I play this as an instrumental but the lyrics, of convict origin, are beautiful in themself. Martin Simpson told me that the melody is old & Irish.

The words contain more than a cursory reflection on Australia's convict past. They refer to real people, places & events. Patrick Logan was the Commandant at the Moreton Bay Penal Colony from 1826 until his death in 1830, murdered while on a surveying trip. Officially he met his fate at the hands of Aborigines

though some infer that he was slain by some of his convict charges who invented the Aboriginal involvement as a cover.

A tale of woe & suffering such as this can be quite depressing. However I have always felt positively moved by the restitution of peace suggested in the last two lines - a better idea than inflaming hate.

It is unfortunate that in our modern world we can find parallels to this tale. Though the situations have now changed as  I rewrite this in 2009, Moreton Bay brings to mind the desperate situation encountered by  Australian David Hicks & his fellow sufferers at Guantanamo Bay. Apparently Patrick Logan is never far away.

One Sunday morning as I was walking                                                               

By Brisbane Waters I chanced to stray

I heard a prisoner his fate bewailing

As on the sunny river bank he lay

I am a native of Erin's island

And banished now from my native shore

They tore me from my aged parents

And from the maiden whom I do adore

I’ve been a prisoner at Port Macquarie

At Norfolk Island & Emu Plains

At Castle Hill, and at Toongabbie

At all these settlements I’ve worked in chains

But of all the places of condemnation

And penal stations of New South Wales

To Moreton Bay I have found no equal

Excessive tyranny each day prevails

For three long years I was beastly treated

And heavy irons on my legs I wore

My back with flogging was lacerated

And often painted with my crimson gore

And many a man through downright starvation

Lies mouldering now underneath the clay

And Captain Logan he had us shackled

To the triangles at Moreton Bay

Like the Egyptians and ancient Hebrews

We were oppressed under Logan's yoke

Till a native black lying there in ambush

Did deal our tyrant his mortal stroke

My fellow prisoners be exhilarated

That all such monsters such a death may find

And when from bondage we are liberated

Our former sufferings will fade from mind

Tune: Csus2

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