The Old Bush Songs — Themes and Context

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In Category - Fantasy Juvenile Worlds

Authors: Paterson, A. B. (Andrew Barton), 1864-1941 [Compiler] Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2003 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Australian poetry; Songs, English -- Australia Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 24,936

Reading time 109 min

Text sections 3

This digital edition of The Old Bush Songs — Themes and Context is described by source-level measurements including 24,936 words, 1 hr 49 min estimated reading time, and 3 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 21.5 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Australian poetry,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #10493

A collection of bush ballads compiled by A. B. Paterson, preserving songs from Australia's shearing sheds, diggings, and overlanding days, with rough-hewn verses that reflect the life and language of early settlers.

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Korindabria, korindabria, bogarona, bogarona. Iwariniang iwaringdo, iwariniang, iwaringdo, iwariniang, iwaringdo, iwariniang, iwaringdo, iwaringime. Iwaringiang, iwaringdoo, ilanenienow, coombagongniengowe, ilanenienow, coombagongniengowe, ilanenienowe combagoniengowe, ilanenienimme.

Buddha-buddharo nianga, boomelana, bulleranga, crobinea, narnmala, yibbilwaadjo nianga, boomelana, a, boomelana, buddha-buddharo, nianga, boomelana, buddharo nianga, boomelana, bulleranga, crobinea, narnmala, yibbilwaadjo, nianga, croilanume, a, croilanga, yibbilwaadjo, nianga, croilanga, yibbilwaadjo, nianga croilanga, coondheranea, tabiabina, boorganmala, yibbilwaadjo, nianga, croilanoome.

Of the above songs Mr. Mowle writes—“I could never find out what the words meant, and I don’t think the blacks themselves knew.”

PADDY MALONE IN AUSTRALIA

Och! my name’s Pat Malone, and I’m from Tipperary. Sure, I don’t know it now I’m so bothered, Ohone! And the gals that I danced with, light-hearted and airy, It’s scarcely they’d notice poor Paddy Malone. ’Tis twelve months or more since our ship she cast anchor In happy Australia, the Emigrant’s home, And from that day to this there’s been nothing but canker, And grafe and vexation for Paddy Malone. Oh, Paddy Malone! Oh, Paddy, Ohone! Bad luck to the agent that coaxed ye to roam.

Wid a man called a squatter I soon got a place, sure, He’d a beard like a goat, and such whiskers, Ohone! And he said—as he peeped through the hair on his faitures— That he liked the appearance of Paddy Malone. Wid him I agreed to go up to his station, Saying abroad in the bush you’ll find yourself at home. I liked his proposal, and ’out hesitation Signed my name wid a X that spelt Paddy Malone. Oh, Paddy Malone, you’re no scholard, Ohone! Sure, I made a cris-crass that spelt Paddy Malone.

A-herding my sheep in the bush, as they call it— It was no bush at all, but a mighty great wood, Wid all the big trees that were small bushes one time, A long time ago, faith I ’spose ’fore the flood. To find out this big bush one day I went further, The trees grew so thick that I couldn’t, Ohone! I tried to go back then, but that I found harder, And bothered and lost was poor Paddy Malone. Oh, Paddy Malone, through the bush he did roam What a Babe in the Wood was poor Paddy Malone.

I was soon overcome, sure, wid grafe and vexation, And camped, you must know, by the side of a log; I was found the next day by a man from the station, For I coo-ey’d and roared like a bull in a bog. The man said to me, “Arrah, Pat! where’s the sheep now?” Says I, “I dunno! barring one here at home,” And the master began and kicked up a big row too, And swore he’d stop the wages of Paddy Malone. Arrah! Paddy Malone, you’re no shepherd, Ohone! We’ll try you with bullocks now, Paddy Malone.

To see me dressed out with my team and my dray too, Wid a whip like a flail and such gaiters, Ohone! But the bullocks, as they eyed me, they seemed for to say too, “You may do your best, Paddy, we’re blest if we go.” “Gee whoa! Redman! come hither, Damper! Hoot, Magpie! Gee, Blackbird! Come hither, Whalebone!”

