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So, they've struck their streak o' trouble, an' they got it in the neck,
An' there's more than one ole pal o' mine 'as 'anded in 'is check;
But Ginger still takes nourishment; 'e's well, but breathin' 'ard.
An' so 'e sends the strength uv it scrawled on a chunk uv card.

"On the day we 'it the transport there wus cheerin' on the pier,
An' the girls wus wavin' hankies as they dropped a partin' tear,
An' we felt like little 'eroes as we watched the crowd recede,
Fer we sailed to prove Australia, an' our boastin' uv the breed.

"There wus Trent, ex-toff, uv England; there wus Green, ex-pug, uv 'Loo;
There wus me, an' Craig uv Queensland, wiv 'is 'ulkin' six-foot-two:
An' little Smith uv Collin'wood, 'oo 'owled a rag-time air.
On the day we left the Leeuwin, bound nor'-west for Gawd-knows-where.

"On the day we come to Cairo wiv its niggers an' its din,
To fill our eyes wiv desert sand, our souls wiv Eastern sin,
There wus cursin' an' complainin'; we wus 'ungerin' fer fight -
Little imertation soljers full uv vanity an' skite.

"Then they worked us - Gawd! they worked us, till we knoo wot drillin' meant;
Till men begun to feel like men, an' wasters to repent,
Till we grew to 'ate all Egyp', an' its desert, an' its stinks:
On the days we drilled at Mena in the shadder uv the Sphinx.

"Then Green uv Sydney swore an oath they meant to 'old us tight,
A crowd uv flamin' ornaments wivout a chance to fight;
But little Smith uv Collin'wood, he whistled 'im a toon,
An' sez, 'Aw, take a pull, lad, there'll be whips o' stoushin' soon.'

"Then the waitin', weary waitin', while we itched to meet the foe!
But we'd done wiv fancy skitin' an' the comic op'ra show.
We wus soljers - finished soljers, an' we felt it in our veins
On the day we trod the desert on ole Egyp's sandy plains.

"An' Trent 'e said it wus a bore, an' all uv us wus blue,
An' Craig, the giant, never joked the way 'e used to do.
But little Smith uv Collin'wood 'e 'ummed a little song,
An' said, 'You leave it to the 'eads. O now we sha'n't be long!'

"Then Sari Bair, O Sari Bair, 'twus you wot seen it done,
The day the transports rode yer bay beneath a smilin' sun.
We boasted much, an' toasted much; but where yer tide line creeps,
'Twus you, me dainty Sari Bair, that seen us play fer keeps.

"We wus full uv savage skitin' while they kep' us on the shelf -
(Now I tell yeh, square an' 'onest, I wus doubtin' us meself);
But we proved it, good an' plenty, that our lads can do an' dare,
On the day we walloped Abdul o'er the sands o' Sari Bair.

"Luck wus out wiv Green uv Sydney, where 'e stood at my right 'and,
Fer they plunked 'im on the transport 'fore 'e got a chance to land.
Then I saw 'em kill a feller wot I knoo in Camberwell,
Somethin' sort o' went inside me - an' the rest wus bloody 'ell.

"Thro' the smoke I seen 'im strivin', Craig uv Queensland, tall an' strong,
Like an 'arvester at 'ay-time singin', swingin' to the song.
An' little Smith uv Collin'wood, 'e 'owled a fightin' tune,
On the day we chased Mahomet over Sari's sandy dune.

"An' Sari Bair, O Sari Bair, you seen 'ow it wus done,
The transports dancin' in yer bay beneath the bonzer sun;
An' speckled o'er yer gleamin' shore the little 'uddled 'eaps
That showed at last the Southern breed could play the game fer keeps.

"We found 'im, Craig uv Queensland, stark, 'is 'and still on 'is gun.
We found too many more besides, when that fierce scrap wus done.
An' little Smith uv Collin'wood, he crooned a mournful air,
The night we planted 'em beneath the sands uv Sari Bair.

