A Little Mistake

Tis a yarn I heard of a new-chum trap
On the edge of the Never-Never,
Where the dead men lie and the black men lie,
And the bushman lies for ever.
Twas the custom still with the local blacks
To cadge in the altogether
They had less respect for our feelings then,
And more respect for the weather.

The trooper said to the sergeants wife:
Sure, I wouldnt seem unpleasant;
But theres women and childer about the place,
And barrin a ladys present

Theres ould King Billy wid niver a stitch
For a month may the drought cremate him!
Bar the wan we put in his dirty head,
Where his old Queen Mary bate him.

God give her strength! and a peaceful reign
Though she flies in a bit av a passion
If ony wan hints that her shtoyle an luks
Are a trifle behind the fashion.

Theres two of the boys by the stable now
Be the powers! Ill teach the varmints
To come wid nought but a shirt apiece,
And wid dirt for their nayther garmints.

Howld on, ye blaggards! How dare ye dare
To come widin sight av the houses?
Ill give ye a warnin all for wance
An a couple of ould pair of trousers.

They took the pants as a child a toy,
The constables words beguiling
A smile of something beside their joy;
And they took their departure smiling.

And that very day, when the sun was low,
Two blackfellows came to the station;
They were filled with the courage of Queensland rum
And bursting with indignation.

The constable noticed, with growing ire,
Theyd apparently dressed in a hurry;
And their language that day, I am sorry to say,
Mostly consisted of plurry.

The constable heard, and he wished himself back
In the land of the bogs and the ditches
You plurry big tight-britches pliceman, what for
You gibbit our missuses britches?

And this was a case, I am bound to confess,
Where civilisation went under;
Had one of the gins been less modest in dress
Hed never have made such a blunder.

And here let the moral be duly made known,
And hereafter signed and attested:
We should place more reliance on that which is shown
And less upon what is suggested.

Henry Lawson

Henry Lawson was an Australian writer and poet. Along with Banjo Paterson, he is among the best-known Australian poets and fiction writers of the colonial period and is often called Australia's 'greatest short story writer'. His works frequently document the lives and struggles of rural and outback Australians. Lawson's own life was marked by hardship and struggles including impaired hearing and financial difficulties, which influenced his realist depictions of Australian life. Some of his notable works include 'While the Billy Boils' and 'In the Days When the World was Wide.'

Henry Lawson

Rejected

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Lachlan Side

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

To Doc Wylie (An Eccentric Bush Doctor)

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

A Song Of Brave Men

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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The Sleeping Beauty

Call that a yarn! said old Tom Pugh,
What rot! Ill lay my hat
Ill sling you a yarn worth more nor two
Such pumped-up yarns as that.
And thereupon old Tommy slew
A yarn of Lambing Flat.

When Lambing Flat broke out, he said,
Mongst others there I knew
A lanky, orkard, Lunnon-bred
Young chap named Johnny Drew,
And nicknamed for his love of bed,
The Sleeping Beauty too.

He sunk a duffer on the Flat,
In compny with three more,
And makin room for this and that
They was a tidy four,
Save when the eldest, Dublin Pat,
Got drunk and raved for gore.

This Jack at yarnin licked a book,
And half the night hed spout.
But when he once turned in, it took
Old Nick to get him out.
And that is how they came to co...

Henry Lawson

The Last Review

Turn the light down, nurse, and leave me, while I hold my last review,
For the Bush is slipping from me, and the town is going too:
Draw the blinds, the streets are lighted, and I hear the tramp of feet,
And Im weary, very weary, of the Faces in the Street.

In the dens of Grind and Heartbreak, in the streets of Never-Rest,
I have lost the scent and colour and the music of the West:
And I would recall old faces with the memories they bring,
Where are Bill and Jim and Mary and the Songs They used to Sing?

They are coming! They are coming! they are passing through the room
With the smell of gum leaves burning, and the scent of Wattle bloom!
And behind them in the timber, after dust and heat and toil,
Others sit beside the camp fire yarning while the billies boil.

...

Henry Lawson

The Old Stockman's Lament

Wrap me up in me stockwhip and blanket,
And bury me deep down below,
Where this piffle and sham wont disgust me,
In the land where the coolibahs grow;
For Ive stayed with some well-to-do people,
And Ive dined with some middle-class folk;
And Ive sorrowed by clock-tower and steeple
Till my heart for the Commonwealths broke.

They have flown in another direction,
Who used to clack-clack by the hour
Of this awful Freetrade and Protection,
Of our dear darling member in power,
And the Higher Religion for Dossers,
And the Need of an Object for Drunks,
Now theyre all of them Red or Blue Crossers,
With their tails sticking out of their trunks.

There are citified Martins in dozens,
The Darling Point Martins the pick,
Who used to be horrif...

Henry Lawson

Possum - A Lay Of Newchumland

So yer travlin for yer pleasure while yer writin for the press?
An yer huntin arter copy? well, Ive heerd o that. I guess
You are gorn ter write a story that is gorn ter be yer best,
Bout the blunders an advenchers ov a new chum in the west?
An you would be very thankful an acknowledge any hint?
Well, I karnt say as I hankers fur ter see my name in print;
But I know a little story an Ill tell it out ov hand
If yerll put it down in writin that the swells kin understand
(Its a story ov a new chum, and a story ov the land.)


He had lately kum from Ingland you cud tell it by s cap
Fur kerlonial experence (an he got it, too, poor chap).
Twas in town he met the squatter, an he asked, as if in fun,
If the boss ud want a flunkey or a coachy on th...

Henry Lawson

The Squatters Daughter

Out in the west, where runs are wide,
And days than ours are hotter,
Not very far from Lachlan Side
There dwelt a wealthy squatter.

Of old opinions he was full,
An Englishman, his sire,
Was hated long where peasants pull
Their forelocks to the squire.

He loved the good old British laws,
And Royaltys regalia,
And oft was heard to growl because
They wouldnt fit Australia.

This squatter had a lovely child,
An angel bright we thought her;
And all the stockmen rude and wild
Adored the squatters daughter.

But on a bright eventful morn,
A swell of northern nation,
A lordling, brought his languid yawn
And eyeglass to the station.

He coveted the squatters wealth;
He saw the squatters daughter:
And, what i...

Henry Lawson

The Man From Waterloo

It was the Man from Waterloo,
When work in town was slack,
Who took the track as bushmen do,
And humped his swag out back.

He tramped for months without a bob,
For most the sheds were full,
Until at last he got a job
At picking up the wool.

He found the work was rather rough,
But swore to see it through,
For he was made of sterling stuff,
The Man from Waterloo.

The first remark was like a stab
That fell his ear upon,
Twas, Theres another something scab
The boss has taken on!

They couldnt let the towny be,
They sneered like anything;
Theyd mock him when hed sound the g
In words that end in ing.

There came a man from Ironbark,
And at the shed he shore;
He scoffed his victuals like a shark,

Henry Lawson