Chris Watson, of the Parliament, <br />By his Caucus Gods he swore <br />That the great Labor Party <br />Should suffer wrong no more. <br />By his Caucus Gods he swore it, <br />And named a trysting day, <br />And bade his Socialists ride forth, <br />East and west and south and north, <br />To summon his array. <br />East and west and south and north <br />The Socialists ride fast, <br />And every town in New South Wales <br />Has heard their trumpet's blast. <br />Shame to the false elector <br />Who lingers in his hole, <br />While Watson and his myrmidons <br />Are riding to the poll. <br /> <br />Then up spake brave Horatius Gould, <br />And a Liberal proud was he, <br />"Now, who will stand on either hand <br />And face the foe with me?" <br />Then out spake bold Herminius Millen, <br />And Walker out spake he, <br />"We will abide on either side <br />And win a seat with thee." <br /> <br />"'Tis well", quoth brave Horatuis, <br />"As thou sayest, so let it be." <br />And straight against the proletaire <br />Forth went the dauntless three.<br /><br />Andrew Barton Paterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dauntless-three/