"On the day we took the transport there wus cheerin' on the pier,
An' we wus little chiner gawds; an' now we're sittin' 'ere,
Wiv the taste uv blood an' battle on the lips uv ev'ry man
An' ev'ry man jist 'opin' fer to end as we began.

"Fer Green is gone, an' Craig is gone, an' Gawd! 'ow many more!
Who sleep the sleep at Sari Bair beside that sunny shore!
An' little Smith uv Collin'wood, a bandage 'round 'is 'ead,
He 'ums a savage song an' vows quick vengeance fer the dead.

"But Sari Bair, me Sari Bair, the secrets that you 'old
Will shake the 'earts uv Southern men when all the tale is told;
An' when they git the strength uv it, there'll never be the need
To call too loud fer fightin' men among the Southern breed."

First published in The Bulletin, 20 May 1915;
and later in
The Moods of Ginger Mick by C.J. Dennis, 1916.

Author reference sites: C.J. Dennis, Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library

See also.

Imperious Goddess! proud Bellona! stay,
So I may strive to read thy secret heart;
Tear from thy cruel face the mask away;
Come --- let men see thee as thou really art.
That lofty air, that brave yet scornful smile,
But hides the pitiless stern features 'neath
The mask by which thou dost men's hearts beguile
To risk their lives to win thy laurel-wreath.
Thy gorgeous pageantry, thy nodding plumes,
The martial music's glorious stirring swell,
Are but the shrouds for twice a thousand tombs ---
For twice a thousand but Death's solemn knell.
Two hostile hosts ablaze with glittering steel;
The thunder of artillery; the shock
Of charging squadrons; the proud bugle-peal ---
Clear, loud, yet silvery, as tho' to mock
Some dying soldier's agonised appeal
To Heaven for mercy; then the tiny square,
Lost in the dense gray haze of battle-cloud
While charging hordes press round it everywhere,
Still sternly stubborn--and us sternly proud,
Defiant, and immovable--and like the rock
O'er which old Ocean's mountain billows tear,
Break, burst in thunder, yet can not
Move from its native fastnesses one jot.
And men --- with quickened senses as they hear
The bugle-call, the clash as steel meets steel,   
And see their native banner's crest uprear
High o'er them--then can only feel,
As the battalions of the foe appear
In columned grandeur nearer and more near.
Their pulses throb, and the warm life-blood glow,
And care for nought save victory, and the foe.
Thus ever, Goddess! when with naked sword
Thou standest crying "Glory --- onward go!"   
Men have been ready to obey thy word,
Nor count the odds, nor heed that blood must flow.
And so it is, has been, will be thy plan
So long as earth is earth and man is man.

That is one side the picture; but I would ---
If so be that I can a landscape draw --
Depict both light and shade, as artist should,
And paint the shades of awful glorious war.
I see the moonlight on the battle-field
When all is silent and the fight is o'er.
And there Death's harvest! Tis a mighty yield;
Yet hath he reaped such yields full oft before.
And there they lie --- not singly, but in heaps;
In ghastly heaps; the dying with the dead
All intermingled--while the cold wind sweeps
Across and moans their requiem overhead.
And this is War! Great, glorious, awful War! --
Whose praises poets still are wont to sing ---
With all its pomp, and majesty, and awe!   
Yet, to my mind, it seems a gruesome thing
To think that for each wretch maimed, wounded, torn
By shot, and left stark dead upon the plain
Some loving hearts (tho' far away) must mourn --
Must weep in bitterness --= must weep in vain. "
He dies with honour who doth fall in war,"
They say, and count the heroes of the strife.
Can this the loved one to his home restore,
Or fill his nostrils with the breath of life?
A warrior's grave they deck with laurel leaf,
And honour him whose honour knew no stain,
But to his nearest (in their hopeless grief)
The laurel fades-the cypress will remain.
Imperious Goddess! when it is thy plan   
With martial majesty to set the task
For man to battle with his brother man,
Show each thy countenance - without the mask.

