Read 60 Classic Australian Poems for Children Online

Authors: Cheng & Rogers

60 Classic Australian Poems for Children (13 page)

51
The Travelling Post-Office
Banjo Paterson

The roving breezes come and go, the reed-beds sweep and sway,

The sleepy river murmurs low, and loiters on its way;

It is the land of Lots o' Timeâalong the Castlereagh.

The old man's son had left the farmâhe found it dull and slow,

He drifted to the great North-west where all the rovers go.

âHe's gone so long,' the old man said; âhe's dropped right out of mind,

But if you'd write a line to him I'd take it very kind.

He's shearing here and fencing thereâa kind of waif and stray,

He's droving now with Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh.

âThe sheep are travelling for the grass and travelling very slow,

They may be at Mundooran now, or past the Overflowâ

Or tramping down the black soil flats across by Waddiwong,

But all those little country towns would send the letter wrong.

The mailman, if he's extra-full, would pass them in his sleepâ

It's safest to address the note to “care of Conroy's sheep,”

For five-and-twenty thousand head can scarcely go astrayâ

You write to “care of Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh”.'

By rock and ridge and riverside the Western mail has gone,

Across the great Blue Mountain Range to take that letter on.

A moment on the topmost grade, while open fire-doors glare,

She pauses like a living thing to breathe the mountain air;

Then launches down the other side across the plains away

To bear that note to Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh.

And now by coach and mailman's bag it goes from town to town,

And Conroy's Gap and Conroy's Creek have marked it âfurther down.'

Beneath a sky of deepest blue, where never cloud abides,

A speck upon the waste of plain the lonely mailman rides;

Where fierce hot winds have set the pine and myall boughs asweep

He hails the shearers passing by for news of Conroy's sheep.

By big lagoons where wild-fowl play and crested pigeons flock,

By camp-fires where the drovers ride around their restless stock,

And past the teamster toiling down to fetch the wool away

My letter chases Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh.

The Bulletin
, 1894

52
The Triantiwontigongolope
CJ Dennis

There's a very funny insect that you do not often spy,

And it isn't quite a spider, and it isn't quite a fly;

It is something like a beetle, and a little like a bee,

But nothing like a woolly grub that climbs upon a tree.

Its name is quite a hard one, but you'll learn it soon, I hope.

So try:

Tri-

Tri-anti-wonti-

Triantiwontigongolope.

It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has a funny face;

Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a disgrace.

When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare,

But when you look for it again, you find it isn't there.

And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope.

So try:

Tri-

Tri-anti-wonti-

Triantiwontigongolope.

It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes;

It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose.

If you sneer at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame,

But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its name,

And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap.

So try:

Tri-

Tri-anti-wonti-

Triantiwontigongolope.

But of course you haven't seen it; and I truthfully confess

That I haven't seen it either, and I don't know its address.

For there isn't such an insect, though there really might have been

If the trees and grass were purple, and the sky was bottle-green.

It's just a little joke of mine, which you'll forgive, I hope.

Oh, try!

Tri!

Tri-anti-wonti-

Triantiwontigongolope.

A Book for Kids
, 1921

53
Waiting for the Rain
(A Shearing Song)
John Neilson

The weather has been warm for a fortnight now or more,

And the shearers have been driving might and main,

For some have got the century who ne'er got it before;

But now all hands are waiting for the rain.

CHORUS

For the boss is getting rusty, and the ringer's caving in,

His bandaged wrist is aching with the pain,

And the second man, I fear, will make it hot for him

Unless we have another fall of rain.

Some are taking quarters and keeping well in bunk

While we shear the six-tooth wethers from the plain,

And if the sheep get harder some more of us will funk,

Unless we have another fall of rain.

Some cockies come here shearing; they would fill a little book

About this sad dry weather for the grain,

But here's lunch a-coming, make way for Dick the cookâ

Old Dick is nigh as welcome as the rain.

But now the sky is overcast; the thunder's muttering loud;

The clouds are drifting westward o'er the plain,

And I see the red fire breaking from the edge of yonder cloud!

I hear the gentle patter of the rain!

So, lads, put on your stoppers, and let us to the hut,

We all can do a full day's rest again;

Some will be playing music, while some play ante-up,

And some are gazing outward at the rain.

And now the rain is over let the pressers spin the screw,

Let the teamsters back their wagons in again,

We'll block the classers up by the way we put them through

For everything goes merry since the rain.

Let the boss bring out the bottle, let him âwet' the final flock,

For the shearers here may ne'er meet all again;

Some may meet next season, but perhaps not even then

For soon we all will vanish like the rain.

The Men of the Fifties
, 1938

54
Waltzing Matilda
Banjo Paterson

There once was a swagman camped in a billabong

Under the shade of a Coolibah tree

And he sang as he looked at the old billy boiling

Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me

Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda my darling

Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me

Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag

Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me