`He's down! For he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn To the hut at the Stockman's Ford; In the waning light of the sinking sun They peered with a fierce accord. Your six-furlong vermin that scamper Half-a-mile with their feather-weight up, They wouldn't earn much of their damper In a race like the President's Cup. Clancy would feature briefly in Patersons poem, The man from Snowy River, which was published by The Bulletin the next year. In the depth of night there are forms that glide As stealthily as serpents creep, And around the hut where the outlaws hide They plant in the shadows deep, And they wait till the first faint flush of dawn Shall waken their prey from sleep. Wives, children and all, For naught the most delicate feelings to hurt is meant!!" )PUNTER: Nay, good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of Golumpus?Was it not dead last week?SHORTINBRAS: Marry, sir, I think well of Golumpus. In 2004 a representative of The Wilderness Society arrived at NSWs Parliament House dressed as The Ghost of the Man from Ironbark, to campaign for the protection of the remaining Ironbark woodlands in New South Wales and Queensland. From the southern slopes to the western pines They were noted men, were the two Devines. It was splendid; He gained on them yards every bound, Stretching out like a greyhound extended, His girth laid right down on the ground. Jack Thompson: The Sentimental Bloke, The Poems of C . Now this was what Macpherson told While waiting in the stand; A reckless rider, over-bold, The only man with hands to hold The rushing Rio Grande. It was not much! Sure he'll jump them fences easy -- you must never raise the whip Or he'll rush 'em! Young Andrew spent his formative years living at a station called "Buckenbah' in the western . And it may be that we who live In this new land apart, beyond The hard old world grown fierce and fond And bound by precedent and bond, May read the riddle right, and give New hope to those who dimly see That all things yet shall be for good, And teach the world at length to be One vast united brotherhood. We got to the course with our troubles, A crestfallen couple were we; And we heard the " books" calling the doubles -- A roar like the surf of the sea. He hasn't much fear of a fall. And I am sure as man can be That out upon the track Those phantoms that men cannot see Are waiting now to ride with me; And I shall not come back. Video PDF When I'm Gone He was in his 77th year. Plenty of swagmen far and near -- And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. A shimmer of silk in the cedars As into the running they wheeled, And out flashed the whips on the leaders, For Pardon had collared the field. "Yes, I'm making home to mother's, and I'll die o' Tuesday next An' be buried on the Thursday -- and, of course, I'm prepared to meet my penance, but with one thing I'm perplexed And it's -- Father, it's this jewel of a horse! Along where Leichhardt journeyed slow And toiled and starved in vain; These rash excursionists must go Per Queensland railway train. There's never a stone at the sleeper's head, There's never a fence beside, And the wandering stock on the grave may tread. "For there's some has got condition, and they think the race is sure, And the chestnut horse will fall beneath the weight, But the hopes of all the helpless, and the prayers of all the poor, Will be running by his side to keep him straight. They went tearin' round and round, And the fences rang and rattled where they struck. To the front -- and then stay there - was ever The root of the Mameluke creed. Banjo Paterson Complete Poems. A strapping young stockman lay dying,His saddle supporting his head;His two mates around him were crying, As he rose on his pillow and said:"Wrap me up with my stockwhip and blanket,And bury me deep down below,Where the dingoes and crows can't molest me,In the shade where the coolibahs grow."Oh! Mr. Andrew Barton Paterson, better known throughout Australia as "Banjo" Paterson, died at a private hospital, in Sydney, yesterday afternoon, after about a fortnight's illness. He mounted, and a jest he threw, With never sign of gloom; But all who heard the story knew That Jack Macpherson, brave and true, Was going to his doom. Close to the headlands they drifted, picking up shell by the ton, Piled up on deck were the oysters, opening wide in the sun, When, from the lee of the headland, boomed the report of a gun. "And oft in the shades of the twilight,When the soft winds are whispering low,And the dark'ning shadows are falling,Sometimes think of the stockman below.". I Bought a Record and Tape called "Pioneers" by "Wallis and Matilda" a tribute to A.B. Then the races came to Kiley's -- with a steeplechase and all, For the folk were mostly Irish round about, And it takes an Irish rider to be fearless of a fall, They were training morning in and morning out. Owner