Biography of Anonymous Oceania
Anonymous Oceania Poems
The Wild Colonial Boy
'Tis of a wild Colonial Boy, Jack Doolan was his name, Of poor but honest parents he was born in Castlemaine. He was his father's only hope, his mother's pride and joy, And dearly did his parents love the wild Colonial Boy.
The Little Worn Out Pony
There's a little worn-out pony this side of Hogan's shack With a snip upon his nuzzle and a mark upon his back; Just a common little pony is what most people say, But then of course they've never heard what happened in his day:
The Old Bark Hut
In an old bark hut on a mountainside In a spot that was lone and drear A woman whose heart was aching sat Watching from year to year.
Ned Kelly Was A Gentleman
Ned Kelly was a gentleman: Many hardships did he endure. He battled to deprive the rich Then gave it to the poor.
The Fine Fat Saucy Chinaman
I'll sing a little ditty, which I trust you'll not think flat. Of a fine fat saucy Chinaman Who lives on Ballarat,
Oh Frank Gardiner is caught at last and lies in Sydney jail, For wounding Sergeant Middleton and robbing the Mudgee mail. For plundering of the gold escort, the Carcoar mail also; And it was for gold he made so bold, and not so long ago.
O, listen for a moment lads, and hear me tell my tale- how o'er the sea from England's shore I was compelled to sail. The jury said, "He's guilty Sir," and says the judge, says he- "For life Jim Jones, I'm sending you across the stormy sea;
How The Sailor Rode The Brumby
There was an agile sailor lad Who longed to know the bush So with his swag and billy-can He said he'd make a push.
It was in the Queensland drought; And over hill and dell, No grass – the water far apart, All dry and hot as hell.
A West Country Ballad
This is the tale of Norton Who vowed a vow, by zounds, To catch the varlet Gardiner And win a thousand pounds.
The Kelly Gang
Oh, Paddy dear, and did you hear The news that's going round, On the head of bold Ned Kelly They have placed two thousand pound.
The Only Land For Me (A Currency Lad)
Prate not to me of foreign strand, Of beauty o'er the sea - "This is my own - my native land" - The only land for me!
The Port Phillip Patriot
Oh, what a wretched, loathsome, thing am I, Too horrible for earth, or the pure heaven, Or the bright stars, or the blue smiling sky,-- To look upon again.
The Ballad Of Ben Hall's Gang
Come all ye wild colonials And listen to my tale; A story of bushrangers' deeds I will to you unveil. 'Tis of those gallant heroes, Game fighters one and all; And we'll sit and sing, Long Live the King,
Bold Jack Donahoe (2)
In Dublin town I was brought up, in that city of great fame.
My decent friends and parents, they will tell to you the same.
It was for the sake of five hundred pounds I was sent across the main,
For seven long years in New South Wales to wear a convict's chain.
Chorus: Then come, my hearties, we'll roam the mountains high,
Together we will plunder, together we will die.
We'll wander over valleys, and gallop over plains,
For we scorn to live in slavery, bound down in iron chains.