The Tasmanian Aborigine's Lament And Remonstrance When In Sight Of His Native Land From Flinders Island
Fair island of my birth, thy
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THE herdman wandering by the lonely rills
Marks where they lie on the scarred mountain's flanks,
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Land of Forests, fleas and flies,
Blighted hopes and blighted eyes,
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No doubt the saying's all abroad, And rattling through the land.
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From kauri-clad Wairoa
Rich in her tropic charms, -
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Oh, we started down from Roto when the sheds had all cut out. We'd whips and whips of Rhino as we meant to push about,
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O, Mother of Perpetual Help, To thee I send my plea,
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Had I gone first he surely would have writ
Some kindly words in loving memory --
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On Walden's Range at morning time
The sun shone brightly down;
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Old Ireland lies groaning -
A hand at her throat,
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The crows kept flyin' up, boys, The crows kept flyin' up.
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In the wild Weddin Mountains there live two young dames
Kate O'Meally, Bet Mayhew are their pretty names;
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Come, Stumpy, old man, we must shift while we can;
All our mates in the paddock are dead.
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Oh, what a wretched, loathsome, thing am I,
Too horrible for earth, or the pure heaven,
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The glamour gone, some scattered graves and memories dim remain:
With his old pals across the field, he'll never trek again;
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From Bluff to Cape Maria New Zealand is agreed;
She thanks her Representatives for generous thought and deed.
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It was in the Queensland drought;
And over hill and dell,
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Prate not to me of foreign strand,
Of beauty o'er the sea -
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Then roll the swag and blanket up,
and let us haste away
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There shall broad streets their stately walls extend;
Embellished villas crown the landscape scene,
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The boss last night in the hut did say—
“We start to muster at break of day;
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I'll sing a little ditty, which
I trust you'll not think flat.
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I’m one of the has-beens, a shearer I mean;
I once was a ringer and used to shear clean;
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The moon rides high in a starry sky,
And, through the midnight gloom,
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Squatting up in Queensland, is a great mistake I guess;
If you ask if I'm a squatter, I can truly answer yes,
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I sing of a commodity, it's one that will not fail yer,
I mean the common oddity, the mainstay of Australia;
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Oh! Have you heard of the APPLE WINE!
That out of Beer now takes the shine,
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Now all of us bunch we were having our lunch
At the station one bright sunny day
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What brings you here, John Chinaman,
Why come to New South Wales?
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As I lay sleeping
on Bakery Hill
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