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I must onward and cross the River:
So long, mate! for I cannot stay;
I must onward and cross the River—
Over the River there lies my way!’
One man short when the roll they’re calling!
One man short at old Bobby Rand’s!
Heads are drooping and tears are falling
Up on Monaro’s mountain lands . . .
Where is he making for? Down the River,
Down the river of slimy bed!
Where is he making for? Down the River,
Down the River that bears him—dead.
