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"I care for nothing, good nor bad, My hopes are gone, my pleasures fled, I am but sifting sand," he said: What wonder Gordon's songs were sad! At length the hardy pioneers By rock and crag found out the way, And woke with voices of today A silence kept for years and tears. This tale tells of a rickety old horse that learned how to swim. A strapping young stockman lay dying,His saddle supporting his head;His two mates around him were crying, As he rose on his pillow and said:"Wrap me up with my stockwhip and blanket,And bury me deep down below,Where the dingoes and crows can't molest me,In the shade where the coolibahs grow."Oh! He was educated at Sydney Grammar School. Dustjacket synopsis: "The poetry selected for this collection reveals Paterson's love and appreciation for the Australina bush and its people. Banjo Paterson. * Oh, the steeple was a caution! (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. Get incredible stories of extraordinary wildlife, enlightening discoveries and stunning destinations, delivered to your inbox. A passing good horse.JOCKEY: I rose him yesternoon: it seemed to meThat in good truth a fairly speedy cowMight well outrun him.OWNER: Thou froward varlet; must I say again,That on the Woop Woop course he ran a mileIn less than forty with his irons on!JOCKEY: Then thou should'st bring the Woop Woop course down here.OWNER: Thou pestilential scurvy Knave. So I go my way with a stately tread While my patients sleep with the dreamless dead." His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. Well, well, don't get angry, my sonny, But, really, a young un should know. Jack Thompson: The Sentimental Bloke, The Poems of C . Were working to restore it. The Stockman 163. Poets. In the early 80s I went from New Zealand to Darwin to work. The landscapes and wildlife of the Brindabellas, west of our national capital, provided inspiration for renowned Australian writer Miles Franklin. Says Jimmy, "The children of Judah Are out on the warpath today." . Our willing workmen, strong and skilled, Within our cities idle stand, And cry aloud for leave to toil. and his spurs like a pair of harpoons; Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course. They had taken toll of the country round, And the troopers came behind With a black who tracked like a human hound In the scrub and the ranges blind: He could run the trail where a white man's eye No sign of track could find. 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. That I did for himI paid my shilling and I cast my vote.MACBREATH: Thou art the best of all the shilling voters.Prithee, be near me on election dayTo see me smite Macpuff, and now we shan'tBe long,(Ghost of Thompson appears. Meanwhile, the urge to write had triumphed over the tedium of waiting for clients, the immediate fruit being a pamphlet entitled, Australia for the Australians. It was rather terrible. A B Banjo Paterson Follow. The Bushfire - An Allegory 161. we're going on a long job now. Alas! We have our songs -- not songs of strife And hot blood spilt on sea and land; But lilts that link achievement grand To honest toil and valiant life. Dived in the depths of the Darnleys, down twenty fathom and five; Down where by law, and by reason, men are forbidden to dive; Down in a pressure so awful that only the strongest survive: Sweated four men at the air pumps, fast as the handles could go, Forcing the air down that reached him heated and tainted, and slow -- Kanzo Makame the diver stayed seven minutes below; Came up on deck like a dead man, paralysed body and brain; Suffered, while blood was returning, infinite tortures of pain: Sailed once again to the Darnleys -- laughed and descended again! The way is won! Clancy of the Overflow was inspired by an experience Banjo Paterson had while he was working as a lawyer. What meant he by his prateOf Fav'rite and outsider and the like?Forsooth he told us nothing. For the strength of man is an insect's strength In the face of that mighty plain and river, And the life of a man is a moment's length To the life of the stream that will run for ever. "And I never shall find the rails." His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. "Now, it's listen, Father Riley, to the words I've got to say, For it's close upon my death I am tonight. today Banjo Paterson is still one of. But his owner's views of training were immense, For the Reverend Father Riley used to ride him every day, And he never saw a hurdle nor a fence. `"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. 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. Boss must be gone off his head to be sending out steeplechase crack Out over fences like these with an object like that on his back. I watch as the wild black swans fly over With their phalanx turned to the sinking sun; And I hear the clang of their leader crying To a lagging mate in the rearward flying, And they fade away in the darkness dying, Where the stars are mustering one by one. but we who know The strange capricious land they trod -- At times a stricken, parching sod, At times with raging floods beset -- Through which they found their lonely way Are quite content that you should say It was not much, while we can feel That nothing in the ages old, In song or story written yet On Grecian urn or Roman arch, Though it should ring with clash of steel, Could braver histories unfold Than this bush story, yet untold -- The story of their westward march. When the cheers and the shouting and laughter Proclaim that the battle grows hot; As they come down the racecourse a-steering, He'll rush to the front, I believe; And you'll hear the great multitude cheering For Pardon, the son of Reprieve. A word let fall Gave him the hint as the girl passed by; Nothing but "Swagman -- stable wall; Go to the stable and mind your eye." More recently, in 2008 world-famous Dutch violinist Andre Rieu played the tune to a singing Melbourne audience of more than 38,000 people. 