The clover burr was two feet high, and the billabongs were full, The brolgas danced a minuet, and the world seemed made of wool! The nights were never wearisome and the days were never slow When first we came to "Irish Lords" on the road to Ivanhoe!
The rime was on the barley-grass as we passed the homestead rails, A Darling jackass piped us in, with his trills and turns and scales, And youth and health and carelessness sat on the saddle-bow, --And Mary lived at "Irish Lords", on the road to Ivanhoe!
On every hand was loveliness, and the Fates were fair and kind; We drank the very wine of life, and we never looked behind; And Mary! Mary everywhere, was flitting to and fro, When first we came to "Irish Lords", on the road to Ivanhoe.
The window of her dainty bower where the golden banksia grew, Stared like a dead man's glazing eye, and the roof had fallen through, No violets in her garden-bed, and her voice! Hushed, long ago! When last we camped at "Irish Lords", on the road to Ivanhoe.