say'st thou?The owner does the paying, and the talk;Hears the tale afterwards when it gets beatAnd sucks it in as hungry babes suck milk.Look you how ride the books in motor carsWhile owners go on foot, or ride in trams,Crushed with the vulgar herd and doomed to hearFrom mouths of striplings that their horse was stiff,When they themselves are broke from backing it.SCENE IIIEnter an Owner and a JockeyOWNER: 'Tis a good horse. on Mar 14 2005 06:57 PM PST x edit . Now this was what Macpherson told While waiting in the stand; A reckless rider, over-bold, The only man with hands to hold The rushing Rio Grande. . Our chiefest singer yet has sung In wild, sweet notes a passing strain, All carelessly and sadly flung To that dull world he thought so vain. . * * Well, he's down safe as far as the start, and he seems to sit on pretty neat, Only his baggified breeches would ruinate anyone's seat -- They're away -- here they come -- the first fence, and he's head over heels for a crown! Langston Hughes (100 poem) 1 February 1902 - 22 May 1967. And down along the Monaro now they're starting out to shear, I can picture the excitement and the row; But they'll miss me on the Lachlan when they call the roll this year, For we're going on a long job now. But hold! Next, Please "I am a barrister, wigged and gowned; Of stately presence and look profound. Thy story quickly!MESSENGER: Gracious, my Lord,I should report that which I know I saw,But know not how to do it.MACBREATH: Well! Prithee, chase thyself! * * * * * * * But he's old -- and his eyes are grown hollow Like me, with my thatch of the snow; When he dies, then I hope I may follow, And go where the racehorses go. Facing it yet! He has heard the sound of a sheep-dog's bark, And his horse's warning neigh, And he says to his mate, "There are hawks abroad, And it's time that we went away." Down in the world where men toil and spin Dame Nature smiles as man's hand has taught her; Only the dead men her smiles can win In the great lone land by the Grey Gulf-water. Second time round, and, by Jingo! So off they went, And as soon as ever they turned their backs The girl slipped down, on some errand bent Behind the stable and seized an axe. Mark, he said, in twenty minutes Stumpll be a-rushing round, While the other wretched creature lies a corpse upon the ground. But, alas for William Johnson! Those British pioneers Had best at home abide, For things have changed in fifty years Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. He "tranced" them all, and without a joke 'Twas much as follows the subjects spoke: First Man "I am a doctor, London-made, Listen to me and you'll hear displayed A few of the tricks of the doctor's trade. I don't want no harping nor singing -- Such things with my style don't agree; Where the hoofs of the horses are ringing There's music sufficient for me. Conroy's Gap 154. For years the fertile Western plains Were hid behind your sullen walls, Your cliffs and crags and waterfalls All weatherworn with tropic rains. An uplifting poem about being grateful for a loved one's life. The waving of grasses, The song of the river That sings as it passes For ever and ever, The hobble-chains' rattle, The calling of birds, The lowing of cattle Must blend with the words. the last fence, and he's over it! A man once read with mind surprised Of the way that people were "hypnotised"; By waving hands you produced, forsooth, A kind of trance where men told the truth! And straightway from the barren coast There came a westward-marching host, That aye and ever onward prest With eager faces to the West, Along the pathway of the sun. you're all right, sir, and thank you; and them was the words that I said. For forty long years, 'midst perils and fears In deserts with never a famine to follow by, The Israelite horde went roaming abroad Like so many sundowners "out on the wallaby". The tongue-in-cheek story of Mulga Bill, a man who claimed he was an excellent cyclist only to crash, was published by The Sydney Mail. Moral The moral is patent to all the beholders -- Don't shift your own sins on to other folks' shoulders; Be kind to dumb creatures and never abuse them, Nor curse them nor kick them, nor spitefully use them: Take their lives if needs must -- when it comes to the worst, But don't let them perish of hunger or thirst. The Bushfire - An Allegory 161. isn't Abraham forcing the pace -- And don't the goat spiel? There he divided the junior Knox Prize with another student. And so it comes that they take no part In small world worries; each hardy rover Rides like a paladin, light of heart, With the plains around and the blue sky over. Then he dropped the piece with a bitter oath, And he turned to his comrade Dunn: "We are sold," he said, "we are dead men both! . His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. Then a cheer of exultation burst aloud from Johnsons throat; Luck at