The Lady of the Motor Car she st… Her face is like the stone, my fri… Her face is like the stone, my fri… Because her heart is dead, my frie… The Lady of the Motor Car she sp…

The short hour’s halt is ended, The red gone from the west, The broken wheel is mended, And the dead men laid to rest. Three days have we retreated

They towed the Seabolt down the s… And through the harbour’s mouth; She spread her wings and sailed aw… To seek the sunny South. But, ah! she met with storm on sto…

THERE can be no doubt but that without sentiment the world would be worse than it now is; but sentiment, though a good servant, is a bad master. Though not wishing to make a virtue of s...

So I sit and write and ponder, wh… Seeing visions “over yonder” of th… In the corner– not a vision– but a… Stand a box of ammunition and a ri… And in this, the living present, l…

It is New Year’s Day and I rise… The Bards have commenced to fill… They’re patting their binjies with… That a binjied bard is a bard inde… Old chaps,

Ned knew I was short of tobacco o… And that I was too proud to ask f… He hated such pride, but his delic… Forbade him to take me to task for… I loathed to be cadging tobacco fr…

I’ve just received a letter from a… He’s working down in Auckland whe… The climate’s cooler there, but he… He sends the passage money, and he… (I’d like to see his face again,…

While tyrants rule the land, Beneath the Irish skies; While e’er the iron hand Upon our people lies; While sons are driven forth

We must suffer, husband and father… For the wrong we have taken part i… Let the bride of frivolous fashion… For I tell you the nations shall… How shall Australia escape it– we…

He works in the glen where the war… And the gums and the ashes are tal… ’Neath cliffs that re-echo the sou… When the wedges leap in from the m… He comes of a hardy old immigrant…

By hut, homestead and shearing she… By railroad, coach and track– By lonely graves where rest the de… Up-Country and Out-Back: To where beneath the clustered sta…

From Crow’s Nest here by Sydney… Where crows had nests of old I see the Range where day goes do… The dim blue in the gold. And sometimes wonder, half in doub…

You’d call the man a senseless foo… A blockhead or an ass, Who’d dare to say he saw the ghost Of Mount Victoria Pass; But I believe the ghost is there,

When God’s wrath-cloud is o’er me… Affrighting heart and mind; When days seem dark before me, And days seem black behind; Those friends who think they know…