(Air: “So Early in the Morning.”)
The boss last night in the hut did say—
“We start to muster at break of day;
So be up first thing, and don’t be slow;
Saddle your horses and off you go.”
Chorus
So early in the morning, so early in the morning,
So early in the morning, before the break of day.
Such a night in the yard there never was seen
(The horses were fat and the grass was green);
Bursting of girths and slipping of packs
As the stockmen saddled the fastest hacks.
Chorus: So early in the morning, &c.
Across the plain we jog along
Over gully, swamp, and billabong;
We drop on a mob pretty lively, too
We round ’em up and give ’em a slue.
Chorus: So early in the morning, &c.
Now the scrub grows thick and the cattle are wild,
A regular caution to this ’ere child—
A new chum man on an old chum horse,
Who sails through the scrub as a matter of course.
Chorus: So early in the morning, &c.
I was close up stuck in a rotten bog;
I got a buster jumping a log;
I found this scouting rather hot,
So I joined the niggers with the lot we’d got.
Chorus: So early in the morning, &c.
A long-haired shepherd we chanced to meet
With a water bag, billy, and dog complete;
He came too close to a knocked up steer,
Who up a sapling made him clear.
Chorus: So early in the morning, &c.
Now on every side we faintly hear
The crack of the stockwhip drawing near;
To the camp the cattle soon converge,
As from the thick scrub they emerge.
Chorus: So early in the morning, &c.
We hastily comfort the inner man
With the warm contents of the billy can;
The beef and damper are passed about
Before we tackle the cutting out.
Chorus: So early in the morning, &c.
We’re at it now—that bally calf
Would surely make a sick man laugh;
The silly fool can’t take a joke;
I hope some day in the drought he’ll croak.
Chorus: So early in the morning, &c.
We’ve ’em now—the cows and calves
(Things here are never done by halves);
Strangers, workers, and milkers, too,
Of scrubbers also not a few.
Chorus: So early in the morning, &c.
It’s getting late, we’d better push;
’Tis a good long way across the bush,
And the mob to drive are middling hard;
I do not think we’ll reach the yard.
Chorus: So early in the morning, &c.
THE AUSTRALIAN STOCKMAN
The sun peers o’er you wooded ridge and thro’ the forest
dense,
Its golden edge o’er the mountain ledge looks down on the
stockyard fence,
Looks down, looks down, looks down on the stockyard fence;
And dark creeks rush thro’ the tangled brush, when their
shuddering shadows throng
Until they chime in the rude rough rhyme of the wild
goburra’s song.
Chorus
Till they chime, ha! ha! till they chime, ha! ha! in the
wild goburra’s song;
Till they chime, ha! ha! till they chime, ha! ha! in the
wild goburra’s song.
The night owl to her home hath fled, to shun the glorious
pomp
Of golden day she speeds away to her nest in the tea-tree
swamp;
Away, away to her nest in the tea-tree swamp.
The dingo looks with a timid stare as he stealthily prowls
along,
And his pattering feet in concert beat with the wild goburra’s
song.
Chorus: And they beat, ha! ha! &c.
Oh! let them boast their city’s wealth, who toil in a dusty
town;
Give me the beam on the mountain stream, and the range’s
dark-faced frown—
The stream, the stream, and the range’s dark-faced frown.
When our steed shall pass o’er the quiv’ring grass, and the
crack of the sounding thong
Shall bid the startled echoes join the wild goburra’s song.
Chorus: And they join, ha! ha! &c.
THE SHEPHERD
(Air: “She Wore a Wreath of Roses.”)
He wore an old blue shirt the night that first we met,
An old and tattered cabbage-tree concealed his locks of jet;
His footsteps had a languor, his voice a husky tone;
Both man and dog were spent with toil as they slowly
wandered home.
Chorus
I saw him but a moment—yet methinks I see him now—
While his sheep were gently feeding ’neath the rugged
mountain brow.
When next we met, the old blue shirt and cabbage-tree were
gone;
A brand new suit of tweed and “Doctor Dod” he had put on;
Arm in arm with him was one who strove, and not in vain,
To ease his pockets of their load by drinking real champagne.
I saw him but a moment, and he was going a pace,
Shouting nobbler after nobbler, with a smile upon his
face.
When next again I saw that man his suit of tweed was gone,
The old blue shirt and cabbage-tree once more he had put on;
Slowly he trudged along the road and took the well-known
track
From the station he so lately left with a swag upon his back.
I saw him but a moment as he was walking by
With two black eyes and broken nose and a tear-drop
in his eye.
THE OVERLANDER
There’s a trade you all know well—
It’s bringing cattle over—
I’ll tell you all about the time
When I became a drover.
I made up my mind to try the spec,
To the Clarence I did wander,
And bought a mob of duffers there
To begin as an overlander.
Chorus
Pass the wine cup round, my boys;
Don’t let the bottle stand there,
For to-night we’ll drink the health
Of every overlander.
Next morning counted the cattle
Saw the outfit ready to start,
Saw all the lads well mounted,
And their swags put in a cart.
All kinds of men I had
From France, Germany, and Flanders;
Lawyers, doctors, good and bad,
In the mob of overlanders.
Next morning I set out
When the grass was green and young;
And they swore they’d break my snout
If I did not move along.
I said, “You’re very hard;
Take care, don’t raise my dander,
For I’m a regular knowing card,
The Queensland overlander.”
’Tis true we pay no license,
And our run is rather large;
’Tis not often they can catch us,
So they cannot make a charge.
They think we live on store beef,
But no, I’m not a gander;
When a good fat stranger joins the mob,
“He’ll do,” says the overlander.
One day a squatter rode up.
Says he, “You’re on my run;
I’ve got two boys as witnesses.
Consider your stock in pound.”
I tried to coax, then bounce him,
But my tin I had to squander,
For he put threepence a head
On the mob of the overlander.
The pretty girls in Brisbane
Were hanging out their duds.
I wished to have a chat with them,
So steered straight for the tubs.
Some dirty urchins saw me,
And soon they raised my dander,
Crying, “Mother, quick! take in the clothes,
Here comes an overlander!”
In town we drain the wine cup,
And go to see the play,
And never think to be hard up
For how to pass the day.
Each has a sweetheart there,
Dressed out in all her grandeur—
Dark eyes and jet black flowing hair.
“She’s a plum,” says the overlander.