The station hands were friends I wot On Kiley's Run, A reckless, merry-hearted lot -- All splendid riders, and they knew The 'boss' was kindness through and through. Old Kiley always stood their friend, And so they served him to the end On Kiley's Run.
But droughts and losses came apace To Kiley's Run, Till ruin stared him in the face; He toiled and toiled while lived the light, He dreamed of overdrafts at night: At length, because he could not pay, His bankers took the stock away From Kiley's Run.
Old Kiley stood and saw them go From Kiley's Run. The well-bred cattle marching slow; His stockmen, mates for many a day, They wrung his hand and went away. Too old to make another start, Old Kiley died -- of broken heart, On Kiley's Run.
The owner lives in England now Of Kiley's Run. He knows a racehorse from a cow; But that is all he knows of stock: His chiefest care is how to dock Expenses, and he sends from town To cut the shearers' wages down On Kiley's Run.
There are no neighbours anywhere Near Kiley's Run. The hospitable homes are bare, The gardens gone; for no pretence Must hinder cutting down expense: The homestead that we held so dear Contains a half-paid overseer On Kiley's Run.
All life and sport and hope have died On Kiley's Run. No longer there the stockmen ride; For sour-faced boundary riders creep On mongrel horses after sheep, Through ranges where, at racing speed, Old Kiley used to 'wheel the lead' On Kiley's Run.
There runs a lane for thirty miles Through Kiley's Run. On either side the herbage smiles, But wretched trav'lling sheep must pass Without a drink or blade of grass Thro' that long lane of death and shame: The weary drovers curse the name Of Kiley's Run.
The name itself is changed of late Of Kiley's Run. They call it 'Chandos Park Estate'. The lonely swagman through the dark Must hump his swag past Chandos Park. The name is English, don't you see, The old name sweeter sounds to me Of 'Kiley's Run'.
I cannot guess what fate will bring To Kiley's Run -- For chances come and changes ring -- I scarcely think 'twill always be Locked up to suit an absentee; And if he lets it out in farms His tenants soon will carry arms On Kiley's Run.
Scene: On Monaro. _DRAMATIS PERSONAE_: Shock-headed blackfellow, Boy (on a pony). Snowflakes are falling So gentle and slow, Youngster says, 'Frying Pan, What makes it snow?' Frying Pan confident Makes the reply -- 'Shake 'em big flour bag Up in the sky!' 'What! when there's miles of it! Sur'ly that's brag. Who is there strong enough Shake such a bag?' 'What parson tellin' you, Ole Mister Dodd, Tell you in Sunday-school? Big feller God! He drive His bullock dray, Then thunder go, He shake His flour bag -- Tumble down snow!'