First published in The Queenslander, 9 May 1885

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library

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Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "I've got noises in me head
And a kind o' filled up feeling after every time I'm fed;
I can sleep all night on picket, but I can't sleep in my bed".
   And the Surgeon said,
   "That's Lead!"

Said the soldier to the Surgeon, "Do you think they'll send me back?
For I really ain't adapted to be carrying a pack
Though I've humped a case of whisky half a mile upon my back".
   And the Surgeon said,
   "That's Lead!"

"And my legs have swelled up cruel, I can hardly walk at all,
But when the Taubes come over you should see me start to crawl;
When we're sprinting for the dugout, I can easy beat 'em all".
  And the Surgeon said,
   "That's Lead!"

So they sent him to the trenches where he landed safe and sound,
And he drew his ammunition, just about two fifty round:
"Oh Sergeant, what's this heavy stuff I've got to hump around?"
   And the Sergeant said,
   "That's Lead!"

First published in The Kia-Ora Coo-ee, 15 April 1918;
and later in
Song of the Pen, A.B. (Banjo) Paterson: Complete Works 1901-1941 compiled by Rosamund Campbell and Philippa Harvie, 1983;
A Vision Splendid: The Complete Poetry of A.B. 'Banjo' Paterson by A.B. Paterson, 1990;
A. B. "Banjo" Paterson: Bush Ballads, Poems, Stories and Journalism edited by Clement Semmler, 1992;
The Collected Verse of Bamjo Paterson by edited by Clement Semmler, 1993; and
From Gallipoli to Gaza: The Desert Poets of World War One by Jill Hamilton, 2003.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library

See also.

Note: "swinging the lead" is an Australian term for malingering.

                     There is scarlet on his forehead,
                     There are scars across his face
'Tis the bloody dew of battle dripping down, dripping down,
                     But the war-heart of the Lion
                     Turns to iron in its place
When he halts to face disaster, when he turns to meet disgrace,
Stung and keen and mettled with the life-blood of his own
                     Let the hunters 'ware who flout him  
                     When he calls his whelps about him
When he sets the goal before him and he settles to the pace.

                     Tricked and wounded! Are we beaten
                     Though they hold our strength at play?
Ww have faced these things aforetimes, long ago, long ago.
                     From sunlit Sydney Harbour
                     And ten thousand, miles away,  
From the far Canadian forests to the Sounds of Milford Bay,
They have answered, they have answered, and we know the answer now.
                     From the Britains such as these
                     Strewn across the world-wide seas
Comes the rally and the bugle-note that makes us one to-day.

                     Beaten! Let them come against us.
                     We can meet them one and all.
We have faced the World aforetimes, not in vain, not in vain.
                     Twice ten thousand hearths be widowed
                     Twice ten thousand hearts may fall.  
But a million-voices answer: "We are ready for the call
And the sword we draw for Justice shall not see its sheath again,
                     Nor our cannon cease to thunder  
                     Till we break their strength asunder,
And the Lion's whelps are round him and the Old Flag over all."

First published in The Brisbane Courier, 20 December 1899;
and later in
The Queenslander, 23 December, 1899;
The North Queensand Register, 8 January 1900;
The Secret Key and Other Verses by George Essex Evans, 1906; and
The Central Queensland Herald, 23 January 1941.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library

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I'm sittin' 'ere, Mick -- sittin' 'ere today,
   Feelin' arf glum, 'arf sorter -- reverent.
   Thinkin' strange, crooked thorts of 'ow they say:
   "The 'eads is bowed thro' all a continent";
An' wond'rin' -- wond'rin' in a kind of doubt
   If other coves is feelin' like I do,
Tryin' to figure wot it's all about,
   An' -- if it's meanin' anythin' to you.

Silence ....... The hour strikes soon thro' all the land
An' 'eads bend low.  Old, mate, give me your 'and.
      Silence -- for you, Mick, an' for blokes like you
      To mark the Day -- the Day you never knoo.

