slightest doubt

That we’ve got to make a shift to the stations further out,

With the pack-horse runnin’ after, for he follows like a dog,

We must strike across the country at the old jig-jog.

by A B Banjo Paterson

How M'Ginnis went missing

Let us cease our idle chatter,

Let the tears bedew our cheek,

For a man from Tallangatta

Has been missing for a week.

Where the roaring flooded Murray

Covered all the lower land,

There he started in a hurry,

With a bottle in his hand.

by A B Banjo Paterson

A Mountain Station

I bought a run a while ago,

On country rough and ridgy,

Where wallaroos and wombats grow —

The Upper Murrumbidgee.

The grass is rather scant, it's true,

But this a fair exchange is,

The sheep can see a lovely view

By climbing up the ranges.

by A B Banjo Paterson

A Dog's Mistake [In Doggerel Verse]

He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,

He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;

He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair,

With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear

He was very poor and humble and content with what he got,

So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot;

Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain,

Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain.

by A B Banjo Paterson

Uncle Bill

My Uncle Bill! My Uncle Bill!

How doth my heart with anguish thrill!

For he, our chief, our Robin Hood,

Has gone to jail for stealing wood!

With tears and sobs my voice I raise

To celebrate my uncle's praise;

With all my strength, with all my skill,

I'll sing the song of Uncle Bill."

by A B Banjo Paterson