The Plains Of Riverine
I have come to tell you of the glorious news you'll all be glad to bear,
Of the pleasant alterations that are taking place this year.
So kindly pay attention, and I'll pass the whisper round,
The squatters of their own free will this year will pay the pound.
For this is a year of great prosperity, that everybody knows,
We'll take no top knots off this year, nor trim them to the toes,
But a level cut for a level pound, and the rations thrown in free.
That's how the squatters say they'll keep their Sovereign's Jubilee.
And kind Providence once more has sent the sweet, refreshing rains.
The trefoil and the barley grass wave high upon the plains,
The tanks all overflowing and the saltbush fresh and green,
It's a pleasure for to ramble o'er the plains of Riverine.
Once more upon the rippling lake the wild swan flaps her wing.
Out in the lignum swamps once more frogs croak and crickets sing.
Once more the wild fowl, sporting midst the crab-holes, may be seen,
For prosperity is hovering o'er the plains of Riverine.
Yes, 'twill be a year of full and plenty for those back-block pioneers,
Though behind each scrub and saltbush you can spot the bunny's ears;
And although the price for scalps is not so high as it has been,
Yet the bunny snappers they will thrive on the plains of Riverine.
You should see the jolly teamsters how with joy their faces beam,
As they talk about the crowfoot, carrots, crab-holes, and their team.
They tell you that this year they do intend to steer sixteen.
They'll show the "cookies" how to plough the plains of Riverine.
Yes, in more respects than one it is a year of joy and glee,
And the news of our prosperity has crossed the briny sea.
Once more the Maorilander and the Tassey will be seen
Cooking Johnny cakes and jimmies on the plains of Riverine.
They will gather like a regiment to the beating of the drum,
But it matters not to us from whence our future penmates come.
From New Zealand's snow-clad summits or Tasmania's meadows green,
We'll always make them welcome on the plains of Riverine.
Down from her rocky peaks Monaro will send her champions bold;
Victoria will send her "cockies," too, her honour to uphold.
They'll be here from Cunnamulla, and the rolling downs between,
For this is the real convincing ground, these plains of Riverine.
I have a message to deliver now, before I say farewell,
Some news which all the squatters have commissioned me to tell;
Your backs well bent, bows long and clean, that's what they want to see,
That your tallies may do you credit in this year of Jubilee.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Related quotes
Blood Road
The Old Year groaned as he trudged away,
His guilty shadow black on the snow,
And the heart of the glad New Year turned grey
At the road Time bade him go.
"O Gaffer Time, is it blood-road still?
Is the noontide dark as the stormy morn?
Is man's will yet as a wild beast's will?
When shall the Christ be born?"
He laughed as he answered, grim Gaffer Time,
Whose laugh is sadder than all men's moan.
"That name rides high on our wrath and crime,
For the Light in darkness shone.
"And thou, fair youngling, wilt mend the tale?"
The New Year stared on the misty word,
Where at foot of a cross all lustrous pale
Men raged for their gods of gold.
"Come back, Old Year, with thy burden bent.
Come back and settle thine own dark debt."
"Nay, let me haste where the years repent,
For I've seen what I would forget."
"And I, the first of a stately train,
The tramp of a century heard behind,
Must I be fouled with thy murder-stain?
Is there no pure path to find?"
The Old Year sneered as he limped away
To the place of his penance dim and far.
The New Year stood in the gates of day,
Crowned with the morning star.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Desert Plains
Full moon is rising
The sky is black
I need your call Im coming back
The road is straight cast
Winds in my eyes
The engine roars between my thighs
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
Wild mountain thunder
Echoes my quest
My body aches but Ill not rest
Quartz light to guide me
Till sunrise leads
My passion screams, my heart it bleeds
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
Then in the distance
I see you stand
On the horizon you raise your hand
In burning rubber
I end my quest
You fall into my arms at last
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sea
The Sea called--I lay on the rocks and said:
"I am come."
She mocked and showed her teeth,
Stretching out her long green arms.
"Go away!" she thundered.
"Then tell me what I am to do," I begged.
"If I leave you, you will not be silent,
But cry my name in the cities
And wistfully entreat me in the plains and forests;
All else I forsake to come to you--what must I do?"
"Never have I uttered your name," snarled the Sea.
"There is no more of me in your body
Than the little salt tears you are frightened of shedding.
What can you know of my love on your brown rock
pillow....
Come closer."
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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An Ode to the Queen on Her Jubilee Year
Sound drums and trumpets, far and near!
