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.

And his fate is bid for ever,
But the public seem to think
That he slumbered by the river,
'Neath the influence of drink.

And they scarcely seem to wonder
That the river, wide and deep,
Never woke him with its thunder,
Never stirred him in his sleep.

And the crashing logs came sweeping
And their tumult filled the air,
Then M'Ginnis murmured, sleeping,
"'Tis a wake in ould Kildare."

So the river rose and found him
Sleeping softly by the stream.
And the cruel waters drowned him
Ere he wakened from his dream.

And the blossom-tufted wattle,
Blooming brightly on the lea,
Saw M'Ginnis and the bottle
Going drifting out to sea.

Andrew Barton Paterson

Andrew Barton Paterson, also known as Banjo Paterson, was an Australian bush poet, journalist, and author. Renowned for his poignant and humorous depictions of rural Australia, he wrote iconic works like "Waltzing Matilda" and "The Man from Snowy River." His storytelling, deeply rooted in Australian culture, has cemented his legacy as one of the nation's most beloved literary figures.

Andrew Barton Paterson

The Ballad Of The Carpet Bag

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

With the Cattle

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

The Stockmen Of Australia

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

The Geebung Polo Club

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

English

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"I'll introduce a friend!" he said,
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Our flashest shearer then had gone
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This Gundagai turned out to be
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How Gilbert Died

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
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But the smallest child on the Watershed
Can tell you how Gilbert died.

For he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn
To the hut at the Stockman's Ford;
In the waning light of the sinking sun
They peered with a fierce accord.
They were outlaws both, and on each man's head
Was a thousand pounds reward.

They had taken toll of the country round,
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He had hunted them out of the One Tree Hill
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A Mountain Station

I bought a run a while ago
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And She-oak Flat's the station's name,
I'm not surprised at that, sirs:
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And I supplied the flat, sirs.
A man would wonder how it's done,
The stock so soon decreases,
They sometimes tumble off the run
And break themselves to pieces.

I've tried to make expenses meet,
But wasted all my labours;
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Were stolen by the neighbours.
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An Idyll Of Dandaloo

On Western plains, where shade is not,
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Where all is dry and all is hot,
There stands the town of Dandaloo,
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Is sleep, diversified with rum.

Its grass-grown streets with dust are deep;
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The yearly races mostly drew
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There came a sportsman from the East,
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Sweeney

It was somewhere in September, and the sun was going down,
When I came, in search of `copy', to a Darling-River town;
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And 'twas raining, for a wonder, up at Come-and-have-a-drink.

'Neath the public-house verandah I was resting on a bunk
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He apologised for speaking; there was no offence, he swore;
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`No erfence,' he said. I told him that he needn't mention it,
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The Swagman's Rest

We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
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We fashioned a cross on the old man's grave
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And in place of "Died from effects of spree"
We wrote "May he rest in peace".

For Bob was known on the Overland,
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Humping his well-worn swag.
He would camp for days in the river-bed,
And loiter and "fish for whales".
"I'm into the swagman's yard," he said.
"And I never shall find the rails."

But he found the rails on that summer night
For a better place, or worse,
As we watched by turns in the flickering light
With an old black gin for nurse.
The b...

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