Explore "Pioneers" by Andrew Barton Paterson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.
'Twas they who rode the trackless bush in heat and storm and drought; / 'Twas they who heard the master-word that called them farther out; / 'Twas they who followed up the trail the mountain cattle made, / And pressed across the mighty range where now their bones are laid.
But now the times are dull and slow, the brave old days are dead / When hardy bushmen started out, and forced their way ahead / By tangled scrub and forests grim towards the unknown west, / And spied the far-off promised land from off the range's crest.
Oh! ye that sleep in lonely graves by far-off ridge and plain, / We drink to you in silence now as Christmas comes again, / To you who fought the wilderness through rough unsettled years -- / The founders of our nation's life, the brave old pioneers.