It seems like all nature was hinting,
'Tis time to be at it again.

'The cockatoo parrots are talking
Of races to far away lands;
The native companions are walking
A go-as-you-please on the sands;
The little foals gallop for pastime;
The wallabies race down the gap;
Let's try it once more for the last time,
Bring out the old jacket and cap.

'And now for a horse; we might try one
Of those that are bred on the place,
But I think it better to buy one,
A horse that has proved he can race.
Let us send down to Sydney to Skinner,
A thorough good judge who can ride,
And ask him to buy us a spinner
To clean out the whole countryside.'

They wrote him a letter as follows:
'We want you to buy us a horse;
He must have the speed to catch swallows,
And stamina with it of course.
The price ain't a thing that'll grieve us,
It's getting a bad 'un annoys
The undersigned blokes, and believe us,
We're yours to a cinder, 'the boys'.'

He answered: 'I've bought you a hummer,
A horse that has never been raced;
I saw him run over the Drummer,
He held him outclassed and outpaced.
His breeding's not known, but they state he
Is born of a thoroughbred strain,
I paid them a hundred and eighty,
And started the horse in the train.'

They met him -- alas, that these verses
Aren't up to the subject's demands --
Can't set forth their eloquent curses,
_FOR PARTNER WAS BACK ON THEIR HANDS_.
They went in to meet him in gladness,
They opened his box with delight --
A silent procession of sadness
They crept to the station at night.

And life has grown dull on the station,
The boys are all silent and slow;
Their work is a daily vexation,
And sport is unknown to them now.
Whenever they think how they stranded,
They squeal just like guinea-pigs squeal;
They bit their own hook, and were landed
With fifty pounds loss on the deal.

An Idyll of Dandaloo

On Western plains, where shade is not,
'Neath summer skies of cloudless blue,
Where all is dry and all is hot,
There stands the town of Dandaloo --
A township where life's total sum
Is sleep, diversified with rum.

It's grass-grown streets with dust are deep,
'Twere vain endeavour to express
The dreamless silence of its sleep,
Its wide, expansive drunkenness.
The