The Old Bush Songs Part 9

We will plant our garden and sow our own field, And eat from the fruits which industry will yield, And be independent, what we long for have strived, Though those that have ruled us the right long denied.

Though those that have ruled us, &c.

A NATIONAL SONG FOR AUSTRALIA FELIX

Dark over the face of Nature sublime!

Reign'd tyranny, warfare, and every crime; The world a desert-no oasis green A man-loving soul on its surface had seen; Then mercy above a mandate sent forth An Eden to form-a refuge for worth.

From the ocean it came, with halo so bright, Want, strife, and oppression were lost in its sight.

Chorus

First isle of the sea-brightest gem of the earth In thee every virtue and joy shall have birth.

A land of the just, the brave, and the free, Australia the happy, thou ever shalt be.

So earth in the flood no place for rest gave, At length a green isle arose from the wave; The dove o'er the waters the olive branch bore, To show that one spot was cover'd no more;

Australia thus shall be sounded by fame, And Europe shall echo the glorious name; The brave, wise, and good, wherever oppress'd, Shall fly to thy sh.o.r.es as a haven of rest.

Chorus: First isle of the sea, &c.

Land of the orange, fig, olive, and vine; 'Midst earth's fairest daughters the chaplet is thine; No sick'ning vapours are borne on thy air, But fragrance and melody twine sweetly there; Thy ever-green fields proclaim plenty and peace, If man doth his part, heaven sends the increase; No customs to fetter, no enemy near, Independence thy sons for ever must cheer.

Chorus: First isle of the sea, &c.

SUNNY NEW SOUTH WALES

We often hear men boast about the land which gave them birth, And each one thinks his native land the fairest spot on earth; In beauty, riches, power, no land can his surpa.s.s; To his, all other lands on earth cannot even hold a gla.s.s.

Now, if other people have their boasts, then, say, why should not we, For we can drink our jovial toast and sing with three times three; For there's not a country in the world where all that's fair prevails As here it does in this our land, our sunny New South Wales.

Chorus

Then toast with me our happy land, Where all that's fair prevails, Our colour's blue and our hearts are true, In sunny New South Wales.

Now let us take a pa.s.sing glance at all that we possess.

That ours is such a wealthy land no stranger e'er would guess.

Why, we've land in store, indeed far more than ever we shall require, And trees grow thick on every side in spite of axe and fire.

Our sheep and cattle millions count, our wool is cla.s.sed A1; In beef and mutton our fair land is not to be outdone.

Why, we've lately seen old England, who boasts her stock ne'er fails, Has had to send for wholsome meat preserved in New South Wales.

Chorus: Then toast with me, &c.

In childhood California was to us a land of gold, And people said its riches were so vast, immense, untold.

But time has proved that mineral wealth exists not there alone, For New South Wales possesses gold in many, many a stone.

And when the gold is taken from out its quartzy veins A heap of silver, copper, tin, as a residue remains.

In fact we are a ma.s.s of wealth in all our hills and dales.

There's not a country half as rich as sunny New South Wales.

Chorus: Then toast with me, &c.

Our climate's good, that all admit, our flowers are sweet and rare; And scenes abound on every hand so marvellously fair.

Shame on the men who went away and of us wrote such lies.

Why, when Anthony Trollope came out here he nearly lost his eyes.

Our native girls are fair and good, their hearts are pure and true; And to their colour stick like bricks, the bright Australian blue.

Some never loved a roving life, nor blest the ocean's gales; But they bless the breeze that blew them to a life in New South Wales.

Chorus: Then toast with me, &c.

BRINGING HOME THE COWS

Shadows of the twilight falling On the mountain's brow, To each other birds are calling, In the leafy bough.

Where the daisies are a-springing, And the cattle bells are ringing, Comes my Mary, gaily singing, Bringing home the cows.

By a bush the pathway skirted, Room for two allows.

All the cornfields are deserted, Idle are the ploughs.

Striving for wealth's spoil and booty, Farmer boys have finished duty, When I meet my little beauty, Bringing home the cows.

Tender words and kind addresses, Most polite of bows, Rosy cheeks and wavy tresses Do my pa.s.sions rouse

Dress so natty and so cleanly, Air so modest and so queenly.

Oh! so haughty, yet serenely, Bringing home the cows.

Arm-in-arm together walking, While the cattle browse, Earnestly together talking, Plighting lovers' vows.

Where the daisies are a-springing, Wedding bells will soon be ringing, Then we'll watch our servant bringing Mine and Mary's cows.

THE DYING STOCKMAN

(Air: "The Old Stable Jacket.")

A strapping young stockman lay dying, His saddle supporting his head; His two mates around him were crying, As he rose on his pillow and said:

Chorus

"Wrap me up with my stockwhip and blanket, And bury me deep down below, Where the dingoes and crows can't molest me, In the shade where the coolibahs grow.

"Oh! had I the flight of the bronzewing, Far o'er the plains would I fly, Straight to the land of my childhood, And there would I lay down and die.

Chorus: Wrap me up, &c.