Henry Lawson

Do you think, you slaves of a thousand years to poverty, wealth and pride,

May 10, 2020May 10, 2020

When you’ve scattered the last of the farmer bands, and the war for a while is over,
You will hold the land – ay, you’ll hold the land – the land that your rifles cover.
Till your gold has levelled each mountain range where a wounded man can hide,
Till your gold has lighted the moonless night on the plains where the rebels ride;
Till the future is proved, and the past is bribed from the son of the land’s dead lover –
You may hold the land – you may hold the land just as far as your rifles cover.

Henry Lawson

INTRODUCTION

Byammarkhan May 10, 2020May 10, 2020

With all their prehistoric glory;But yet of Corney and his friend,We’ve often longed to tell the story;And should we jar the reader’s ear,Or fail to please his eye observant,We only trust that he’ll forgiveThe bush muse and—your humble servant.THE STORYOld Corney built in Deadman’s GapA hut, where mountain shades grow denser,And there he lived for…

Henry Lawson

The season is over;

Byammarkhan May 10, 2020May 10, 2020

The wages are paid; andThe ‘sprees’ have begun.But never a shantyGets sight of my cheques;For far down the MurrayMy Annie expectsA heart that is faithful,A head that is clear,And sufficient provisionsTo last for a year.

Henry Lawson

’TIS sunrise over Watson,

Byammarkhan May 10, 2020May 10, 2020

On that wild run to LondonThat wrecked and ruined me.The beauty of the morningOn bluff and point and bay,But the Lily of St LeonardsWas fairer than the day.O Lily of St Leonards!And I was mad to roam—She died with loving words for meThree days ere I came home.As fair as lily whiteness,As pure as lily…

Henry Lawson

WHAT have we all forgotten, at the break of the seventh year?

Byammarkhan May 10, 2020May 10, 2020

Public robbing, and lying that death cannot erase—“Private” strife and deception—Cover the bad dead face!Drinking, gambling and madness—Cover and bear it away—But what have we all forgotten at the dawn of the seventh day?These are the years of plenty—years when the “tanks” are full—Stacked by the lonely sidings mountains of wheat and wool.Country crowds to…

Henry Lawson

All is well—in a prison—to-night, and the warders are crying ‘All’s Well!’

Byammarkhan May 10, 2020May 10, 2020

For what does it matter to me if to-morrow I go where I will?I’m as free as I ever shall be—there is naught in my life to fulfil.I am free! I am haunted no more by the question that tortured my brain:‘Are you sane of a people gone mad? or mad in a world that…

Henry Lawson

When the heavy sand is yielding backward from your blistered feet,

Byammarkhan May 10, 2020May 10, 2020

When your head is hot and aching, and the shadeless plain is wide,And it’s fifteen miles to water in the scrub the other side —Don’t give up, don’t be down-hearted, to a man’s strong heart be true!Take the air in through your nostrils, set your lips and see it through —For it can’t go on…

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