The staple of our Australian colonies, but more particularly of New South Wales, the climate and the soil of which are peculiarly suited to its production, - is fine wool.
quote by Charles Sturt
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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 surpass;
To his, all other lands on earth cannot even hold a glass.
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 passing 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 classed 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 mass 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.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The year 1826 was remarkable for the commencement of one of those fearful droughts to which we have reason to believe the climate of New South Wales is periodically subject.
quote by Charles Sturt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bonnie New South Wales
It surely cannot be too soon, and never is too late,
It tones with all Australia’s tune to praise one’s native State,
And so I bring an old refrain from days of posts and rails,
And lift the good old words again, for Sunny New South Wales.
She bore me on her tented fields, and wore my youth away,
And little gold of all she yields repays my toil to-day;
By track and camp and bushman’s hut—by streets where courage fails—
I’ve sung for all Australia, but my heart’s in New South Wales.
The waratah and wattle there in all their glory grow—
And if they bloom on hills elsewhere, I’m not supposed to know,
The tales that other States may tell—I never hear the tales!
For I, her son, have sinned as well as Bonnie New South Wales.
I only know her heart is good to sweetheart and to mate,
And pregnant with our nationhood from Sunset to the Gate;
I only know her sons sail home on every ship that sails,
Though round the world ten times they roam from dear old New South Wales.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Squatter Of The Olden Time
I'll sing to you a fine new song, made by my blessed mate,
Of a fine Australian squatter who had a fine estate,
Who swore by right pre-emptive at a sanguinary rate
That by his rams, his ewes, his lambs, Australia was made great
Like a fine Australian squatter, one of the olden time.
His hut around was hung with guns, whips, spurs, and boots and shoes,
And kettles and tin pannikins to hold the tea he brews;
And here his worship lolls at ease and takes his smoke and snooze,
And quaffs his cup of hysouskin, the beverage old chums choose
Like a fine Australian squatter, one of the olden time.
And when shearing time approaches he opens hut to all,
And though ten thousand are his flocks, he featly shears them all,
Even to the scabby wanderer you'd think no good at all;
For while he fattens all the great, he boils down all the small
Like a fine old Murray squatter, one of the olden time.
And when his worship comes to town his agents for to see,
His wool to ship, his beasts to sell, he lives right merrily;
The club his place of residence, as becomes a bush J.P.,
He darkly hints that Thompson's run from scab is scarcely free
This fine old Murray settler, one of the olden time.
And now his fortune he has made to England straight goes he,
But finds with grief he's not received as he had hoped to be.
His friends declare his habits queer, his language much too free,
And are somewhat apt to cross the street when him they chance to see
This fine Australian squatter, the boy of the olden time.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Emigration to New Zealand
I’ve just received a letter from a chum in Maoriland,
He’s working down in Auckland where he days he’s doing grand,
The climate’s cooler there, but hearts are warmer, says my chum,
He sends the passage money, and he says I’d better come.
(I’d like to see his face again, I’d like to grip his hand),
He says he’s sure that I’ll get on first-rate in Maoriland.
An’ tho’ he makes the best of things (it always was his style),
You mostly get on better in a new land for a while,
An’ when I see the fading line of my own native shore,
I’ll let it fade, and never want to see it anymore.
I’m tire of Sydney pavements, and the Western scrub and sand,
I’d rather fight my troubles for a change in Maoriland.
I’m off to make inquiries as to when the next boat sails,
I’m sick of all these colonies, but most of New South Wales,
An’ if you meet a friend of mine who wants to find my track,
Say you, “He’s gone to Maoriland, and isn’t coming back”.
An’ should it be the landlord or the rates, you understand,
Just say you’ll find him somewhere knocking round in Maoriland.
poem by Henry Lawson
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But at the beginning it was clear to me that concrete poetry was peculiarly suited for using in public settings. This was my idea, but of course I never really much got the chance to do it.
quote by Ian Hamilton Finlay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New planted Colonies are generally attended with a Force and Necessity of Planting the known and approved Staple and Product of the Country, as well as all the Provisions their Families spend.
quote by John Lawson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Welcome to the Prince of Wales
Lines written when the Prince of Wales
was about embarking for Canada, May, 1860.
