"A.B.PATTERSON "
A. B. ("Banjo") Paterson (1864-1941)
Brief Biography - Andrew Barton Paterson was born at "Narrambla" Station near Orange in New South Wales in 1864. He grew up near Yass in NSW and attended school in the small town of Binalong, and later in Sydney.
He started out as a lawyer's clerk before being admitted as a solicitor. After the publication of The Man From Snowy River and Other Verses in 1895, he became something of a literary celebrity in Australia. He travelled widely throughout the country and also was war correspondent in the Boer War in South Africa, and covered the Boxer Rebellion in China.
He was later to become editor of the Sydney Evening News and then the Australian Town and Country Journal. At the outbreak of WWI he travelled to Europe to cover the conflict but was unable to get to the front in France. Frustrated by this he returned to Australia and joined the Remount Service which supplied horses for the Australian cavalry in the Middle East.
After the War he returned to Sydney, journalism and writing poetry and prose. Paterson is best remembered as the the author of "Waltzing Matilda - Australia's unofficial national anthem."
Bibliography
Poetry Collections
The Man From Snowy River and Other Verses 1895
Rio Grande's Last Race and Other Verses 1902
Saltbush Bill J.P. and Other Verses 1917
Collected Verse 1923
Singer of the Bush (complete works 1885-1900) 1983
Song of the Pen (complete works 1901-41) 1983
Banjo Paterson A Children's Treasury 1984, illustrated by Dee Huxley
The Geebung Polo Club 1984, illustrated by Ninon Phillips
Banjo Paterson's People 1987, paintings by Dorothy Gauvin
Banjo Paterson's Australians 1989, paintings by Dorothy Gauvin
Snowy River Riders 1991, paintings by Robert Lovett
Novels
An Outback Marriage 1906
The Shearer's Colt 1936
Short Story Collections
Three Elephant Power and Other Stories 1917
Childrens
The Animals Noah Forgot 1933
Non-Fiction
Happy Dispatches 1934
From the Front - Dispatches from the Boer War 2000, edited by R.W.F. Drooglever
Edited
Old Bush Songs 1905
The roving breezes come and go
On Kiley's Run,
The sleepy river murmurs low,
And far away one dimly sees
Beyond the stretch of forest trees --
Beyond the foothills dusk and dun --
The ranges sleeping in the sun
On Kiley's Run.
'Tis many years since first I came
To Kiley's Run,
More years than I would care to name
Since I, a stripling, used to ride
For miles and miles at Kiley's side,
The while in stirring tones he told
The stories of the days of old
On Kiley's Run.
I see the old bush
homestead now
On Kiley's Run,
Just nestled down beneath the brow
Of one small ridge above the sweep
Of river-flat, where willows weep
And jasmine flowers and roses bloom,
The air was laden with perfume
On Kiley's Run.
We lived the good old station life
On Kiley's Run,
With little thought of care or strife.
Old Kiley seldom used to roam,
He liked to make the Run his home,
The swagman never turned away
With empty hand at close of day
From Kiley's Run.
We kept a racehorse now and then
On Kiley's Run,
neighb'ring stations brought their men
To meetings where the sport was free,
And dainty ladies came to see
Their champions ride; with laugh and song
The old house rang the whole night long
On Kiley's Run.
The station hands were friends I wot
On Kiley's Run,
A reckless, merry-hearted lot --
All splendid riders, and they knew
The `boss' was kindness through and through.
Old Kiley always stood their friend,
And so they served him to the end
On Kiley's Run.
But droughts and losses came apace
To Kiley's Run,
Till ruin stared him in the face;
He toiled and toiled while lived the light,
He dreamed of overdrafts at night:
At length, because he could not pay,
His bankers took the stock away
From Kiley's Run.
Old Kiley stood and saw them go
From Kiley's Run.
The well-bred cattle marching slow;
His stockmen, mates for many a day,
They wrung his hand and went away.
Too old to make another start,
Old Kiley died -- of broken heart,
On Kiley's Run.
The owner lives in England now Of Kiley's Run.
