Their very dogs will shirk,
And drop their tails in fright
When asked to go and work
A mob that's out of sight.
My little collie pup
Works silently and wide;
You'll see her climbing up
Along the mountain side.
As silent as a fox
You'll see her come and go,
A shadow through the rocks
Where ash and messmate grow.
Then, lost to sight and sound
Behind some rugged steep,
She works her way around
And gathers up the sheep;
And, working wide and shy,
She holds them rounded up.
The cash ain't coined to buy
That little collie pup.
And so I draw a screw
For self and dog and keep
To boundary-ride for you,
O Riverina Sheep!
And when the autumn rain
Has made the herbage grow,
You travel off again,
And glad -- no doubt -- to go.
But some are left behind
Around the mountain's spread,
For those we cannot find
We put them down as dead.
But when we say adieu
And close the boarding job,
I always find a few
Fresh ear-marks in my mob.
So what with those I sell,
And what with those I keep,
You pay me pretty well,
O Riverina Sheep!
It's up to me to shout
Before we say good-bye --
"Here's to a howlin' drought
All west of Gundagai!"
Pioneers
They came of bold and roving stock that would not fixed abide;
They were the sons of field and flock since e'er they learnt to ride,
We may not hope to see such men in these degenerate years
As those explorers of the bush -- the brave old pioneers.
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