The following song, held in the National Library of Australia catalogued as TRC4/18b, has been transcribed by Graham H Dodsworth from a 1959 field recording sung by Thomas Bleakley and collected by John Meredith. 

At the Place Where The Old Horse Died:

	1st Verse
Down by the pollard where the crop is tall and rank,
On the dock leaf and the nettle growing free,
Where the bramble and the brushwood climb unheeded on the bank
And the parrots jerk and chatter on the tree,
There’s a spot I’ll never pass in the brushwood and the grass
Where for very shame I turn my head aside.
And the tears fall thick and hot 
and my curse is on the spot,
‘Tis the place where the old horse died.

	2nd Verse
Was he thrown, I do not think it. Did he slip I cannot tell,
We had run for forty minutes in the vale.
He was reaching at his bridle. He was going strong and well
And he never seemed to falter or to fail.
Though I sometimes fancy too, that his daring spirit knew,
The task was beyond the compass of his stride,
Yet he fated too and brave, and he dropped into his grave.
At the place where the old horse died.

	3rd Verse
I was up in half a minute but he never seemed to stir,
Though I scored him with my ‘rowells’ in the pall,
In his life he’d never felt before, the insult of the spur.
And I knew that it was over once for all.
As motionless he lay in his cheerless bed of clay,
And aloft without a murmur at his side.
It was a hard and bitter stroke for his honest back was broke.
At the place where the old horse died.

	4th Verse
There’s his hoof upon the mantle, there’s his hide upon the chair,
Of better never bent him to the reign.
Now for all my love and care I’ve an empty stall and bale,
I shall never ride my gallant horse again.
Oh we laid him out at speed, how he loved to have the lead,
How he snorted in his mettle and his pride.
Oh the memory gives me pain, I shall never ride again
O’er the place where the old horse died.

	5th Verse
There are men both good and wiser, hold that in the future state,
Dumb creatures we have cherished here below,
Shall give us joyous greeting when we pass the golden gate,
Is it folly if I hope it may be so.
Oh never man had friend more enduring to the end.
More faithful at the turn of life and tide,
Though whatever be my lot, there will be a sacred spot,
At the place where the old horse died.