last, said he, Ive struck it! Here is a list of the top 10 most iconic Banjo Paterson ballads. Hunt him over the plain, And drive back the brute to the desert again. * Oh, the steeple was a caution! The wild thrush lifts a note of mirth; The bronzewing pigeons call and coo Beside their nests the long day through; The magpie warbles clear and strong A joyous, glad, thanksgiving song, For all God's mercies upon earth. Clancy of the Overflow was inspired by an experience Banjo Paterson had while he was working as a lawyer. So Abraham ran, like a man did he go for him, But the goat made it clear each time he drew near That he had what the racing men call "too much toe" for him. . A Bush Lawyer. B. With this eloquent burst he exhorts the accurst -- "Go forth in the desert and perish in woe, The sins of the people are whiter than snow!" For you must give the field the slip; So never draw the rein, But keep him moving with the whip, And, if he falter, set your lip And rouse him up again. Some of the chaps said you couldn't, an' I says just like this a' one side: Mark me, I says, that's a tradesman -- the saddle is where he was bred. Oh, joyous day,To-morrow's poll will make me M.L.A.ACT IITIME: Election day.SCENE: Macbreath's committee rooms.MACBREATH: Bring me no more reports: let them all fly;Till Labour's platform to Kyabram comeI cannot taint with fear. By this means a Jew, whate'er he might do, Though he burgled, or murdered, or cheated at loo, Or meat on Good Friday (a sin most terrific) ate, Could get his discharge, like a bankrupt's certificate; Just here let us note -- Did they choose their best goat? And watched in their sleeping By stars in the height, They rest in your keeping, Oh, wonderful night. In the happy days to be, Men of every clime and nation will be round to gaze on me Scientific men in thousands, men of mark and men of note, Rushing down the Mooki River, after Johnsons antidote. You see he was hated from Jordan to Cairo -- Whence comes the expression "to buck against faro". So his Rev'rence in pyjamas trotted softly to the gate And admitted Andy Regan -- and a horse! Catch him now if you can, sir! And Kate Carew, when her father died, She kept the horse and she kept him well; The pride of the district far and wide, He lived in style at the bush hotel. (Banjo) Paterson A. I'll bet half-a-crown on you." "Dress no have got and no helmet -- diver go shore on the spree; Plenty wind come and break rudder -- lugger get blown out to sea: Take me to Japanee Consul, he help a poor Japanee!" And many voices such as these Are joyful sounds for those to tell, Who know the Bush and love it well, With all its hidden mysteries. We have all of us read how the Israelites fled From Egypt with Pharaoh in eager pursuit of 'em, And Pharaoh's fierce troop were all put "in the soup" When the waters rolled softly o'er every galoot of 'em. . we're going on a long job now. 'Banjo' Paterson 1987: Gumnut design on jacket by Paul Jones and Ashcraft Fabrics. Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins! For I must ride the dead mens race, And follow their command; Twere worse than death, the foul disgrace If I should fear to take my place Today on Rio Grande. He mounted, and a jest he threw, With never sign of gloom; But all who heard the story knew That Jack Macpherson, brave and true, Was going to his doom. Mulga Bill's Bicycle was written by Banjo Paterson in 1896. I am as skilled as skilled can be In every matter of s. d. I count the money, and night by night I balance it up to a farthing right: In sooth, 'twould a stranger's soul perplex My double entry and double checks. The bill-sticker's pail told a sorrowful tale, The scapegoat had licked it as dry as a nail; He raced through their houses, and frightened their spouses, But his latest achievement most anger arouses, For while they were searching, and scratching their craniums, One little Ben Ourbed, who looked in the flow'r-bed, Discovered him eating the Rabbi's geraniums. But Moses told 'em before he died, "Wherever you are, whatever betide, Every year as the time draws near By lot or by rote choose you a goat, And let the high priest confess on the beast The sins of the people the worst and the least, Lay your sins on the goat! The Jews were so glad when old Pharaoh was "had" That they sounded their timbrels and capered like mad. Both wrote in other strains, of course, and of other than swagmen and cockies, stock-men and bullock drivers, but bush was always at their heartstrings, and it was of the bush, as they saw it from roadside and saddle that they wrote best. The Stockman 163. And up in the heavens the brown lark sings The songs the strange wild land has taught her; Full of thanksgiving her sweet song rings -- And I wish I were back by the Grey Gulf-water. "I want you, Ryan," the trooper said, "And listen to me, if you dare resist, So help me heaven, I'll shoot you