He knows a racehorse from a cow;
But that is all he knows of stock:
His chiefest care is how to dock
Expenses, and he sends from town
To cut the shearers' wages down
On Kiley's Run.
There are no neighbours anywhere
Near Kiley's Run.
The hospitable homes are bare,
The gardens gone; for no pretence
Must hinder cutting down expense:
The homestead that we held so dear
Contains a half-paid overseer
On Kiley's Run.
All life and sport and hope have died
On Kiley's Run.
No longer there the stockmen ride;
For sour-faced boundary riders creep
On mongrel horses after sheep,
Through ranges where, at racing speed,
Old Kiley used to `wheel the lead'
On Kiley's Run.
There runs a lane for thirty miles
Through Kiley's Run.
On either side the herbage smiles,
But wretched trav'lling sheep must pass
Without a drink or blade of grass
Thro' that long lane of death and shame:
The weary drovers curse the name
Of Kiley's Run.
The name itself is changed of late
Of Kiley's Run.
They call it `Chandos Park Estate'.
The lonely swagman through the dark
Must hump his swag past Chandos Park.
The name is English, don't you see,
The old name sweeter sounds to me
Of `Kiley's Run'.
I cannot guess what fate will bring
To Kiley's Run --
For chances come and changes ring --
I scarcely think 'twill always be
Locked up to suit an absentee;
And if he lets it out in farms
His tenants soon will carry arms
On Kiley's Run.
The Bulletin, 20 December 1890.
A. B. ("Banjo") Paterson (1864-1941)
Brief Biography - Andrew Barton Paterson was born at "Narrambla" Station near Orange in New South Wales in 1864. He grew up near Yass in NSW and attended school in the small town of Binalong, and later in Sydney.
He started out as a lawyer's clerk before being admitted as a solicitor. After the publication of The Man From Snowy River and Other Verses in 1895, he became something of a literary celebrity in Australia. He travelled widely throughout the country and also was war correspondent in the Boer War in South Africa, and covered the Boxer Rebellion in China.
He was later to become editor of the Sydney Evening News and then the Australian Town and Country Journal. At the outbreak of WWI he travelled to Europe to cover the conflict but was unable to get to the front in France. Frustrated by this he returned to Australia and joined the Remount Service which supplied horses for the Australian cavalry in the Middle East.
After the War he returned to Sydney, journalism and writing poetry and prose. Paterson is best remembered as the the author of "Waltzing Matilda - Australia's unofficial national anthem."
Bibliography
Poetry Collections
The Man From Snowy River and Other Verses 1895
Rio Grande's Last Race and Other Verses 1902
Saltbush Bill J.P. and Other Verses 1917
Collected Verse 1923
Singer of the Bush (complete works 1885-1900) 1983
Song of the Pen (complete works 1901-41) 1983
Banjo Paterson A Children's Treasury 1984, illustrated by Dee Huxley
The Geebung Polo Club 1984, illustrated by Ninon Phillips
Banjo Paterson's People 1987, paintings by Dorothy Gauvin
Banjo Paterson's Australians 1989, paintings by Dorothy Gauvin
Snowy River Riders 1991, paintings by Robert Lovett
Novels
An Outback Marriage 1906
The Shearer's Colt 1936
Short Story Collections
Three Elephant Power and Other Stories 1917
Childrens
The Animals Noah Forgot 1933
Non-Fiction
Happy Dispatches 1934
From the Front - Dispatches from the Boer War 2000, edited by R.W.F. Drooglever
Edited
Old Bush Songs 1905
ON KILEY'S RUN by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson
The roving breezes come and go
On Kiley's Run,
The sleepy river murmurs low,
And far away one dimly sees
Beyond the stretch of forest trees --
Beyond the foothills dusk and dun --
The ranges sleeping in the sun
On Kiley's Run.
'Tis many years since first I came
To Kiley's Run,
More years than I would care to name
Since I, a stripling, used to ride
For miles and miles at Kiley's side,
The while in stirring tones he told
The stories of the days of old
On Kiley's Run.
