It is over; the rubber's decided;
The ashes are here.
Old England with fate has collided,
And tumbled down sheer.
For the sake of the hard course she guided
Let's give her a cheer.
In the wet when we sarted to trundle,
And bowled in the mud,
What wonder her team "dropped its bundle"
With a desperate thud?
Yet this luckless last match wasn't won till
Our batsmen showed blood.
There are two most successful Australians
Who played once and again --
Two foes to all strangers and aliens,
Two givers of Pain,
Whose deeds shine with wonderful salience --
The Sun and the Rain.
On the Adelaide ground with the heat at
A hundred and ten,
The climate ('ts well to repeat it)
Fought hard for us then;
Then in Melbourne the rain flung defeat at
Those sorrowing men.
It wasn't her best England lent us --
But we're glad that thye came;
For the fact that we beat em has lent us
More love for the game;
They have taught us enough to content us
With our cricketing fame.
The Ashes are ours; safe on dry land
We'll keep them with care;
Till a team will set sail from this spry land,
With its tail in the air,
To cross to the foggy old island
And fight for them there,
First published in Melbourne Punch, 13 February 1908
Author: nothing is known about the author of this poem.
Author reference site: Austlit
See also.
The ashes are here.
Old England with fate has collided,
And tumbled down sheer.
For the sake of the hard course she guided
Let's give her a cheer.
In the wet when we sarted to trundle,
And bowled in the mud,
What wonder her team "dropped its bundle"
With a desperate thud?
Yet this luckless last match wasn't won till
Our batsmen showed blood.
There are two most successful Australians
Who played once and again --
Two foes to all strangers and aliens,
Two givers of Pain,
Whose deeds shine with wonderful salience --
The Sun and the Rain.
On the Adelaide ground with the heat at
A hundred and ten,
The climate ('ts well to repeat it)
Fought hard for us then;
Then in Melbourne the rain flung defeat at
Those sorrowing men.
It wasn't her best England lent us --
But we're glad that thye came;
For the fact that we beat em has lent us
More love for the game;
They have taught us enough to content us
With our cricketing fame.
The Ashes are ours; safe on dry land
We'll keep them with care;
Till a team will set sail from this spry land,
With its tail in the air,
To cross to the foggy old island
And fight for them there,
First published in Melbourne Punch, 13 February 1908
Author: nothing is known about the author of this poem.
Author reference site: Austlit
See also.
