his eyes.
Our native girls are fair and good, their hearts are pure and
true;
And to their colour stick like bricks, the bright Australian
blue.
Some never loved a roving life, nor blest the ocean’s gales;
But they bless the breeze that blew them to a life in New
South Wales.

Chorus: Then toast with me, &c.



BRINGING HOME THE COWS


Shadows of the twilight falling
On the mountain’s brow,
To each other birds are calling,
In the leafy bough.
Where the daisies are a-springing,
And the cattle bells are ringing,
Comes my Mary, gaily singing,
Bringing home the cows.

By a bush the pathway skirted,
Room for two allows.
All the cornfields are deserted,
Idle are the ploughs.
Striving for wealth’s spoil and booty,