The Day you never knoo, nor we forget ....
   I can't tell why I'm sittin' 'ere this way,
Scrawlin' a message that you'll never get --
   Or will you?  I dunno.  It's 'ard to say.
P'raps you'll know all about it, where you are,
   An' think, "Ah well, they ain't too bad a lot."
An' tell them other digs, up on your star
   That now, or nevermore, they ain't fergot.

Silence ....... Not 'ere alone, Mick -- everywhere --
In city an' country 'eads are bare.
      An', in this room, it seems as if I knoo
      Some friend 'oo came -- Old cobber!  Is it you?

My 'eart is full, Mick ..... 'Struth! I ain't the bloke
   As well you know, to go all soft an' wet.
Fair's fair, lad.  Times I've known when you 'ave spoke
   Like you was tough an' 'ard as 'ell -- an' yet
Somethin' behind your bluff an' swagger bold
   Showed all them narsty sentiments was kid.
It was that thing inside yeh, lad, wot told.
   It made you go an' do the thing you did.

Silence ...... There's mothers, Mick, you never knoo
No mother.  But they're prayin' for you too.
      In every 'eart -- The Boys! The Boys are there,
      The Boys ...... That very name, lad, is a pray'r.

The Boys!  Old cobber, I can see 'em still:
   The drums are rollin' an' the sunlight gleams
On bay'nits.  Men are marchin' with a will
   On to the glory of their boy'ood's dreams.
Glory?  You never found it that, too much.
   But, lad, you stuck it -- stuck it with the rest,
An' if your bearin' 'ad no soulful touch,
   'Twas for OUR souls that you went marchin' -- West.

Silence ...... The children too, Mick -- little kids,
Are standin'.  Not becos their teacher bids:
      They've knoo no war; but they 'ave stopped their play
      Becos they know, they feel it is The Day.

So may it be thro' all the comin' years.
  But sorrow's gone, lad.  It's not that we know.
The sobbin's passed, 'ole cobber, an' the tears.
   An' well we un'erstand you'd 'ave it so.
But somethin's deeper far than that 'as come,
   Somethin' a mind can't get within its bounds,
Somethin' I can't explain.  A man is dumb
   When 'e thinks .... Listen!  'Ear the bugles sound!

Silence!
      *                    *
      *                    *
      *                    *

Well, Mick, ole cock, I dunno why I've wrote,
   It's just to ease a thing inside wot says
"Sit down, you sloppy coot, an' write a note
   To that old cobber of the olden days.
'E'll know -- for sure 'e'll know."  So lad, it's done,
   Work's waitin', an' a man can't get in wrong;
Our goal is still ahead.  But yours is won:
   That's the one thing we know, lad, so -- So long!

Silence ...... It's over, Mick; so there you are.
I know you're 'appy up there on yer star,
      Believe us lad, that star shall never fall
      While one is left to say "Gawd keep 'em all!"

First published in The Herald, 11 November 1927

Author reference sites: C.J. Dennis, Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library

See also.

The new-crowned Queen looked out across the seas,
Her tresses fanned by springtime scented breeze,
Her shell-pink feet upon her golden sands,
A rainbow-tinted hour-glass in her hands.

A whisper creeping midst the listening throng,
Like some false measure breathing through a song,
Catches her ear and tarnishes her pride,
"The breath of doubt! My people will divide.

"Those who hate England with such bitter hate
As blurs all judgment; those who fear their fate;
Those who would creep as menials through life
Rather than win as men their way through strife.

"Who, petulant, beside the highways lie
And watch the busy stream of life go by;
To whose glazed eyes a dragon fly anear
Is greater than an eagle high and clear.

"Those, for such be, I call not. These I call:
Who for my honour would lay down their all,
Who see their duty, in whose hearts there lives
Something of thanks for all that England gives.

"Who, now, will keep my shores inviolate
And stay the murderer ere it be too late?
Life, treasure, all I claim, swiftly decide.
Who hesitates? My people will divide."

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 10 October 1916

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

In this war we're always moving,
   Moving on;
When we make a friend another friend has gone;
Should a woman's kindly face
Make us welcome for a space,
Then it's boot and saddle, boys, we're
   Moving on.