And Let all Queen Victoria's subjects loudly cheer!
And show by their actions that they revere,
Because she's served them faithfully fifty long year!
All hail to the Empress of India and Great Britain's Queen!
Long may she live happy and serene!
And as this is now her Jubilee year,
I hope her subjects will show their loyalty without fear.
Therefore let all her subjects rejoice and sing,
Until they make the welkin ring;
And let young and old on this her Jubilee be glad,
And cry, "Long Live our Queen!" and don't be sad.
She has been a good Queen, which no one dare gainsay,
And I hope God will protect her for many a day;
May He enable her a few more years to reign,
And let all her lieges say - Amen!
Let all hatred towards her be thrown aside
All o'er dominions broad and wide;
And let all her subjects bear in mind,
By God kings and queens are put in trust o'er mankind.
Therefore rejoice and be glad on her Jubilee day,
And try and make the heart of our Queen feel gay;
Oh! try and make her happy in country and town,
And not with Shakespeare say, "uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."
And as this is her first Jubilee year,
And will be her last, I rather fear:
Therefore, sound drums and trumpets cheerfully,
Until the echoes are heard o'er land and sea.
And let the innocent voices of the children at home or abroad
Ascend with cheerful shouts to the throne of God;
And sing aloud, "God Save our Gracious Queen!"
Because a good and charitable Sovereign she has been.
Therefore, ye sons of great Britain, come join with me,
And welcome in our noble Queen's Jubilee;
Because she has been a faithful Queen, ye must confess,
There hasn't been her equal since the days of Queen Bess.
Therefore let all her lieges shout and cheer,
"God Save our Gracious Queen!" for many a year;
let such be the cry in the peasant's cot, the hall,
With stentorian voices, as loud as they can bawl.
And let bonfires be kindled on every hill
And let her subjects dance around them at their freewill;
And try to drive dull care away
By singing and rejoicing on the Queen's Jubilee day.
May God protect her for many a day,
At home or abroad when she's far away;
Long may she be spared o'er her subjects to reign,
And let each and all with one voice say - Amen!
Victoria is a good Queen, which all he subjects know,
And for that may God protect her from every foe;
May He be as a hedge around her, as He's been all along.
And let her live and die in peace - is the end of my song.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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A Word from the Bards
IT IS New Year’s Day and I rise to state that here on the Sydney side
The Bards have commenced to fill out of late and they’re showing their binjies with pride
They’re patting their binjies with pride, old man, and I want you to understand,
That a binjied bard is a bard indeed when he sings in the Southern Land,
Old chaps,
When he sings in the Southern Land.
For the Southern Land is the Poet’s Home, and over the world’s wide roam,
There was never till now a binjied bard that lived in a poet’s home, old man;
For the poet’s home was a hell on earth, and I want you to understand,
That it isn’t exactly a paradise down here in the Southern Land,
Old chap,
Down here in the Southern Land.
The Beer and the Bailiff were gone last night and the “temple” doorstep clean,
And our heads are clear and our hearts are light with wine from the Riverine—
With wine from the Riverine, old man, and I want you to understand
That Bard, Beer and Bailiff too long were kin down here in the Southern Land,
Old man,
Down here in the Southern Land.
It is not because of a larger fee, nor yet that the bards are free,
For the bards I know and the bards I see are married enough for three;
Are married enough for three, old man, and I want you to understand,
They’ve a right to be married enough for four, down here in the Southern Land,
My girl,
Down here in the Southern Land.
But I think it’s because a bird went round and twittered in ears of men
That bards have care and the world seems bare as seen from the rhyming den,
And twittered in ears of men, old chaps, and got folks to understand
That a poet is something more than a joke down here in the Southern Land,
Old man,
Down here in the Southern Land.
poem by Henry Lawson
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A Faithful Witness
To the firstborn of Yahseph,
Of all that is created;
To the secondborn of Yahseph,
Do set set your mind on Mount Zion;
For His name is His glory and,
Of the economic well-being.
Of the year of the rat,
Of the year of the dog,
Of the year of the cow,
Of the year of the bull,
Of the year of the sheep,
Of the year of the dragon,
Of the year of the snake,
Of the year of the pig,
Of the year of the goat,
Of the year of the lizard,
Of the year of the crocodile,
Of the year of the elephant,
Of the year of the scorpion,
Of the year of the turtle,
Of the year of the fish,
Of the year of the earth,
Of the year of the wind,
Of the year of the fire,
Of the year of the water,
And of the year of the bush!
