Banjo Paterson
Andrew Barton “Banjo” Paterson (1864–1941) was an Australian poet, journalist and solicitor, born near Orange, New South Wales. He wrote for The Bulletin under the pen name “The Banjo”, the name of his horse.
His bush ballads celebrate rural Australia and its people. The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses (1895) was a huge success, and he wrote the words of “Waltzing Matilda”, Australia’s best-known song. He also served as a war correspondent in the Boer War and the First World War.
Best-known poems
-
Clancy of the Overflow
I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better,
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him, … -
The Geebung Polo Club
It was somewhere up the country, in a land of rock and scrub,
That they formed an institution called the Geebung Polo Club.
They were long and wiry natives from the rugged mountain side, … -
A Bushman's Song
I'm travelling down the Castlereagh, and I'm a station-hand,
I'm handy with the ropin' pole, I'm handy with the brand,
And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day, … -
The Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying
Away in the west,
The wild birds are flying … -
The Travelling Post Office
The roving breezes come and go, the reed beds sweep pand sway,
The sleepy river murmurs low, and loiters on its way,
It is the land of lots o' time along the Castlereagh. … -
A Voice from the Town
I thought, in the days of the droving,
Of steps I might hope to retrace,
To be done with the bush and the roving …
All poems (74)
A 10
- A Bunch of RosesRoses ruddy and roses white,
- A Bush ChristeningOn the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
- A Bushman's SongI'm travelling down the Castlereagh, and I'm a station-hand,
- A Mountain StationI bought a run a while ago
- A TrioletOf all the sickly forms of verse,
- A Voice from the TownI thought, in the days of the droving,
- An Answer to Various BardsWell, I've waited mighty patient while they all came rolling in,
- An Evening in DandalooIt was while we held our races --
- An Idyll of DandalooOn Western plains, where shade is not,
- As Long As Your Eyes Are Blue"Will you love me, sweet, when my hair is grey
B 4
C 4
E 1
F 1
G 1
H 3
I 3
J 2
L 1
M 1
O 6
- Old Pardon, the Son of ReprieveYou never heard tell of the story?
- On Kiley's RunThe roving breezes come and go
- Only a JockeyOut in the grey cheerless chill of the morning light,
- Our MatIt came from the prison this morning,
- Our New HorseThe boys had come back from the races
- Over the RangeLittle bush maiden, wondering-eyed,
P 1
R 1
S 3
T 28
- Tar and FeathersOh! the circus swooped down
- The "Bottle-oh" ManI ain't the kind of bloke as takes to any steady job;
- The Ballad of G.R. DibbsThis is the story of G.R.D.,
- The Ballad of the CalliopeBy the far Samoan shore,
- The Boss of the Admiral LynchDid you ever hear tell of Chili? I was readin' the other day
- The BushfireThe run is England's Empire great,
- The City of Dreadful ThirstThe stranger came from Narromine and made his little joke--
- The Corner-ManI dreamt a dream at the midnight deep,
- The Daylight is DyingAway in the west,
- The Deficit DemonIt was the lunatic poet escaped from the local asylum,
- The Duties of an Aide-de-CampOh, some folk think vice-royalty is festive and hilarious,
- The Flying GangI served my time, in the days gone by,
- The Geebung Polo ClubIt was somewhere up the country, in a land of rock and scrub,
- The Ghost of the Murderer's HutMy horse had been lamed in the foot
- The Great CalamityMacFierce'un came to Whiskeyhurst
- The HypnotistA man once read with mind surprised
- The Mylora ElopementBy the winding Wollondilly where the weeping willows weep,
- The Open SteeplechaseI had ridden over hurdles up the country once or twice,
- The Pannikin PoetThere's nothing here sublime,
- The Sausage CandidateOur fathers, brave men were and strong,
- The Scapegoat (Paterson)The moral is patent to all the beholders --
- The Swagman's RestWe buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
- The Travelling Post OfficeThe roving breezes come and go, the reed beds sweep pand sway,
- The Two DevinesIt was shearing time at the Myall Lake,
- The Wind's MessageThere came a whisper down the Bland between the dawn and dark,
- Those NamesThe shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong,
- Tom CollinsWho never drinks and never bets,
- Tommy CorriganYou talk of riders on the flat, of nerve and pluck and pace --