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. But he laughed as he lifted his pistol-hand, And he fired at the rifle-flash. on Mar 14 2005 06:57 PM PST x edit . And the lashin's of the liquor! A beautiful new edition of the complete poems of A. These volumes met with great success. On this day: Banjo Paterson was born Poems For Funerals by Paul Kelly, Noni Hazlehurst & Jack Thompson, released 01 December 2013 1. More than a Poet. What's that that's chasing him -- Rataplan -- regular demon to stay! and he who sings In accents hopeful, clear, and strong, The glories which that future brings Shall sing, indeed, a wondrous song. Three slabs fell out of the stable wall -- 'Twas done 'fore ever the trooper knew -- And Ryan, as soon as he saw them fall, Mounted The Swagman and rushed him through. See also: Poems by all poets about death and All poems by Banjo Paterson The Angel's Kiss Analysis of this poem An angel stood beside the bed Where lay the living and the dead. This complete collection of verse shows the bush balladeer at his very best with favorites such as "A Bush Christening," "The Man from Ironbark," "Clancy of the Overflow," and the immortal "The Man . 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. They started, and the big black steed Came flashing past the stand; All single-handed in the lead He strode along at racing speed, The mighty Rio Grande. Lord! How go the votes?Enter first voterFIRST VOTER: May it please my Lord,The cherry-pickers' vote is two to oneTowards Macpuff: and all our voters sayThe ghost of Thompson sits in every booth,And talks of pledges.MACBREATH: What a polished liar!And yet the dead can vote! The refereecounts, 'One, two, three, eight, nine, ten, out! Weight! From the Archives, 1941: Banjo Paterson dead. `Dead men on horses long since dead, They clustered on the track; The champions of the days long fled, They moved around with noiseless tread - Bay, chestnut, brown, and black. There's never a stone at the sleeper's head, There's never a fence beside, And the wandering stock on the grave may tread. Still bracing as the mountain wind, these rhymed stories of small adventure and obscure people reflect the pastoral-equestrian phase of Australian development with a fidelity of feeling and atmosphere for which generations to come will be grateful. the whole clan, they raced and they ran, And Abraham proved him an "even time" man, But the goat -- now a speck they could scarce keep their eyes on -- Stretched out in his stride in a style most surprisin' And vanished ere long o'er the distant horizon. "The Man from Snowy River" is a poem by Australian bush poet Banjo Paterson. But old Dame Nature, though scornful, craves Her dole of death and her share of slaughter; Many indeed are the nameless graves Where her victims sleep by the Grey Gulf-water. Make miniature mechanised minions with teeny tiny tools! O ye wild black swans, 'twere a world of wonder For a while to join in your westward flight, With the stars above and the dim earth under, Trough the cooling air of the glorious night. Oh, joyous day,To-morrow's poll will make me M.L.A.ACT IITIME: Election day.SCENE: Macbreath's committee rooms.MACBREATH: Bring me no more reports: let them all fly;Till Labour's platform to Kyabram comeI cannot taint with fear. ('Twas strange that in racing he showed so much cunning), "It's a hard race," said he, "and I think it would be A good thing for someone to take up the running." Lay on Macpuff,And damned be he who first cries Hold, enough! Lift ye your faces to the sky Ye barrier mountains in the west Who lie so peacefully at rest Enshrouded in a haze of blue; 'Tis hard to feel that years went by Before the pioneers broke through Your rocky heights and walls of stone, And made your secrets all their own. isn't Abraham forcing the pace -- And don't the goat spiel? I dreamt last night I rode this race That I today must ride, And cantering down to take my place I saw full many an old friends face Come stealing to my side. All you can do is to hold him and just let him jump as he likes, Give him his head at the fences, and hang on like death if he strikes; Don't let him run himself out -- you can lie third or fourth in the race -- Until you clear the stone wall, and from that you can put on the pace. today Banjo Paterson is still one of Australia's best-loved poets.this complete collection of his verse shows the bush balladeer at his very best with favourites such as 'A Bush . With sanctimonious and reverent look I read it out of the sacred book That he who would open the golden door Must give his all to the starving poor. Mark, he said, in twenty minutes Stumpll be a-rushing round, While the other wretched creature lies a corpse upon the ground. But, alas for