GOLD-DIGGER’S SONG.
Down in the deeps, of the toilsome steeps, Wherever the quartz rock be, With sturdy arm, and a heart that’s warm, And a song of mirth dig we. We rifle the earth of all that’s her’s — The jolly, the hardy gold-diggers! Our spoil we seek, in the dancing creek, Up to the waist in mire, Down the deep shaft, those hopes are quaff'd That ever rise higher—higher. We rifle the earth of all that’s her's— The jolly, the hardy gold-diggers! A canvas tent, or the firmament, Our curtains of softness be, For drenching stream, or for scorching beam, Little or naught reck we. We rifle the earth of all that’s her’s— The jolly, the hardy gold-diggers ! No weakling hands, ’mid our sturdy bands, No fear of toil, or grime, But we shiver the rock, with a rugged shock, Men in their gallant prime! We rifle the earth of all that’s her's — The jolly, the hardy gold-diggers! What is out spoil, for this turmoil, What do our strong hands hold? King of all pleasure, earth’s new found treasure, Lumps of the good red gold! We rifle the earth of all that’s her’s— The jolly, the hardy gold-diggers! ST. GEORGE. August 31, 1862.
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Bibliographic details
New Zealander, Volume XVIII, Issue 1717, 23 August 1862, Page 9
Word Count
203GOLD-DIGGER’S SONG. New Zealander, Volume XVIII, Issue 1717, 23 August 1862, Page 9
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