My Aunt Evangeline has come
To visit Melbourne town,
Garbed for its Glad Centenary
In frill and festal gown.
Here she bides, a buxom lady,
Blest by peace and great content;
Dwelling by her byways shady,
Where the elm trees boughs are bent;
Stuffed with tradition and trammels of yore,
Cramped in their studies, they sneer and scold
At the strange, new passions young hearts would pour
Thro' a sunlit land, and a tale unfold
As I came to a playing-field on happy summer day
Two strudy youths I did espy; at cricket they did play.
One had the ball, one had the bat, and, with a right good smack,
As one tossed up the crimson sphere, the other smote it back.
Now, my gift of crude invective is astonishingly high,
And I've quite a flair for fierce vituperation,
But I have to sit and watch the precious moments drifting by,
Just because my countrymen seek moderation.
Wavin' corn upon the hillside,
Twinklin' daisies on the rise,
Mystic bushes across the ranges,
Wattle in its spring-time guise,
There's been fierce argument of late
In my vicinitee,
Between the Commonwealth and State,
For I fell out with me.
With the advent of the Autumn
Trees behave as Nature taught 'em;
Maple, Sumach, Plum and Poplar, and the Chestnut known as Horse,
I ain't no verse-'og. When I busts in song
An' fills the air wiv choonful melerdy,
I likes fer uvver coves to come along
An' biff the lyre in company wiv me.