William Johnson! Banjo Paterson, original name Andrew Barton Paterson, (born February 17, 1864, Narrambla, New South Wales, Australiadied February 5, 1941, Sydney), Australian poet and journalist noted for his composition of the internationally famous song " Waltzing Matilda ." These are the risks of the pearling -- these are the ways of Japan; "Plenty more Japanee diver plenty more little brown man!". Filter poems by topics. Catch him now if you can, sir! Unnoticed and undenied; But the smallest child on the Watershed. And over the tumult and louder Rang "Any price Pardon, I lay!" Whichever the case, according to the National Film and Sound Archive it has been recorded over 600 times in just about every possible musical style. Most popular poems of Banjo Paterson, famous Banjo Paterson and all 284 poems in this page. The poet is survived by Mrs. Paterson and the two children by the marriage, Mrs. K. Harvey, whose husband is a naval officer, and Mr. Hugh Paterson of Queensland, who is at present a member of the Australian Imperial Force on active service abroad. 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 he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn. Then the races came to Kiley's -- with a steeplechase and all, For the folk were mostly Irish round about, And it takes an Irish rider to be fearless of a fall, They were training morning in and morning out. T.Y.S.O.N. . Come back! Amateur! It will cure delirium tremens, when the patients eyeballs stare At imaginary spiders, snakes which really are not there. hes down! And horse and man Lay quiet side by side! So away at speed through the whispering pines Down the bridle-track rode the two Devines. Prithee, let us go!Thanks to you all who shared this glorious day,Whom I invite to dance at Chowder Bay! 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. Eye-openers they are, and their system Is never to suffer defeat; It's "win, tie, or wrangle" -- to best 'em You must lose 'em, or else it's "dead heat". He had called him Faugh-a-ballagh, which is French for 'Clear the course', And his colours were a vivid shade of green: All the Dooleys and O'Donnells were on Father Riley's horse, While the Orangemen were backing Mandarin! Experience docet, they tell us, At least so I've frequently heard; But, "dosing" or "stuffing", those fellows Were up to each move on the board: They got to his stall -- it is sinful To think what such villains will do -- And they gave him a regular skinful Of barley -- green barley -- to chew. If we get caught, go to prison -- let them take lugger and all!" A Bunch of Roses. He crossed the Bogan at Dandaloo, And many a mile of the silent plain That lonely rider behind him threw Before they settled to sleep again. )There's blood upon thy face.VOTER: 'Tis Thompsons's, then.MACBREATH: Is he thrown out? 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. It appeared in Patersons collection Rio Grandes Last Race and Other Verses after his return home. Oh, he can jump 'em all right, sir, you make no mistake, 'e's a toff -- Clouts 'em in earnest, too, sometimes; you mind that he don't clout you off -- Don't seem to mind how he hits 'em, his shins is as hard as a nail, Sometimes you'll see the fence shake and the splinters fly up from the rail. Down in the ooze and the coral, down where earth's wonders are spread, Helmeted, ghastly, and swollen, Kanzo Makame lies dead. Far to the Northward there lies a land, A wonderful land that the winds blow over, And none may fathom or understand The charm it holds for the restless rover; A great grey chaos -- a land half made, Where endless space is and no life stirreth; There the soul of a man will recoil afraid From the sphinx-like visage that Nature weareth. A Dog's Mistake. And he was a hundred miles from home, As flies the crow, with never a track Through plains as pathless as ocean's foam; He mounted straight on The Swagman's back. And horse and man Lay quiet side by side! `I dreamt last night I rode this race That I to-day must ride, And cant'ring down to take my place I saw full many an old friend's face Come stealing to my side. It contains not only widely published and quoted poems such as "On Kiley's Run . One shriek from him burst -- "You creature accurst!" Some say it was a political comment on the violent shearers strikes happening at the time, while a new book Waltzing Matilda: the true story argues it may have been about a love triangle happening in Patersons life when he wrote it. Banjo Paterson Poems 151. The waving of grasses, The song of the river That sings as it passes For ever and ever, The hobble-chains' rattle, The calling of birds, The lowing of cattle Must blend with the words. 