In his long voyage o'er the sea,
To where doth grow the maple tree,
May he be blest with pleasant gales-
The coming man, the Prince of Wales.
The Maple grows but in good soil,
Where nature doth reward for toil.
The farmer, splitting his fence rails,
He welcome bids the Prince of Wales.
In the woods the axe is ringing,
And the yeoman merry singing ;
The song resounds o'er hills and dales -
Our future king, the Prince of Wales.
'Round the brow of our future chief
We'll weave a wreath of maple leaf,
For o'er broad Canada prevails
Kind feelings to the Prince of Wales.
When in this land the Prince arrives
May he have many pleasant drives,
And on our lakes have merry sails-
Great king of princes, Prince of Wales.
poem by James McIntyre
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It is obvious that the greatest and most important service that is required of our agriculture under existing conditions is an enlarged production of the staple food crops.
quote by David F. Houston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Maecenas
What! Don't you our Mæcenas know
The man who started, years ago,
Our Wild Australian Author show?
You don't? Your ignorance sublime
Exceeds - to use a Boston rhyme -
The taciturnity of time.
Well, there he is, across the way -
Tall, thin, and growing somwhat grey -
He has good reason, you will say.
He's entering a bookshop. Fine!
He buys a book. Don't make a sign!
Don't speak! Don't breathe! It may be mine!
Alas! The cover isn't blue;
It's green - it's Quinn's - I always knew
His taste was never sound and true!
We all have hobbies. Some endure,
Some pass. Australian Literature
Is his. He likes it straight and pure.
Those breezy gentlemen you see
Walk up the street so spaciously,
He started them; he started me.
My word! My oath, if that you wish!
I would have now been selling fish,
Or something hot and sausageish -
And friends of mine, with names renowned
Would now be driving picks in ground,
And hoisting New South Wales around,
If he - the Lord of the Event -
Had not appeared, pre-subsequent,
And given us encouragement.
He's now, you see, just skin and bone,
Yet once he weighed quite fourteen stone -
When he left coves like us alone.
And he was - breathe it hoarse and low -
A man of substance. This I know -
But that was several years ago.
Now was he thus to leanness brought?
What tragic Fate his sorrow wrought?
Alas! he read the books he bought!
And now he's growing grey and old:
But while he lives, we'll say: 'Behold!
One copy of our works is sold!'
He is the apple of our eye;
His health to us is precious. Why?
We have to live; he dare not die.
poem by Victor James Daley
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The Climate Change Converts
After eleven years as Prime Minister it does seem quite strange
That John Howard the ageing politician is talking of climate change
But this after all is an Election year
And of losing the top job is now his greatest fear.
For eleven years warnings of climate change he chose to ignore
But climate change has become an Election issue as never before
Howard the climate change convert on combating climate change now leads the way
On climate change he has become an instant expert and on it has much to say.
His opponent for the top job Kevin Rudd is a climate change convert too
It is amazing what an Election can do
To the climate change realist voters they are trying to appeal
Of climate change suddenly they make a big deal.
The ideas of the climate change experts Howard and Rudd now embrace
As their moment of truth they are about to face
The climate realist voters they are trying to appease
But try as they will not everyone they will please.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Well, I'm half Australian, half English and I live in London. That is the only reason I came upon this story. My Australian mother, Meredith Hooper, was invited in late 2007 by some Australian friends to make up a token Australian audience in a tiny fringe theater play reading of an unproduced, unrehearsed play called 'The King's Speech.'
quote by Tom Hooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Down South In South Australia
Down south in South Australia in old Port Adelaide
A place of Indigenous history where history has often been made
Home of renowned Australian Rules Footballers men who are known Worldwide
They wore the magpie colours with a certain sense of pride.
