And corruptions unchecked juggernaut

 too long the track had led,

Here was a country to be had, no matter what was said,

And affluence the status quo, privilege the master,

And acquisition by any means secured it all the faster.

And if it took ‘land clearances’, 

it had all been done before,

Whether it be black or white, no difference anymore.

And poorer men were hunted off, accused of any crime,

For the convict strain preceded them, 

not dissolved with time,

But they had tasted freedom now, 

and weren’t about to bend,

And they stood alike with any man, 

their pure right to defend,

And they laughed at all the horse 

-police, who, in vainglory’s name,

Weren’t aware men had enough, 

and wouldn’t play the game.

“Come on you *%$# b!#$tards!”

 Jack Donahoe had said,

“Don’t matter if there’s twelve of you 

- better here instead!”

Dauntless in his derring-do, his memory an anthem,

For freedom was his natural right, not what

the crown deemed grant him.

Three-to-one, he didn’t care, 

he’d courage more than double,

And he denied the powers-that-be 

to string him for their trouble.

And straight away his mem’ry

 sung in strains’ irreverently,

That the battlers hero didn’t die 

- his spirit was still free.

Ben Hall, he made them look like fools, 

his praises still are sung,

He taunted them on Goobang Creek,

 so he would not be hung,

They could not daunt his cool regard for his adversity,

A true son of Australia, who knew he was born free.

He robbed the rich, gave to the poor,

 and looked for honesty,

But all around him only saw corrupt authority.

Maintained respect and due regard 

for rules that he knew best,

He was his own man to the end 

- and the country knows the rest.

In any other place or time would a national leader be,

For it wasn’t chattels that made the man,

 but where the truth should be.

Ned Kelly told them to “Come on!” 

when he stood at Glenrowan,

He was fighting the same fight the 

Irish long had known,

He told Judge Barry from the dock:

 “For my life care not a straw,

And your “Trial” is meaningless, 

for the country’s heard and saw,

And I’m not afraid of what you say,

 but justice must be heard”.

He died game, and ever more, made it look absurd.

In any other place and time he would a hero be,

With Ben Hall was was forced to take 

a stand by bare faced tyranny.

And ever yet his praises sung to the 

“Wearing of the Green”,

And privately some still hold dear

Ned Kelly’s public dream.

To be continued in Wednesday April 1 Edition