Six songs , opus 12

Baby, O baby, fain you are for bed,
Magpie to mopoke busy as the bee;
The little red calf's in the snug cow-shed,
An' the little brown bird's in the tree.

Daddy's gone a-shearin', down the Castlereagh,
So we're all alone now, only you an' me.
All among the wool-O, keep your wide blades full-O!
Daddy thinks o' baby, wherever he may be.

Baby, my baby, rest your drowsy head,
The one man that works here, tired you must be,
The little red calf 's in the snug cow-shed,
An' the little brown bird 's in the tree.

I hear the cry of the magpies joyously gushing 
Over the morning, 
The carolling slogan of magpies, like a rill rushing, 
And sorrow scorning. 

Magpies, fill up my heart with the joy of exultant things 
Fresh notes adorning ! 
Breath of the morning primeval your melody brings
To thrill my morning. 

At peep o' dawn, when the world is still, 
Hear the magpies calling ! 
We leave our hut upon the hill, 
Hear the magpies calling !
 
The soil's unbroken by the plough 
From gully deeps to ranges' brow ; 
Primeval peace enfolds us now, 
Hear the magpies calling ! 

We wander, in the morning's hush, 
Hear the magpies calling ! 
Thro' flowery tracks and golden bush, 
Hear the magpies calling ! 

The yellow box is blossoming, 
Round the blossoms greedy parrots cling, 
And reiving bees are on the wing, 
Hear the magpies catting! 

Yon dip, like a reed, in the Cherry Pool, 
Hear the magpies calling ! 
Your body is bronzed and beautiful, 
Hear the magpies calling ! 

The wind breathes manna-dew and honey, 
And rich we are without mint o' money 
With love unhived, and wild, and sunny, 
Hear the magpies calling ! 

The sheep are yarded, an' I sit
Beside the fire an' poke at it.
Far from talk an' booze o' men
Glad, I'm glad I'm back agen
On the station, wi' me traps
An' fencin' wire, an' tanks an' taps,
Back to salt-bush plains, an' flocks,
An' old bark hut be the apple-box.
I turn the slipjack, make the tea,
All's as still as still can be -
An' the old black billy winks at me.

The sky is blue and sunny, 
Busy the wild bee thrums, 
Now manna-dew and honey 
Spill o'er from old red gums. 

The bush gleams fresh and dewy 
To lure her stragglers back ; 
A greybeard, humping bluey, 
Goes whistling down the track. 

From school brown children flocking' 
Rob many a woolly nest ; 
And the mother croons, a-rocking 
Her baby at the breast. 

To earth grown old and crabby 
With lilt of youth comes Spring, 
With bloom and bud and baby, 
Each tender wistful thing. 

She smoothes out Winter's wrinkles ; 
And from her charmed horn 
With fiery dew she sprinkles 
The Resurrection Morn. 

I've eaten bitter bread 
In sweat wrung from my brow ; 
And earth-bent, hunger-gripped 
Scarred hands on axe and plough. 
Now, when the sun is shining, 
With swag slung on my back, 
I laugh at soured selectors 
When I pass down the track. 

 Whalin' up the Lachlan 
 By the waters grey, 
 Whalin' up the Lachlan 
 All a summer's day, 
 We'll drop a line to tickle 
 The black fish and the cod, 
 Whalin' up the Lachlan 
 Beside a lazy rod.

Some choose to crack the greenhide, 
And some to sow and reap, 
And some to pink with B-bows 
A-shearin' greasy sheep. 
But some there are, sundowners, 
Who take the easy way, 
Nor think of lean to-morrow 
If they fare fat to-day. 

 Whalin' up the Lachlan, 
 Done with axe and plough, 
 Whalin' up the Lachlan, 
 The billy's boilin' now. 
 We'll fill our pipes, an' yarn there, 
 And watch the world roll by, 
 Whalin' up the Lachlan 
 Under a starry sky.