Like the firstborns of slaves.
The hips of romance,
The faithful witness will not lie;
The same day,
The same night,
Of the love shared at where no oxen are;
And the crib was very clean.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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One Year In Heaven
One year in heaven,
One year you've been there,
So far away,
Someday I'll see you in the air,
One year in heaven,
I miss you so much,
Smile down upon me,
And show me your love.
One year in heaven,
It seems like so long,
Since the last time I saw you,
And then you were gone,
One year in heaven,
You left earth to soon,
But I know they need you,
More then I do,
One year in heaven,
I'm alone on the earth,
I miss your sweet kisses,
And all that you're worth,
One year in heaven,
Is God really there?
Why did he take you,
As I cried in despair.
One year in heaven,
I still see your face,
The day that you took,
The last breath you would take,
One year in heaven,
Why did you die,
I know God needed you,
But still I cry.
One year in heaven,
Soon I'll be there,
So wait by the gate,
Please, this do swear,
One year in heaven,
To me it is long,
But you have no pain,
From this earth you have gone.
One year in heaven,
It's so hard to move on,
I'll send you a prayer,
And sing you a song,
One year in heaven,
Life's not the same,
Since you left this world,
I'm living in a daze.
One year in heaven,
You watch from above,
Sit there and smile,
And send me your love,
One year in heaven,
You may think it's just a day,
But this world is so different,
Since God took you away
poem by Michele Weston
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Five realms
a realm where
existence is mere eyes
year after year only sights
in sky of no man's land
a realm where
existence is only ears
year after year only sounds,
stone shrouded, loud and dark
a realm where
existence is only taste
year after year a sea
leaping into a crevice of tongues
sharp, bloodred and flipping like snake's
a realm where
existence is only touch
year after year of a roaring
wind passing through haunting plains
a realm where
existence is mere smell
year after year of fragrance
wafting, through a million
fibriletting nostrils of blooms
contented until
the realm of desire
strikes that results in all five
carvorting to each other
for a taste of a wider world
where each would merge
with the other to party on mother earth
with God, devils, angels
the only realm where
all other realms converge
till they are recalled home
to the five separate self contained
realms see, hear, taste, touch, and
smell in a world of enlightenment
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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New Year's Morning
Only a night from old to new!
Only a night, and so much wrought!
The Old Year's heart all weary grew,
But said: The New Year rest has brought."
The Old Year's hopes its heart laid down,
As in a grave; but trusting, said:
"The blossoms of the New Year's crown
Bloom from the ashes of the dead."
The Old Year's heart was full of greed;
With selfishness it longed and ached,
And cried: "I have not half I need.
My thirst is bitter and unslaked.
But to the New Year's generous hand
All gifts in plenty shall return;
True love it shall understand;
By all y failures it shall learn.
I have been reckless; it shall be
Quiet and calm and pure of life.
I was a slave; it shall go free,
And find sweet pace where I leave strife."
Only a night from old to new!
Never a night such changes brought.
The Old Year had its work to do;
No New Year miracles are wrought.
Always a night from old to new!
Night and the healing balm of sleep!
Each morn is New Year's morn come true,
Morn of a festival to keep.
All nights are sacred nights to make
Confession and resolve and prayer;
All days are sacred days to wake
New gladness in the sunny air.
Only a night from old to new;
Only a sleep from night to morn.
The new is but the old coem true;
Each sunrise sees a new year born.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Funky New Year
Went to a party just last night
Wanted to bring the year in right
Woke up this morning I don't know how
Last night I was a happy man, but the way I feel right now
It's gonna be a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Ooo, Ahh, got to be a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Can't remember when I ever felt worse
Nothing matters and everything hurts
They were passin' round the bottle, made me feel brand new
Trouble with the new man he wants a hit too, hit me
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
oooooo, it's a FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Lord, mmm, FUNKY NEW YEAR
Nurse I'm worse FUNKY NEW YEAR
I got to perk up a little FUNKY NEW YEAR
My hair hurts FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
A party baby
Never again FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Who's shoes are these FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
Party hardy baby FUNKY NEW YEAR
FUNKY NEW YEAR
What year is this anyway?
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Resolutions
Each New Year's Eve I used to brood
On my misdoings of the past,
And vowed: "This year I'll be so good -
Well, haply better than the last."
My record of reforms I read
To Mum who listened sweetly to it:
"Why plan all this, my son?" she said;
"Just do it."
