Poems of Anonymous Oceania
|21.||The Little Worn Out Pony||1/1/2004|
|22.||The Maids of the Mountains||1/1/2004|
|23.||The Old Bark Hut||1/1/2004|
|24.||The Only Land For Me (A currency Lad)||1/1/2004|
|25.||The Port Phillip Patriot||1/1/2004|
|26.||The Wild Colonial Boy||1/1/2004|
|27.||There's Whisky In The Jar||1/1/2004|
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.