In the hospitals they're moving,
   Moving on;
They're here today, tomorrow they are gone;
When the bravest and the best
Of the boys you know "go west",
Then you're choking down your tears and
   Moving on.

First published in The Kia-ora Coo-ee, 15 May 1918;
and later in
Aussie: The Australian Soldiers Magazine, 15 April 1920;
Song of the Pen, A.B. (Banjo) Paterson: Complete Works 1901-1941 edited by Rosamund Campbell and Philippa Harvie, 1983;
A Vision Splendid: The Complete Poetry of A.B. 'Banjo' Paterson by A.B. Paterson, 1990;
An Australian Treasury of Popular Verse edited by Jim Haynes, 2002;
From Gallipoli to Gaza: The Desert Poets of World War One edited by Jill Hamilton, 2003;
The Bush Poems of A.B. (Banjo) Paterson by A. B. Paterson, 2008; and
The Battlefield Poems of A.B. (Banjo) Paterson by A. B. Paterson, 2010.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library

See also.

In prison cell I sadly sit,
   A d__d crest-fallen chappie!
And own to you I feel a bit --
   A little bit -- unhappy!

It really ain't the place nor time
   To reel off rhyming diction -
But yet we'll write a final rhyme
   Whilst waiting cru-ci-fixion!

No matter what "end" they decide --
   Quick-lime or "b'iling ile," sir?
We'll do our best when crucified
   To finish off in style, sir!

But we bequeath a parting tip
   For sound advice of such men,
Who come across in transport ship
   To polish off the Dutchmen!

If you encounter any Boers
   You really must not loot 'em!
And if you wish to leave these shores,
   For pity's sake, DON'T SHOOT 'EM!!

And if you'd earn a D.S.O.,
   Why every British sinner
Should know the proper way to go
   Is: "ASK THE BOER TO DINNER!"

Let's toss a bumper down our throat, -
   Before we pass to Heaven,
And toast: "The trim-set petticoat
   We leave behind in Devon."

First published in The Bulletin, 19 April 1902, and again in the same magazine on 9 June 1973;
and later in
Bushman and Buccaneer: Harry Morant : His 'Ventures and Verses edited by Frank Renar, 1902;
Breaker Morant: A Play in Two Acts by Kenneth Ross, 1979;
The Poetry of 'Breaker' Morant: from "The Bulletin" 1891-1903 with original illustrations by Breaker Morant, 1980;
Clubbing of the Gunfire: 101 Australian War Poems edited by Chris Wallace-Crabb and peter Pierce, 1984;
Fighting Words: Australian War Writing edited by Carl Harrison-Ford, 1986;
The Penguin Book of Australian Satirical Verse edited by Philip Neilsen, 1986;
The Sting in the Wattle: Australian Satirical Verse edited by Philip Neilsen, 1993;
Sunlines: An Anthology of Poetry to Celebrate Australia's Harmony in Diversity edited by Anne Fairbarin, 2002; and
Our Country: Classic Australian Poetry: From the Colonial Ballads to Paterson & Lawson edited by Michael Cook, 2004.

Note: At its end the manuscript is described - The Last Rhyme and Testament of Tony Lumpkin

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

"Look not at the stains on my robe," she said, "But bare my heart to your eyes,
"For only my heart is loyal, and so weary of Statesmen's lies,"
"Look not on my robe," she whispered. "Where is evil for all to see,
"But think of my dead sons lying on the shores of Gallipoli."

"Look not at my branded brow," she said, "For this is what ill men did;
"But look in my soul," she whispered, "and see what my soul has hid:   
"A jewel of love for England, a jewel of faiths to keep,
"Look not at my robe, oh brothers, but probe where my blood runs deep."

"For it is the blood of men," she said, "of the pioneers of the past
"Who fought for a nation's progress, and who made its honour fast,       
"Look not at my poor stained garments, but look in my heart," she cried;
"And then fold your flag about me, the flag for which heroes died!"  

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 21 March 1931

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.