dead!" Mr. Paterson was a prolific writer of light topical verse. He looked to left and looked to right, As though men rode beside; And Rio Grande, with foam-flecks white, Raced at his jumps in headlong flight And cleared them in his stride. )MACPUFF: Now, yield thee, tyrant!By that fourth party which I once did form,I'll take thee to a picnic, there to liveOn windfall oranges!MACBREATH: . The Bush Poems of A . Far to the Northward there lies a land, A wonderful land that the winds blow over, And none may fathom or understand The charm it holds for the restless rover; A great grey chaos -- a land half made, Where endless space is and no life stirreth; There the soul of a man will recoil afraid From the sphinx-like visage that Nature weareth. A Dog's Mistake. But they went to death when they entered there In the hut at the Stockman's Ford, For their grandsire's words were as false as fair -- They were doomed to the hangman's cord. Macbreath is struck on the back of the headby some blue metal from Pennant Hills Quarry. This was the way of it, don't you know -- Ryan was "wanted" for stealing sheep, And never a trooper, high or low, Could find him -- catch a weasel asleep! When the field is fairly going, then ye'll see ye've all been fooled, And the chestnut horse will battle with the best. Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! But, as one half-hearing An old-time refrain, With memory clearing, Recalls it again, These tales, roughly wrought of The bush and its ways, May call back a thought of The wandering days, And, blending with each In the memories that throng, There haply shall reach You some echo of song. "The Man from Snowy River" is a poem by Australian bush poet Banjo Paterson. For he left the others standing, in the straight; And the rider -- well they reckoned it was Andy Regan's ghost, And it beat 'em how a ghost would draw the weight! Dived in the depths of the Darnleys, down twenty fathom and five; Down where by law, and by reason, men are forbidden to dive; Down in a pressure so awful that only the strongest survive: Sweated four men at the air pumps, fast as the handles could go, Forcing the air down that reached him heated and tainted, and slow -- Kanzo Makame the diver stayed seven minutes below; Came up on deck like a dead man, paralysed body and brain; Suffered, while blood was returning, infinite tortures of pain: Sailed once again to the Darnleys -- laughed and descended again! those days they have fled for ever, They are like the swans that have swept from sight. Banjo Paterson's Poems of the Bush A.B. He focused on the outback and what rural life was like for the communities who lived there. But on his ribs the whalebone stung A madness, sure, it seemed And soon it rose on every tongue That Jack Macpherson rode among The creatures he had dreamed. Don't tell me he can ride. On this day: Banjo Paterson was born The crowd with great eagerness studied the race -- "Great Scott! Never shakeThy gory locks at me. No need the pallid face to scan, We knew with Rio Grande he ran The race the dead men ride. Experience docet, they tell us, At least so I've frequently heard; But, "dosing" or "stuffing", those fellows Were up to each move on the board: They got to his stall -- it is sinful To think what such villains will do -- And they gave him a regular skinful Of barley -- green barley -- to chew. The day it has come, with trumpet and drum. And then I woke, and for a space All nerveless did I seem; For I have ridden many a race But never one at such a pace As in that fearful dream. Even though an adder bit me, back to life again Id float; Snakes are out of date, I tell you, since Ive found the antidote. Said the scientific person, If you really want to die, Go aheadbut, if youre doubtful, let your sheep-dog have a try. They are flying west, by their instinct guided, And for man likewise is his rate decided, And griefs apportioned and joys divided By a mightly power with a purpose dread. "But it's getting on to daylight and it's time to say goodbye, For the stars above the east are growing pale. But he weighed in, nine stone seven, then he laughed and disappeared, Like a banshee (which is Spanish for an elf), And old Hogan muttered sagely, "If it wasn't for the beard They'd be thinking it was Andy Regan's self!" "The goat -- was he back there? "You can talk about your riders -- and the horse has not been schooled, And the fences is terrific, and the rest! And sometimes columns of print appear About a mine, and it makes it clear That the same is all that one's heart could wish -- A dozen ounces to every dish. "Well, no sir, he ain't not exactly dead, But as good as dead," said the eldest son -- "And we couldn't bear such a chance to lose, So we came straight back to tackle the ewes." Little Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly-run race. Oh, poor Andy went to rest in proper style. Who in