In the beautiful Port River the dolphins sport and play
In fancy I can see them in the sunlight of the day
From the pier at Port Adelaide one them often does see
Marvellous memories of such beauty keep on coming back to me.
Those grand old Towns of South Australia by the far southern shore
Port Adelaide and West Lakes, Largs Bay and Semaphore
Fond memories of such beauty one always does retain
And in my flights of fancy I visit there again.
One can only imagine in the warm sunshine and breeze
The very first Australians had their corroborees
Long before the coming of the Europeans many centuries ago
Though little of their history or their ways we do know.
Down south in South Australia in old Port Adelaide
Of there I have great memories and great memories never fade
Of an old place that's full of history and the friendly people who live there
It's famous Football Club and renowned Australian Rules Players are well known everywhere.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Heritage Of Aussie Drought
Henry Lawson
was indeed a joy to read,
when studying Aussie lit,
he's so well writ
the rain is falling hard here,
season tropical Indonesian rain,
the scanned lines are fine
Lawson's writing succinct plain
Our Andy's gone to battle now
‘Gainst Drought, the red marauder; ’
but Australian Soil,
is still losing the battle,
to erosion drought
hard hoofed animals
like cattle sheep goats
horses donkeys pigs
but water buffalo camels?
and foxes cats rabbits?
over grazing combined
with cyclic natural drought
and feral invasive species
all have specific consequences
feral animals typically
have few natural predators
may carry fatal diseases
have high reproductive rates
a rabbit proof fence was
a kinda neat costly solution
i am no scientist but i'll tell you what i think
feral animals eat vegetation
which exposes fine soils
to wind and water erosion
cats kill birds, so what, you say?
cats destroy necessary birds
whose droppings carry seeds
that grows renews vegetation
with less birds there is less vegetation
without vegetation the soil is exposed
to wind rain and hard hoofed erosion
raising salinity high water table still to beat
maybe satellite grazing is the answer sport?
drought still haunts Australia still,
but Andy's spirit was never beat,
now scientific Australia must beat,
the drought before its got us beat!
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem was written after reading the poem Andy's Gone With Cattle by Henry Lawson, an Australian colonial writer and poet, who is often referred to as Australia's greatest writer. Having taught causes of Australian soil erosion, the temptation to mix the two was irresistible.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Colonies do not cease to be colonies because they are independent.
quote by Benjamin Disraeli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who knows but that England may revive in New South Wales when it has sunk in Europe.
quote by Joseph Banks
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In this eventful period the colony of New South Wales is already far advanced.
quote by Charles Sturt
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In a colony constituted like that of New South Wales, the proportion of crime must of course be great.
quote by Charles Sturt
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Nothing escapes the vigilance of the New South Wales police; their reputation is known the world over.
quote by Joshua Slocum
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Unsuited
Unsuited!
From you that's what I use to believe.
I wasn't suited,
To be near you or your company.
Unsuited!
But then
Neither are you 'now' for me.
Everything today that's claimed,
Will re-arrange to make a change!
Unsuited!
From you that's what I use to believe.
I wasn't suited,
To be near you or your company.
Unsuited!
But then
Today you're not suited for me.
If one waits around,
What appears will change.
And those noses in the air,
Will one day sniff a shame.
With a misery to come,
Like a mental stinging pain.
From their heads to their toes,
And this will show...
When they tumble from their gains,
And everybody knows.
Everything today that's claimed,
Will re-arrange to make a change!
Uh,
I wasn't suited
To be or breathe,
In your company.
Unsuited!
The feeling your eyes,
Laid on me.
I was not suited.
But then
Neither are you 'now',
For me.
I wasn't suited.
But then
Neither are you 'now',
For me.
Can you compute it?
The air I wish to breathe is pretentious free!
Can you compute it?
I wasn't suited when you booted me.
And now
The air I wish to breathe is free.
I wasn't suited when you booted me.
But then,
Neither are you now,
For me.
I wasn't suited when you booted me.
But then
Today you are unsuited,
For me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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