A Book for Kids | Page 2

And if the day
brings work or play we'll meet it with a will.
So Hi for Cuppacumalonga!
Come Along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!
THE SWAGMAN
Oh, he was old and he was spare;
His bushy whiskers and his hair

Were all fussed up and very grey
He said he'd come a long, long way

And had a long, long way to go.
Each boot was broken at the toe,

And he'd a swag upon his back.
His billy-can, as black as black,

Was just the thing for making tea
At picnics, so it seemed to me.
'Twas hard to earn a bite of bread,
He told me. Then he shook his
head,
And all the little corks that hung
Around his hat-brim danced
and swung
And bobbed about his face; and when
I laughed he made
them dance again.
He said they were for keeping flies--
"The pesky
varmints"-- from his eyes.
He called me "Codger". . . "Now you see

The best days of your life," said he.
"But days will come to bend
your back,
And, when they come, keep off the track.
Keep off,
young codger, if you can.
He seemed a funny sort of man.
He told me that he wanted work,
But jobs were scarce this side of
Bourke,
And he supposed he'd have to go
Another fifty mile or so.

"Nigh all my life the track I've walked,"
He said. I liked the way he
talked.
And oh, the places he had seen!
I don't know where he had

not been--
On every road, in every town,
All through the country,
up and down.
"Young codger, shun the track," he said.
And put his
hand upon my head.
I noticed, then, that his old eyes
Were very
blue and very wise.
"Ay, once I was a little lad,"
He said, and
seemed to grow quite sad.
I sometimes think: When I'm a man,
I'll get a good black billy-can

And hang some corks around my hat,
And lead a jolly life like that.
THE ANT EXPLORER
Once a little sugar ant made up his mind to roamTo
fare away far
away, far away from home.
He had eaten all his breakfast, and he had
his ma's consent To see what he should chance to see and here's the
way he went Up and down a fern frond, round and round a stone,

Down a gloomy gully where he loathed to be alone,
Up a mighty
mountain range, seven inches high,
Through the fearful forest grass
that nearly hid the sky,
Out along a bracken bridge, bending in the
moss,
Till he reached a dreadful desert that was feet and feet across.
'Twas a dry, deserted desert, and a trackless land to tread, He wished
that he was home again and tucked-up tight in bed. His little legs were
wobbly, his strength was nearly spent, And so he turned around again
and here's the way he wentBack
away from desert lands feet and feet
across,
Back along the bracken bridge bending in the moss,

Through the fearful forest grass shutting out the sky,
Up a mighty
mountain range seven inches high,
Down a gloomy gully, where he
loathed to be alone,
Up and down a fern frond and round and round a
stone.
A dreary ant, a weary ant, resolved no more to roam,
He
staggered up the garden path and popped back home.
RIDING SONG
Flippity-flop! Flippity-flop!
Here comes the butcher to bring us a
chop

Cantering, cantering down the wide street
On his little bay mare with
the funny white feet;
Cantering, cantering out to the farm,
Stripes
on his apron and basket on arm.
Run to the window and tell him to stop--
Flippity-flop! Flippity-flop!
THE FUNNY HATTER
Harry was a funny man, Harry was a hatter;
He ate his lunch at
breakfast time and said it didn't matter. He made a pot of melon jam
and put it on a shelf,
For he was fond of sugar things and living by
himself.
He built a fire of bracken and a blue-gum log,
And he sat
all night beside it with his big--black--dog.
THE POSTMAN
I'd like to be a postman, and walk along the street,
Calling out, "Good
Morning, Sir," to gentlemen I meet,
Ringing every door-bell all along
my beat,
In my cap and uniform so very nice and neat.
Perhaps I'd
have a parasol in case of rain or heat;
But I wouldn't be a postman if ...
The walking hurt my feet.
Would you?
THE TRAVELLER
As I rode in to Burrumbeet,
I met a man with funny feet;
And,
when I paused to ask him why
His feet were strange, he rolled his eye

And said the rain would spoil the wheat;
So I rode on to
Burrumbeet.
As I rode in to Beetaloo,
I met a man whose nose was blue;
And
when I asked him how he got
A nose like that, he answered, "What

Do bullocks mean when they say 'Moo'?"
So I rode on to Beetaloo.

As I rode in to Ballarat,
I met a man who wore no hat;
And, when I
said he might take cold,
He cried, "The hills are quite as old
As
yonder plains, but not so flat."
So