the world would have thought it? `For I must ride the dead men's race, And follow their command; 'Twere worse than death, the foul disgrace If I should fear to take my place To-day on Rio Grande.' But daring men from Britain's shore, The fearless bulldog breed, Renew the fearful task once more, Determined to succeed. It was shearing time at the Myall Lake, And then rose the sound through the livelong day Of the constant clash that the shear-blades make When the fastest shearers are making play; But there wasn't a man in the shearers' lines That could shear a sheep with the two Devines. Popular funeral poem based on a short verse by David Harkins. He's hurrying, too! Inicio; Servicios. Shall we see the flats grow golden with the ripening of the grain? he's over, and two of the others are down! It don't seem to trouble the swell. Says Jimmy, "The children of Judah Are out on the warpath today." . Alas! But when they reached the big stone wall, Down went the bridle-hand, And loud we heard Macpherson call Make room, or half the field will fall! He falls. And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. For he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn. Unnoticed and undenied; But the smallest child on the Watershed. Did thou catch the last?SECOND HEAD: Aye, marry did I, and the one before,But this has got me beat. The Old Bark Hut 159. It would look rather well the race-card on 'Mongst Cherubs and Seraphs and things, "Angel Harrison's black gelding Pardon, Blue halo, white body and wings." With dragging footsteps and downcast head The hypnotiser went home to bed, And since that very successful test He has given the magic art a rest; Had he tried the ladies, and worked it right, What curious tales might have come to light! Pablo Neruda (143 poem) 12 July 1904 - 23 September 1973. " is a poem by Banjo Paterson, first published in The Australasian Pastoralists' Review on 15 December 1898. "Come from your prison, Bourke,We Irishmen have done our work,God has been with us, and old Ireland is free. AUSTRALIANS LOVE THAT Andrew Barton Banjo Paterson (1864-1941) found romance in the tough and wiry characters of bush. (That "pal" as I've heard, is an elegant word, Derived from the Persian "Palaykhur" or "Pallaghur"), As the scapegoat strains and tugs at the reins The Rabbi yells rapidly, "Let her go, Gallagher!" And lo, a miracle! They're off and away with a rattle, Like dogs from the leashes let slip, And right at the back of the battle He followed them under the whip. make room!" One is away on the roving quest, Seeking his share of the golden spoil; Out in the wastes of the trackless west, Wandering ever he gives the best Of his years and strength to the hopeless toil. And then we swooped down on Menindie To run for the President's Cup; Oh! )What if it should be! That I did for himI paid my shilling and I cast my vote.MACBREATH: Thou art the best of all the shilling voters.Prithee, be near me on election dayTo see me smite Macpuff, and now we shan'tBe long,(Ghost of Thompson appears. Written from the point of view of the person being laid to rest. did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat? But the reason we print those statements fine Is -- the editor's uncle owns the mine." A poor little child knocked out stiff in the gutter Proclaimed that the scapegoat was bred for a "butter". He had sold them both to the black police For the sake of the big reward. One shriek from him burst -- "You creature accurst!" The scapegoat is leading a furlong or more, And Abraham's tiring -- I'll lay six to four! ''Three to One, Bar One!' "A land where dull Despair is king O'er scentless flowers and songless bird!" Without these, indeed, you Would find it ere long, As though I should read you The words of a song That lamely would linger When lacking the rune, The voice of the singer, The lilt of the tune. He seemed to inherit their wiry Strong frames -- and their pluck to receive -- As hard as a flint and as fiery Was Pardon, the son of Reprieve. D'you know the place? Paterson wrote this sad ballad about war-weary horses after working as a correspondent during the Boer War in South Africa. Another search for Leichhardt's tomb, Though fifty years have fled Since Leichhardt vanished in the gloom, Our one Illustrious Dead! -- Still, there may be a chance for one; I'll stop and I'll fight with the pistol here, You take to your heels and run." The Favourite drifts,And not a single wager has been laidAbout Golumpus. And surely the thoroughbred horses Will rise up again and begin Fresh faces on far-away courses, And p'raps they might let me slip in. Read all poems by Banjo Paterson written. He was educated at Sydney Grammar School. His Father, Andrew a Scottish farmer from Lanarkshire. A.B. Him goin' to ride for us! Yet it sometimes happens by some strange crook That a ledger-keeper will 'take his hook' With a couple of hundred