Of her wise words I've often thought -
Aye, sometimes with a pang of pain,
When resolutions come to naught,
And high resolves are sadly vain;
The human heart from failure bleeds;
Hopes may be wrecked so that we rue them . . .
Don't let us dream of lovely deeds -
Just do them.
And so, my son, uphold your pride.
Believe serenely in your soul.
Just take things in a steady stride,
Until behold! you've gained your goal.
But if, perchance, you frame a plan
Of conduct, let it be a free one:
Don't try to make yourself a man -
Just be one.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Plains
WIDE are the plains—the plains that stretch to the west
An ocean of trackless waste, untrodden and rude,
Where an Austral sun flings fire on earth’s bare breast,
Brazen skies o’erhanging a treeless solitude.
Wild are the plains—the plains that shimmer and surge,
Leagues of billowy grass like an angry sea,
Bend ’neath the storm-wind, chanting its mystic dirge—
The wind that knows no Lord—Lord of ocean or lea.
Calm are the plains—when the moon’s clear beams are shed
And the wilds lie hushed, all shrouded in silver-grey,
And Nature sinks to rest like one whose life has fled,
E’en as a bride lying dead in her bridal array.
Weird are the plains—the plains that wait for the dawn
When the shadowy darkness strives with the sickly light,
And the battle hangs in the balance, finely drawn,
Till the spears of morning pierce through the mail of night.
Who shall hear, O Nature, messages thou wouldst send
In thy desolate places, far from the moving throng?
Ah, but the soul that loveth thee best may comprehend,
The voice of the silence speaketh louder than song!
poem by George Essex Evans
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The All Right Un
He came from "further out",
That land of fear and drought
And dust and gravel.
He got a touch of sun,
And rested at the run
Until his cure was done,
And he could travel.
When spring had decked the plain,
He flitted off again
As flit the swallows.
And from that western land,
When many months were spanned,
A letter came to hand,
Which read as follows:
"Dear Sir, I take my pen
In hopes that all their men
And you are hearty.
You think that I've forgot
Your kindness, Mr Scott;
Oh, no, dear sir, I'm not
That sort of party.
"You sometimes bet, I know.
Well, now you'll have a show
The 'books' to frighten.
Up here at Wingadee
Young Billy Fife and me
We're training Strife, and he
Is a all right un.
"Just now we're running byes,
But, sir, first time he tries
I'll send you word of.
And running 'on the crook'
Their measures we have took;
It is the deadest hook
You ever heard of.
"So when we lets him go,
Why then I'll let you know,
And you can have a show
To put a mite on.
Now, sir, my leave I'll take,
Yours truly, William Blake,
P.S. -- Make no mistake,
He's a all right un.
By next week's Riverine
I saw my friend had been
A bit too cunning.
I read: "The racehorse Strife
And jockey William Fife
Disqualified for life --
Suspicious running."
But though they spoilt his game
I reckon all the same
I fairly ought to claim
My friend a white un.
For though he wasn't straight,
His deeds would indicate
His heart at any rate
Was "a all right un".
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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A spirit sped
A spirit sped
Through spaces of night;
And as he sped, he called,
"God! God!"
He went through valleys
Of black death-slime,
Ever calling,
"God! God!"
Their echoes
From crevice and cavern
Mocked him:
"God! God! God!"
Fleetly into the plains of space
He went, ever calling,
"God! God!"
Eventually, then, he screamed,
Mad in denial,
"Ah, there is no God!"
A swift hand,
A sword from the sky,
Smote him,
And he was dead.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Jim
Never knew Jim, did you? Our boy Jim?
Bless you, there was the likely lad;
Supple and straight and long of limb,
Clean as a whistle, and just as glad.
Always laughing, wasn't he, dad?
Joy, pure joy to the heart of him,
And, oh, but the soothering ways he had,
Jim, our Jim!
But I see him best as a tiny tot,
A bonny babe, though it's me that speaks;
Laughing there in his little cot,
With his sunny hair and his apple cheeks.
And my! but the blue, blue eyes he'd got,
And just where his wee mouth dimpled dim
Such a fairy mark like a beauty spot --
That was Jim.
Oh, the war, the war! How my eyes were wet!
But he says: "Don't be sorrowing, mother dear;
You never knew me to fail you yet,
And I'll be back in a year, a year."
'Twas at Mons he fell, in the first attack;
For so they said, and their eyes were dim;
But I laughed in their faces: "He'll come back,
Will my Jim."