I see the old bush
homestead now
On Kiley's Run,
Just nestled down beneath the brow
Of one small ridge above the sweep
Of river-flat, where willows weep
And jasmine flowers and roses bloom,
The air was laden with perfume
On Kiley's Run.
We lived the good old station life
On Kiley's Run,
With little thought of care or strife.
Old Kiley seldom used to roam,
He liked to make the Run his home,
The swagman never turned away
With empty hand at close of day
From Kiley's Run.
We kept a racehorse now and then
On Kiley's Run,
neighb'ring stations brought their men
To meetings where the sport was free,
And dainty ladies came to see
Their champions ride; with laugh and song
The old house rang the whole night long
On Kiley's Run.
The station hands were friends I wot
On Kiley's Run,
A reckless, merry-hearted lot --
All splendid riders, and they knew
The `boss' was kindness through and through.
Old Kiley always stood their friend,
And so they served him to the end
On Kiley's Run.
But droughts and losses came apace
To Kiley's Run,
Till ruin stared him in the face;
He toiled and toiled while lived the light,
He dreamed of overdrafts at night:
At length, because he could not pay,
His bankers took the stock away
From Kiley's Run.
Old Kiley stood and saw them go
From Kiley's Run.
The well-bred cattle marching slow;
His stockmen, mates for many a day,
They wrung his hand and went away.
Too old to make another start,
Old Kiley died -- of broken heart,
On Kiley's Run.
The owner lives in England now Of Kiley's Run.
He knows a racehorse from a cow;
But that is all he knows of stock:
His chiefest care is how to dock
Expenses, and he sends from town
To cut the shearers' wages down
On Kiley's Run.
There are no neighbours anywhere
Near Kiley's Run.
The hospitable homes are bare,
The gardens gone; for no pretence
Must hinder cutting down expense:
The homestead that we held so dear
Contains a half-paid overseer
On Kiley's Run.
All life and sport and hope have died
On Kiley's Run.
No longer there the stockmen ride;
For sour-faced boundary riders creep
On mongrel horses after sheep,
Through ranges where, at racing speed,
Old Kiley used to `wheel the lead'
On Kiley's Run.
There runs a lane for thirty miles
Through Kiley's Run.
On either side the herbage smiles,
But wretched trav'lling sheep must pass
Without a drink or blade of grass
Thro' that long lane of death and shame:
The weary drovers curse the name
Of Kiley's Run.
The name itself is changed of late
Of Kiley's Run.
They call it `Chandos Park Estate'.
The lonely swagman through the dark
Must hump his swag past Chandos Park.
The name is English, don't you see,
The old name sweeter sounds to me
Of `Kiley's Run'.
I cannot guess what fate will bring
To Kiley's Run --
For chances come and changes ring --
I scarcely think 'twill always be
Locked up to suit an absentee;
And if he lets it out in farms
His tenants soon will carry arms
On Kiley's Run.
The Bulletin, 20 December 1890.
.........................
Under the shadow of Kiley's hill by Banjo Paterson
In the family it is said that this poem was written with Patrick Kiley in mind
Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill
This is the place where they all were bred;
Some of the rafters are standing still;
Now they are scattered and lost and dead, Every one from the old nest fled, Out of the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
Better it is that they ne'er came back -- Changes and chances are quickly rung; Now the old homestead is gone to rack, Green is the grass on the well-worn track Down by the gate where the roses clung. Gone is the garden they kept with care; Left to decay at its own sweet will, Fruit trees and flower-beds eaten bare, Cattle and sheep where the roses were, Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill. Where are the children that strove and grew In the old homestead in days gone by? One is away on the far Barcoo Watching his cattle the long year through,
Watching them starve in the droughts and die. One, in the town where all cares are rife,
Weary with troubles that cramp and kill, Fain would be done with the restless strife, Fain would go back to the old bush life, Back to the shadow of Kiley's Hill. 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. What of the parents? That unkempt mound Shows where they slumber united still;
Rough is their grave, but they sleep as sound Out on the range as in holy ground, Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill.
A B Banjo Paterson