thousand 'quid', And no one can tell how the thing was did!" To many, this is the unofficial Aussie anthem, but the intended meaning of this ballad that describes the suicide of an itinerant sheep-stealing swagman to avoid capture, is debated to this day. So the Dutch let him go; but they watched him, as off from the Islands he ran, Doubting him much -- but what would you? Mr. Paterson was a prolific writer of light topical verse. Were sorry, this feature is currently unavailable. Did he sign a pledge agreeing to retire?VOTER: Aye, that he did.MACBREATH: Not so did I!Not on the doubtful hazard of a voteBy Ryde electors, cherry-pickers, oafs,That drive their market carts at dread of nightAnd sleep all day. LEGAL INNOVATION | Tu Agente Digitalizador; LEGAL3 | Gestin Definitiva de Despachos; LEGAL GOV | Gestin Avanzada Sector Pblico "We will show the boss how a shear-blade shines When we reach those ewes," said the two Devines. "On came the Saxons thenFighting our Fenian men,Soon they'll reel back from our piked volunteers.Loud was the fight and shrill,Wexford and Vinegar Hill,Three cheers for Father Murphy and the bold cavaliers.I dreamt that I saw our gallant commanderSeated on his charger in gorgeous array.He wore green trimmed with gold and a bright shining sabreOn which sunbeams of Liberty shone brightly that day. Over the pearl-grounds the lugger drifted -- a little white speck: Joe Nagasaki, the "tender", holding the life-line on deck, Talked through the rope to the diver, knew when to drift or to check. Hast thou seenThe good red gold Go in. And the lashin's of the liquor! For things have changed on Cooper's Creek Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. Shel Silverstein (223 poem . Within our streets men cry for bread In cities built but yesterday. The Pledge!MACBREATH: I say I never signed the gory pledge. It will cure delirium tremens, when the patients eyeballs stare At imaginary spiders, snakes which really are not there. and his spurs like a pair of harpoons; Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course. And then it came out, as the rabble and rout Streamed over the desert with many a shout -- The Rabbi so elderly, grave, and patrician, Had been in his youth a bold metallician, And offered, in gasps, as they merrily spieled, "Any price Abraham! Our very last hope had departed -- We thought the old fellow was done, When all of a sudden he started To go like a shot from a gun. A word let fall Gave him the hint as the girl passed by; Nothing but "Swagman -- stable wall; Go to the stable and mind your eye." A Tragedy as Played at Ryde**Macbreath Mr HenleyMacpuff Mr TerryThe GhostACT ITIME: The day before the electionSCENE: A Drummoyne tram running past a lunatic asylum.All present are Reform Leaguers and supporters of Macbreath.They seat themselves in the compartment.MACBREATH: Here, I'll sit in the midst.Be large in mirth. hes down! And horse and man Lay quiet side by side! Mulga Bill was based on a man of the name of William Henry Lewis, who knew Paterson around Bourke, NSW, and who had bought a bicycle because it was an easier form of transport than his horse in a time of drought. And the poor of Kiley's Crossing drank the health at Christmastide Of the chestnut and his rider dressed in green. Paterson and his old friend, Lawson, imparted to the literature of their country a note which marked the beginning of a new period. And away in another court I lurk While a junior barrister does your work; And I ask my fee with a courtly grace, Although I never came near the case. How Gilbert Died. And thy health and strength are beyond confessing As the only joys that are worth possessing. Maya Angelou (52 poem) 4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014. But the shearers knew that they's make a cheque When they came to deal with the station ewes; They were bare of belly and bare of neck With a fleece as light as a kangaroo's. Most popular poems of Banjo Paterson, famous Banjo Paterson and all 284 poems in this page. [1] Kind deeds of sterling worth. For tales were told of inland seas Like sullen oceans, salt and dead, And sandy deserts, white and wan, Where never trod the foot of man, Nor bird went winging overhead, Nor ever stirred a gracious breeze To wake the silence with its breath -- A land of loneliness and death. It is hard to keep sight on him, The sins of the Israelites ride mighty light on him. At length the hardy pioneers By rock and crag found out the way, And woke with voices of today A silence kept for years and tears. Rash men, that know not what they seek, Will find their courage tried. All you can do is to hold him and just let him jump as he likes, Give him his head at the fences, and hang on like death if he strikes; Don't let him run himself out -- you can lie third or fourth in the race -- Until you clear the stone wall, and from that you can put on the pace.