Excerpt
TWO ABORIGINAL SONGS I Korindabria, korindabria, bogarona, bogarona. Iwariniangiwaringdo, iwariniang, iwaringdo, iwariniang, iwaringdo,iwariniang, iwaringdo, iwaringime. Iwaringiang, iwaringdoo,ilanenienow, coombagongniengowe, ilanenienow, coombagongniengowe,ilanenienowe combagoniengowe, ilanenienimme. II 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 anchorIn 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 hesitationSigned 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 roamWhat 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!...