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!" In fact I should think he was one of their weediest: 'Tis a rule that obtains, no matter who reigns, When making a sacrifice, offer the seediest; Which accounts for a theory known to my hearers Who live in the wild by the wattle beguiled, That a "stag" makes quite good enough mutton for shearers. One is away on the far Barcoo Watching his cattle the long year through, Watching them starve in the droughts and die. I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better. It follows a mountainous horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prize-winning racehorse living with brumbies. We got to the course with our troubles, A crestfallen couple were we; And we heard the " books" calling the doubles -- A roar like the surf of the sea. The way is won! [1] Kind deeds of sterling worth. the last fence, and he's over it! Lawson almost always wrote as one who travelled afoot - Paterson as one who saw plain and bush from the back of a galloping horse. and he had fled! B. Paterson, 2008 . Jack Thompson: The Campfire Yarns of Henry Lawson. )MACPUFF: Now, yield thee, tyrant!By that fourth party which I once did form,I'll take thee to a picnic, there to liveOn windfall oranges!MACBREATH: . With dragging footsteps and downcast head The hypnotiser went home to bed, And since that very successful test He has given the magic art a rest; Had he tried the ladies, and worked it right, What curious tales might have come to light! Yet it sometimes happens by some strange crook That a ledger-keeper will 'take his hook' With a couple of hundred thousand 'quid', And no one can tell how the thing was did!" Banjo published this mischievous tale of a young lad who doesnt want to be christened and ends up being named after a whisky in The Bulletin in 1893. How neatly we beguiledThe guileless Thompson. And sometimes columns of print appear About a mine, and it makes it clear That the same is all that one's heart could wish -- A dozen ounces to every dish. Banjo Paterson's Poems of the Bush A.B. 'Banjo' Paterson When a young man submitted a set of verses to the BULLEtIN in 1889 under the pseudonym 'the Banjo', it was the beginning of an enduring tradition. They're off and away with a rattle, Like dogs from the leashes let slip, And right at the back of the battle He followed them under the whip. Jan 2011. He was never bought nor paid for, and there's not a man can swear To his owner or his breeder, but I know, That his sire was by Pedantic from the Old Pretender mare And his dam was close related to The Roe. For us the roving breezes bring From many a blossum-tufted tree -- Where wild bees murmur dreamily -- The honey-laden breath of Spring. So they buried Andy Regan, and they buried him to rights, In the graveyard at the back of Kiley's Hill; There were five-and-twenty mourners who had five-and-twenty fights Till the very boldest fighters had their fill. )PUNTER: Nay, good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of Golumpus?Was it not dead last week?SHORTINBRAS: Marry, sir, I think well of Golumpus. "I want you, Ryan," the trooper said, "And listen to me, if you dare resist, So help me heaven, I'll shoot you dead!" Second time round, and, by Jingo! At sixteen he matriculated and was articled to a Sydney law firm. He spoke in a cultured voice and low -- "I fancy they've 'sent the route'; I once was an army man, you know, Though now I'm a drunken brute; But bury me out where the bloodwoods wave, And, if ever you're fairly stuck, Just take and shovel me out of the grave And, maybe, I'll bring you luck. And one man on a big grey steed Rode up and waved his hand; Said he, We help a friend in need, And we have come to give a lead To you and Rio Grande. Then right through the ruck he was sailing -- I knew that the battle was won -- The son of Haphazard was failing, The Yattendon filly was done; He cut down The Don and The Dancer, He raced clean away from the mare -- He's in front! Andrew Barton Paterson was born on the 17th February 1864 in the township of Narambla, New South Wales. There he divided the junior Knox Prize with another student. One of the riders gallops across the Australian $10 note next to a picture of Paterson. 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. B. The breeze came in with the scent of pine, The river sounded clear, When a change came on, and we saw the sign That told us the end was near. As the Mauser ball hums past you like a vicious kind of bee -- Oh! 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." The tongue-in-cheek story of Mulga Bill, a man who claimed he was an excellent cyclist only to crash, was published by The Sydney Mail. Perhaps an actor is all the rage, He struts his hour on the mimic stage, With skill he interprets all the scenes -- And yet next morning I give him beans. Paterson's . They had rung the sheds of the east and west, Had beaten the cracks of the Walgett side, And the Cooma shearers had given them best -- When they saw them shear, they were satisfied. Joe Nagasaki, the "tender", finding the profits grow small, Said, "Let us go to the Islands, try for a number one haul! Captain Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (Right) of 2nd Remounts, Australian Imperial Force in Egypt. Kanzo was king of his lugger, master and diver in one, Diving wherever it pleased him, taking instructions from none; Hither and thither he wandered, steering by stars and by sun. And surely the thoroughbred horses Will rise up again and begin Fresh faces on far-away courses, And p'raps they might let me slip in. The Reverend Mullineux 155. The Bush Poems of A . 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. Facing it yet! He neared his home as the east was bright. [1] The subject of the poem was James Tyson, who had died early that month. Your sins, without doubt, will aye find you out, And so will a scapegoat, he's bound to achieve it, But, die in the wilderness! Joe Nagasaki, his "tender", is owner and diver instead. Shel Silverstein (223 poem . "Well, no sir, he ain't not exactly dead, But as good as dead," said the eldest son -- "And we couldn't bear such a chance to lose, So we came straight back to tackle the ewes." Geebung is the indigenous name for a tough fruiting shrub (Persoonia sp.). But the shearers knew that they's make a cheque When they came to deal with the station ewes; They were bare of belly and bare of neck With a fleece as light as a kangaroo's. 