Part 11

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Then Stingy Smith he wrote a note, and gave to the fighting man: 'Twas writ to the boss of the neighbouring run, and thus the missive ran: 'The man with this is a fighting man, one Stiffener Joe by name; He came near murdering Saltbush Bill, and I found it a costly game: But it's worth your while to employ the chap, for there isn't the slightest doubt You'll have no trouble from Saltbush Bill while this man hangs about ----' But an answer came by the next week's mail, with news that might well appal: 'The man you sent with a note is not a fighting man at all! He has shaved his beard, and has cut his hair, but I spotted him at a look; He is Tom Devine, who has worked for years for Saltbush Bill as cook. Bill coached him up in the fighting yarn, and taught him the tale by rote, And they shammed to fight, and they got your grass and divided your five-pound note. 'Twas a clean take-in, and you'll find it wise -- 'twill save you a lot of pelf -- When next you're hiring a fighting man, just fight him a round yourself.'

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And the teamsters out on the Castlereagh, when they meet with a week of rain, And the waggon sinks to its axle-tree, deep down in the black soil plain, When the bullocks wade in a sea of mud, and strain at the load of wool, And the cattle-dogs at the bullocks' heels are biting to make them pull, When the off-side driver flays the team, and curses them while he flogs, And the air is thick with the language used, and the clamour of men and dogs -- The teamsters say, as they pause to rest and moisten each hairy throat, They wish they could swear like Stingy Smith when he read that neighbour's note.

Hard Luck

I left the course, and by my side There walked a ruined tout -- A hungry creature evil-eyed, Who poured this story out.

'You see,' he said, 'there came a swell To Kensington to-day, And if I picked the winners well, A crown at least he'd pay.

'I picked three winners straight, I did, I filled his purse with pelf, And then he gave me half-a-quid, To back one for myself.

'A half-a-quid to me he cast, I wanted it indeed. So help me Bob, for two days past I haven't had a feed.

'But still I thought my luck was in, I couldn't go astray, I put it all on Little Min, And lost it straightaway.

'I haven't got a bite or bed, I'm absolutely stuck, So keep this lesson in your head: Don't over-trust your luck!'

The folks went homeward, near and far, The tout, Oh! where was he? Ask where the empty boilers are, Beside the Circular Quay.

Song of the Federation

As the nations sat together, grimly waiting -- The fierce old nations battle-scarred -- Grown grey in their lusting and their hating, Ever armed and ever ready keeping guard, Through the tumult of their warlike preparation And the half-stilled clamour of the drums Came a voice crying, 'Lo! a new-made nation, To her place in the sisterhood she comes!'

And she came -- she was beautiful as morning, With the bloom of the roses in her mouth, Like a young queen lavishly adorning Her charms with the splendours of the South. And the fierce old nations, looking on her, Said, 'Nay, surely she were quickly overthrown, Hath she strength for the burden laid upon her, Hath she power to protect and guard her own?

Then she spoke, and her voice was clear and ringing In the ears of the nations old and gray, Saying, 'Hark, and ye shall hear my children singing Their war-song in countries far away. They are strangers to the tumult of the battle, They are few but their hearts are very strong, 'Twas but yesterday they called unto the cattle, But they now sing Australia's marching song.'

Song of the Australians in Action

For the honour of Australia, our mother, Side by side with our kin from over sea, We have fought and we have tested one another, And enrolled among the brotherhood are we.

There was never post of danger but we sought it In the fighting, through the fire, and through the flood. There was never prize so costly but we bought it, Though we paid for its purchase with our blood.

Was there any road too rough for us to travel? Was there any path too far for us to tread? You can track us by the blood drops on the gravel On the roads that we milestoned with our dead!

And for you, oh our young and anxious mother, O'er your great gains keeping watch and ward, Neither fearing nor despising any other, We will hold your possessions with the sword.

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Then they passed to the place of world-long sleeping, The grey-clad figures with their dead, To the sound of their women softly weeping And the Dead March moaning at their head: And the Nations, as the grim procession ended, Whispered, 'Child! But ye have seen the price we pay, From War may we ever be defended, Kneel ye down, new-made Sister -- Let us Pray!'

The Old Australian Ways

The London lights are far abeam Behind a bank of cloud, Along the shore the gaslights gleam, The gale is piping loud; And down the Channel, groping blind, We drive her through the haze Towards the land we left behind -- The good old land of 'never mind', And old Australian ways.

The narrow ways of English folk Are not for such as we; They bear the long-accustomed yoke Of staid conservancy: But all our roads are new and strange, And through our blood there runs The vagabonding love of change That drove us westward of the range And westward of the suns.

The city folk go to and fro Behind a prison's bars, They never feel the breezes blow And never see the stars; They never hear in blossomed trees The music low and sweet Of wild birds making melodies, Nor catch the little laughing breeze That whispers in the wheat.

Our fathers came of roving stock That could not fixed abide: And we have followed field and flock Since e'er we learnt to ride; By miner's camp and shearing shed, In land of heat and drought, We followed where our fortunes led, With fortune always on ahead And always further out.