But the brutes turned round sharp, and away they did scamper, And heels over head turned poor Paddy Malone. Oh, Paddy Malone! you’ve seen some bulls at home, But the bulls of Australia cows Paddy Malone.

I was found the next day where the brutes they did throw me By a man passing by, upon hearing me groan, And wiping the mud from my face that he knew me, Says he, “Your name’s Paddy?” “Yes! Paddy Malone.” I thin says to him, “You’re an angel sent down, sure!” “No, faith, but I’m not; but a friend of your own!” And by his persuasion, for home then I started, And you now see before you poor Paddy Malone. Arrah, Paddy Malone! you are now safe at home. Bad luck to the agent that coaxed ye to roam.

Oh! the shearing is all over, And the wool is coming down, And I mean to get a wife, boys, When I go up to town. Everything that has two legs Represents itself in view, From the little paddy-melon To the bucking kangaroo.

So it’s roll up your blankets, And let’s make a push, I’ll take you up the country, And show you the bush. I’ll be bound you won’t get Such a chance another day, So come and take possession Of my old bullock dray.

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Paterson’s preface frames the collection as a salvage operation: the songs were “composed and sung in the Bushranging, Digging, and Overlanding Days,” and the editor aimed to present them “as nearly as possible as it was sung.” The roughness is deliberate—no smoothing of metre or softening of language. The catalog subjects list “Australian poetry” and “Songs, English — Australia,” but the excerpts reveal a stronger connection to vernacular storytelling than to literary ambition. Many songs are anonymous, and Paterson notes that some “were begun by one man and finished or improved by another.” This collaborative, oral origin is visible in the repeated choruses and formulaic structures.

Voices of the Shearing Sheds and Diggings

The songs in this collection rarely mention home or domestic affections, as Paterson himself observes. Instead, they focus on work: shearing, droving, digging, and mustering. In “The Murrumbidgee Shearers,” the chorus celebrates “the sound of the shears” and the “click of the blades.” The language is practical and direct, with terms like “bald-faced steer,” “greenhide fall,” and “bucking brumbie” anchoring the verses in specific tasks. The diggings appear in songs like “Bold Jack Donahoo,” where the bushranger’s exploits are recounted with a mix of admiration and caution. These are not polished ballads but working songs, meant to be sung around campfires or in shearing sheds.

Death and the Bushman’s Afterlife

Several songs treat death with a blend of sentiment and dark humor. In “The Dying Stockman,” the speaker asks to be buried “where the dingoes and crows can’t molest me, / In the shade where the coolibahs grow.” The stockman’s last request includes a cross carved with “stockwhip, and saddle.” “My Mate Bill” imagines heaven as a cattle station where Bill, a skilled stockman, might “yard ’em all in the Jasper Lake.” The poem questions whether an angelic existence suits a man who “could sit on a bucking brumbie / Like a nob in an easy chair.” These songs do not romanticize death; they reframe it in the familiar terms of bush labor.

The Catalog’s Limits: What the Songs Actually Show

The catalog subjects classify this as “Australian poetry” and “Songs, English — Australia,” but the excerpts resist easy categorization. Many songs are not strictly English in origin—some, like “Paddy Malone in Australia,” use Irish dialect and references. The “Two Aboriginal Songs” listed in the contents are not included in the excerpts, so their content remains unknown. Paterson’s preface acknowledges that the songs were “collected from all parts of Australia,” yet the excerpts show a strong bias toward the southeastern colonies: New South Wales, the Murrumbidgee, the Maranoa. The catalog does not capture the unevenness of the collection or the gaps in representation.

Readers should approach this collection as a historical document rather than a polished anthology. The songs are uneven in quality and authenticity, but their roughness is part of their value. Paterson’s editorial hand is light, preserving dialect, irregular metre, and local references. For those interested in the vernacular culture of 19th-century Australia, these songs offer a direct, unvarnished record—provided one reads with attention to what is included and what is left out.

I finished The Old Bush Songs and found myself thinking about how those rough-hewn verses carry a whole world of quiet endurance, the way a campfire song can hold loneliness and mateship at once. It reminded me of something similar in A Book of German Lyrics — Context and Discussion—how another people’s tunes hold their own kind of ache. Some lines just stay with you.