The Nomadic Spirit – Analyzing ‘A Bushman’s Song’ by Banjo Paterson

In ‘A Bushman’s Song,’ Banjo Paterson vividly captures the restless, wandering spirit of the Australian bushman. Through an energetic ballad form and rich Aussie vernacular, Paterson brings to life the itinerant lifestyle of Outback workers in pursuit of freedom and opportunity.

The poem immediately conveys the sense of perpetual motion as the bushman travels along the Castlereagh River. Descriptions of his proficiency with horses and manual labor quickly establish his credentials as a seasoned station worker.

Yet despite his skills, there is “no demand for a station-hand” in this area – signaling it’s time to move on. The chorus rings out: “So it’s shift, boys, shift!” as the bushman saddles up to ride out in search of work.

Vignettes along his journey reveal a distaste for oppressive authority and desire for independence. Whether facing greedy landlords or unscrupulous working conditions, the bushman’s response is the same – “shift boys, shift!”

He values fairness and hard graft over empty status. The championship horse race episode illustrates not just his grit and prowess, but also his irreverent spirit.

Through lyrical descriptions of the passing landscape and camaraderie with his horse, Paterson celebrates the simple, unencumbered lifestyle of the bushman. Riding off “to the stations further out,” far from pretension and constraints, he embodies the intrepid, enterprising attitude carved by the Australian bush.

A Bushman’s Song

I’m travellin’ down the Castlereagh, and I’m a station hand,
I’m handy with the ropin’ pole, I’m handy with the brand,
And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day,
But there’s no demand for a station-hand along the Castlereagh.

So it’s shift, boys, shift, for there isn’t the slightest doubt
That we’ve got to make a shift to the stations further out,
With the pack-horse runnin’ after, for he follows like a dog,
We must strike across the country at the old jig-jog.

This old black horse I’m riding — if you’ll notice what’s his brand,
He wears the crooked R, you see — none better in the land.
He takes a lot of beatin’, and the other day we tried,
For a bit of a joke, with a racing bloke, for twenty pounds a side.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn’t the slightest doubt
That I had to make him shift, for the money was nearly out;
But he cantered home a winner, with the other one at the flog —
He’s a red-hot sort to pick up with his old jig-jog.

I asked a cove for shearin’ once along the Marthaguy:
We shear non-union here,’ says he.I call it scab,’ says I.
I looked along the shearin’ floor before I turned to go —
There were eight or ten dashed Chinamen a-shearin’ in a row.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn’t the slightest doubt
It was time to make a shift with the leprosy about.
So I saddled up my horses, and I whistled to my dog,
And I left his scabby station at the old jig-jog.

I went to Illawarra, where my brother’s got a farm,
He has to ask his landlord’s leave before he lifts his arm;
The landlord owns the country side — man, woman, dog, and cat,
They haven’t the cheek to dare to speak without they touch their hat.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn’t the slightest doubt
Their little landlord god and I would soon have fallen out;
Was I to touch my hat to him? — was I his bloomin’ dog?
So I makes for up the country at the old jig-jog.

But it’s time that I was movin’, I’ve a mighty way to go
Till I drink artesian water from a thousand feet below;
Till I meet the overlanders with the cattle comin’ down,
And I’ll work a while till I make a pile, then have a spree in town.

So, it’s shift, boys, shift, for there isn’t the slightest doubt
We’ve got to make a shift to the stations further out;
The pack-horse runs behind us, for he follows like a dog,
And we cross a lot of country at the old jig-jog.