Come all Australia's sons to me -
A hero has been slain
And cowardly butchered in his sleep
Upon the Lachlan Plain.
Ah, do not stay your seemly grief,
But let the teardrop fall!
For many hearts shall always mourn
The fate of bold Ben Hall.
No brand of Cain e'er stamped his brow,
No widow's curse did fall:
When tales are read, the squatters' dread
Will still be bold Ben Hall.
The records of this hero's life
All Europe does applaud:
They form the conversation
Of many an earl and lord.
For ever since the good old days
Of Turpin and Duval
Knights of the road were outlaws all,
And so was bold Ben Hall.
He never robbed a needy man -
His records sure will show
How staunch and loyal to his mates,
How manly to the foe.
At last he left his trusty mates -
The cause I ne'er could hear -
The bloodhounds of the law were told,
And after him did steer.
They found his place of ambush then,
And cautiously they crept,
And savagely they murdered him
While still their victim slept.
Yes, savagely they murdered him,
Those coward Blue-coat imps
Who only found his hiding-place
From sneaking peelers' pimps.
No more he'll mount his gallant steed
To range the mountains high:
Poor widows' friend in poverty,
Our bold Ben Hall, goodbye!