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. 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. the land But yesterday was all unknown, The wild man's boomerang was thrown Where now great busy cities stand. (Strikes him. I Bought a Record and Tape called "Pioneers" by "Wallis and Matilda" a tribute to A.B. And Kate Carew, when her father died, She kept the horse and she kept him well; The pride of the district far and wide, He lived in style at the bush hotel. And I'm making home to mother -- and it's hard for me to die! He left the camp by the sundown light, And the settlers out on the Marthaguy Awoke and heard, in the dead of night, A single horseman hurrying by. Didst not sayTo back Golumpus or the Favourite!SHORTINBRAS: Get work! And then I woke, and for a space All nerveless did I seem; For I have ridden many a race But never one at such a pace As in that fearful dream. If Pardon don't spiel like tarnation And win the next heat -- if he can -- He'll earn a disqualification; Just think over that now, my man!" Hast thou seenThe good red gold Go in. "On," was the battle cry,"Conquer this day or die,Sons of Hibernia, fight for Liberty!Show neither fear nor dread,Strike at the foeman's head,Cut down horse, foot, and artillery! He had hunted them out of the One Tree Hill And over the Old Man Plain, But they wheeled their tracks with a wild beast's skill, And they made for the range again; Then away to the hut where their grandsire dwelt They rode with a loosened rein. Him -- with the pants and the eyeglass and all. . Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western . Santa Claus In The Bush 156. And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. For weight wouldn't stop him, nor distance, Nor odds, though the others were fast; He'd race with a dogged persistence, And wear them all down at the last. he's over, and two of the others are down! The crowd with great eagerness studied the race -- "Great Scott! The stunted children come and go In squalid lanes and alleys black: We follow but the beaten track Of other nations, and we grow In wealth for some -- for many, woe. 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. Oh, the weary, weary journey on the trek, day after day, With sun above and silent veldt below; And our hearts keep turning homeward to the youngsters far away, And the homestead where the climbing roses grow. But the loss means ruin too you, maybe, But nevertheless I must have my fee! 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. But the lumbering Dutch in their gunboats they hunted the divers away. And I am sure as man can be That out upon the track Those phantoms that men cannot see Are waiting now to ride with me; And I shall not come back. "Come from your prison, Bourke,We Irishmen have done our work,God has been with us, and old Ireland is free. `And I am sure as man can be That out upon the track, Those phantoms that men cannot see Are waiting now to ride with me, And I shall not come back. And prices as usual! It was not much! Ah! He had sold them both to the black police For the sake of the big reward. `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!" It was Hogan, the dog poisoner -- aged man and very wise, Who was camping in the racecourse with his swag, And who ventured the opinion, to the township's great surprise, That the race would go to Father Riley's nag. Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! And we thought of the hint that the swagman gave When he went to the Great Unseen -- We shovelled the skeleton out of the grave To see what his hint might mean. I take your brief and I look to see That the same is marked with a thumping fee; But just as your case is drawing near I bob serenely and disappear. (Ghost of Thompson appears to him suddenly. An uplifting poem about being grateful for a loved one's life. Thinkest thou that both are dead?Re-enter PuntersPUNTER: Good morrow, Gentlemen. But here the old Rabbi brought up a suggestion. There was never such a rider, not since Andy Regan died, And they wondered who on earth he could have been. To the front -- and then stay there - was ever The root of the Mameluke creed. Reviewed by Michael Byrne Andrew Barton 'Banjo' Paterson was born on the 17th February, 1864 at Narambla, near Orange in New South Wales. Were sorry, this feature is currently unavailable. (Banjo) Paterson. did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat? The trooper stood at the stable door While Ryan went in quite cool and slow, And then (the trick had been played before) The girl outside gave the wall a blow. And I know full well that the strangers' faces Would meet us now is our dearest places; For our day is dead and has left no traces But the thoughts that live in my mind to-night. Well, well, 'tis sudden!These are the uses of the politician,A few brief sittings and another contest;He hardly gets to know th' billiard tablesBefore he's out . (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!