I went up to a station, and there I got a job; Plunged in the store, and hooked it, with a very tidy lob.

Oh, yes, my jolly dandies, I've done it on the cross.

Although I carry bluey now, I've sweated many a horse.

I've helped to ease the escort of many's the ounce of gold; The traps have often chased me, more times than can be told.

Oh, yes, the traps have chased me, been frightened of their stripes They never could have caught me, they feared my cure for gripes.

And well they knew I carried it, which they had often seen A-glistening in my flipper, chaps, a patent pill machine.

I've been hunted like a panther into my mountain lair.

Anxiety and misery my grim companions there.

I've planted in the scrub, my boys, and fed on kangaroo, And wound up my avocations by ten years on c.o.c.katoo.

So you can understand, my boys, just from this little rhyme, I'm a Murrumbidgee shearer, and one of the good old time.

THE SWAGMAN

Kind friends, pray give attention To this, my little song.

Some rum things I will mention, And I'll not detain you long.

Up and down this country I travel, don't you see, I'm a swagman on the wallaby, Oh! don't you pity me.

I'm a swagman on the wallaby, Oh! don't you pity me.

At first I started shearing, And I bought a pair of shears.

On my first sheep appearing, Why, I cut off both its ears.

Then I nearly skinned the brute, As clean as clean could he.

So I was kicked out of the shed, Oh! don't you pity me, &c.

I started station loafing, Short stages and took my ease; So all day long till sundown I'd camp beneath the trees.

Then I'd walk up to the station, The manager to see.

"Boss, I'm hard up and I want a job, Oh! don't you pity me," &c.

Says the overseer: "Go to the hut.

In the morning I'll tell you If I've any work about I can find for you to do."

But at breakfast I cuts off enough For dinner, don't you see.

And then my name is Walker.

Oh! don't you pity me.

I'm a swagman, &c.

And now, my friends, I'll say good-bye, For I must go and camp.

For if the Sergeant sees me He may take me for a tramp; But if there's any covey here What's got a cheque, d'ye see, I'll stop and help him smash it.

Oh! don't you pity me.

I'm a swagman on the wallaby, Oh! don't you pity me.

"A Swagman on the Wallaby."-A nomad following track of the wallaby, i.e., loafing aimlessly.

THE STOCKMAN

(Air: "A wet sheet and a flowing sea.")

A bright sun and a loosened rein, A whip whose pealing sound Rings forth amid the forest trees As merrily forth we bound- As merrily forth we bound, my boys, And, by the dawn's pale light, Speed fearless on our horses true From morn till starry night.

"Oh! for a tame and quiet herd,"

I hear some crawler cry; But give to me the mountain mob With the flash of their tameless eye- With the flash of their tameless eye, my boys, As down the rugged spur Dash the wild children of the woods, And the horse that mocks at fear.

There's mischief in you wide-horned steer, There's danger in you cow; Then mount, my merry hors.e.m.e.n all, The wild mob's bolting now- The wild mob's bolting now, my boys, But 'twas never in their hides To show the way to the well-trained nags That are rattling by their sides.

Oh! 'tis jolly to follow the roving herd Through the long, long summer day, And camp at night by some lonely creek When dies the golden ray.

Where the jacka.s.s laughs in the old gum tree, And our quart-pot tea we sip; The saddle was our childhood's home, Our heritage the whip.

THE MARANOA DROVERS

(Air: "Little Sally Waters.")

The night is dark and stormy, and the sky is clouded o'er; Our horses we will mount and ride away, To watch the squatters' cattle through the darkness of the night, And we'll keep them on the camp till break of day.

Chorus

For we're going, going, going to Gunnedah so far, And we'll soon be into sunny New South Wales; We shall bid farewell to Queensland, with its swampy coolibah- Happy drovers from the sandy Maranoa.

When the fires are burning bright through the darkness of the night, And the cattle camping quiet, well, I'm sure That I wish for two o'clock when I call the other watch- This is droving from the sandy Maranoa.

Our beds made on the ground, we are sleeping all so sound When we're wakened by the distant thunder's roar, And the lightning's vivid flash, followed by an awful crash- It's rough on drovers from the sandy Maranoa.

We are up at break of day, and we're all soon on the way, For we always have to go ten miles or more; It don't do to loaf about, or the squatter will come out- He's strict on drovers from the sandy Maranoa.

We shall soon be on the Moonie, and we'll cross the Barwon, too; Then we'll be out upon the rolling plains once more; We'll shout "Hurrah! for old Queensland, with its swampy coolibah, And the cattle that come off the Maranoa."

RIVER BEND

(Air: "Belle Mahone.")

At River Bend, in New South Wales, All alone among the whales, Busting up some post and rails, Sweet Belle Mahone.

In the blazing sun we stand, Cabbage-tree hat, black velvet band, Moleskins stiff with sweat and sand, Sweet Belle Mahone.

Chorus: Sweet Belle Mahone, &c.