There’s something in Australian air, Something about Australian sun That reputations one time fair Fall from us, and we are undone. Gay, carefree chatterers at Home, Pert innocents of English eaves; But, when to newer lands we roam, Branded as pilferers and thieves. But tho’ we raid your orchard trees And wake your anger now and then, Surely such little sins as these Ban not all sympathy from men. A bird must win a livelihood In stranger lands when fare is scant And, for amends, we work some good As grateful farmers freely grant. But who gives thought to rifled yields Who deigns to wait and watch awhile Our flocks upon your sunlit fields, When summers indolently smile— A merry, free, exultant band, Our gay coats glinting in the sun When, at some swift, unseen command We rise, we dip, we wheel as one. Men rave and count us enemies, And many strive to work us ill. Yet pray remember, if you please, That we are here not at our will. Some homesick exile brought us hence To be a solace for his grief So, spite of all our grave offence, Can’t you forgive a cheery thief?