The Dam That Keele Built

This is the dam that Keele built.
This is the stream that brought the water to fill the dam that Keele built;

This is the Water and Sewer Brigade,
That measured the stream that brought the water to fill the dam that Keele built;

This is the Engineer by Trade*,
Head of the Water and Sewer Brigade,
Who measured the stream that brought the water to fill the dam that Keele built;

These are the Calculations made
By the Eminent Engineer by Trade,
Head of the Water and Sewer Brigade,
Who measured the stream that brought the water to fill the dam that Keele built;

This is the scornful Mr Wade**,
Who sneered at the Calculations made
By the Eminent Engineer by Trade,
Head of the Water and Sewer Brigade,
Who measured the stream that brought the water to fill the dam that Keele built;

This is the Minister quite dismayed
At the sight of the Scornful Mr Wade,
Who sneered at the Calculations made
By the Eminent Engineer by Trade,
Head of the Water and Sewer Brigade,
Who measured the stream that brought the water to fill the dam that Keele built;

This is the Sydneyite afraid
That a serious blunder will be made,
Because of the Minister, quite dismayed
At the sight of the Scornful Mr Wade,
Who sneered at the Calculations made
By the Eminent Engineer by Trade,
Head of the Water and Sewer Brigade,
Who measured the stream that brought the water to fill the dam that Keele built;

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

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English

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Song Of The Artesian Water

Now the stock have started dying, for the Lord has sent a drought;
But we're sick of prayers and Providence, we're going to do without;
With the derricks up above us and the solid earth below,
We are waiting at the lever for the word to let her go.
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Oh, we'll sink it deeper down:
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The Water

Let others make the songs of love
For our young struggling nation;
But I will sing while eer I live
The Songs of Irrigation;
For while the white man shall beget
The white mans son and daughter,
The two most precious things for us
Shall still be wheat and water.

Weve been drought-ruined in the West,
And ever in my dreaming
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I see the painted barges pass
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And now the glorious schemes afoot,
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A Mountain Station

I bought a run a while ago
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The grass is rather scant, it's true,
But this a fair exchange is,
The sheep can see a lovely view
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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.
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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.
They stole my pears, my native pears,
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Sappers

When the Waters were dried an' the Earth did appear,
("It's all one," says the Sapper),
The Lord He created the Engineer,
Her Majesty's Royal Engineer,
With the rank and pay of a Sapper!

When the Flood come along for an extra monsoon,
'Twas Noah constructed the first pontoon
To the plans of Her Majesty's, etc.

But after fatigue in the wet an' the sun,
Old Noah got drunk, which he wouldn't ha' done
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When the Tower o' Babel had mixed up men's bat,
Some clever civilian was managing that,
An' none of, etc.

When the Jews had a fight at the foot of a hill,
Young Joshua ordered the sun to stand still,
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William Street

Tis William Street, the link street,
That seems to stand alone;
Tis William Street, the vague street,
With terraces of stone:
That starts with clean, cool pockets,
And ancient stable ways,
And built by solid landlords
And in more solid days.

Beginning where the shadow streets
Of vacant wealth begin,
Street William runs down sadly
Across the vale of sin.
Tis William Street, the haggard,
Where all the streets are mean
Thats trying to be honest,
Thats trying to keep clean.

Tis William Street with method,
And nought of show or pride,
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No pavement exhibition
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In The Storm That Is To Come

By our place in the midst of the furthest seas we were fated to stand alone,
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Let her spend her gold on the barren west, let her keep her men at home;
For the South must look to the South for strength in the storm that is to come.

Now who shall gallop from cape to cape, and who shall defend our shores,
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And who will hold the invader back when the shells tear up the ground,
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