Now, we'd been wedded for twenty year,
And Jim was the only one we'd had;
So when I whispered in father's ear,
He wouldn't believe me -- would you, dad?
There! I must hurry . . . hear him cry?
My new little baby. . . . See! that's him.
What are we going to call him? Why,
Jim, just Jim.
Jim! For look at him laughing there
In the same old way in his tiny cot,
With his rosy cheeks and his sunny hair,
And look, just look . . . his beauty spot
In the selfsame place. . . . Oh, I can't explain,
And of course you think it's a mother's whim,
But I know, I know it's my boy again,
Same wee Jim.
Just come back as he said he would;
Come with his love and his heart of glee.
Oh, I cried and I cried, but the Lord was good;
From the shadow of Death he set Jim free.
So I'll have him all over again, you see.
Can you wonder my mother-heart's a-brim?
Oh, how happy we're going to be!
Aren't we, Jim?
poem by Robert William Service
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A Year Like This One
After a year like this one
Im surprised I do not hate your guts
And, after a year like this one
Im suprised I still love music just as much
After a year like this one
Im suprised I did not eat my arm
And, after a year like this one
Im sorry if Im not cordial to everyone
La la la la la ....
After a year like this one
Im suprised I do not hate your guts
And, after a year like this one
Im suprised I still love music just as much
After a year like this one
Im suprised I did not eat my arm
And, after a year like this one
Im sorry if Im not cordial to everyone
La, la, la, la, la.....
After a year like this one
Im supised I am convinced at all
And, after a year like this one
I do not roll my eyes at the cynical
And,after a year like this one
I cant help wonder how theyve been
After a year like this one
I think Ill leave it all to my next-of-kin
La, la, la, la, la.....
After a year like this one
Im suprised were all not raving drunks and
After a year like this one
I want you to choose the restaurant
After a year like this one
Ill need a good whole 16 months alone and
After a year like this one
I think Ill make the west coast beaches my new home
La, la, la, la, la.....
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Ditties I
Winifred Waters sat and sighed
Under a weeping willow;
When she went to bed she cried,
Wetting all the pillow;
Kept on crying night and day,
Till her friends lost patience;
"What shall we do to stop her, pray?"
So said her relations.
Send her to the sandy plains,
In the zone called torrid:
Send her where it never rains,
Where the heat is horrid.
Mind that she has only flour
For her daily feeding;
Let her have a page an hour
Of the driest reading,--
Navigation, logarithm,
All that kind of knowledge,--
Ancient pedigrees go with 'em,
From the Heralds' College.
When the poor girl has endured
Six months of this drying,
Winifred will come back cured,
Let us hope, of crying.
Then she will not day by day
Make those mournful faces,
And we shall not have to say,
"Wring her pillow-cases."
poem by William Brighty Rands
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New Year
WHITE year, white year,
Muffled soft in snow,
A diamond spray whose gems are gone
Before their grace we know,
A crystal-coated spray whose hours
Melt when looked upon,
Hoarfrost stars and hoarfrost flowers,
White year!
Green year, green year,
Sweet with sun and showers,
A windblown spray whose blossoms bright
Are the seven-colored hours,
A dancing spray whose leaves are days,
A spray whose leaves delight
In azure gleam and silver haze,
Green year!
New Year, new year
From rosy leaf to gold,
A shining spray on the Tree of Time
Where myriad sprays unfold,
A spray so fair that God may see
And gather it, bloom and rime,
To deck the doors of Eternity,
New Year!
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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A Year and A Day
A year and a day
Are all that lay
Between me and
My love
A year and a day
Three months 'til May
The year leaping
Above
A year and a day
You scorn to say
Is destiny
Belov'd
A year and a day
I slight cliché
This puzzle I
Speak of
A year and a day
Do not delay
Migrate to me
My dove
A year and a day
No time astray
Like seconds that
I shove
A year and day
From the same clay
You claim you are
Void of
A year and a day
All night I pray
That you would be
My love
poem by Brandon McConnell
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Back To My Childhood
My childhood was the best days I spent
With my besy mates and friends.
But when I turned back,
They had been the days of disappearance.
Where are all the mates,
I played with?
Where are all the laughs,
I laughed?
All the cares I have taken,
Have they vanished?
The whole world has changed
Without any signs of replacement.
The mountains have become deserts
The deserts have become plains
The plains have become,
The place of sadness
Where there is no sight of happiness.
So never look back in your childhood
The only remains
Will be the plains.
poem by Purna Vindhya
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