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(learned from David Dufty, Australian folksinger)

(music to go here)

As I was walking one Sunday morning, by Brisbane's waters I chanced to stray;
I heard a convict his fate bewailing as on the sunny riverbank he lay.
    I am a native of Erin's island, though banished now from my native shore;
    They tore me from my aged parents and from the girl that I do adore.

I've been a pris'ner at Port McQuarrie, at Norfolk Island, and Emu Plains,
At Castle Hill, and at cursed Toobgabbie, at all those settlements I've been in chains.
    But of all places of condemnation and penal stations in New South Wales
    To Moreton Bay I have found no equal, excessive tyranny there prevails.

For three long years I've been beastly treated, and heavy irons round my legs I wore,
My back from flogging was lacerated and often marked with my crimson gore.
    And many a man from downright starvation now lies a-mould'ring beneath the clay
    And Captain Logan he had us mangled at the triangles of Moreton Bay.

Like the Egyptians and ancient Hebrews we were oppressed 'neath Logan's yoke,
Till a native black lying there in ambush did deal that tyrant his mortal stroke
    My fellow-prisoners, be exhilarated that from such monsters we freedom find,
    And when from bondage we're extricated our former sufferings will fade from mind.

(from miriam berg's folksong collection)