Jack Robertson

How oft in public meetings past,
Where sense was not and talk was loud,
We caught a glimpse of long white hair
Upon the outskirts of the crowd;
And then the tide of talk ebbed back,
While here and there above the din,
A workman cried, Heres old Sir Jack,
And made a path to let him in.

Now Peter sitting at the gate,
While crowds of souls are waiting there,
Perchance upon the outer fringe
May catch a glimpse of silvery hair;
While some rough soul who went from here
To that great meeting in the blue
Will cry aloud, Heres old Sir Jack,
And make a path to let him through.

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

The Song Of A Prison

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Nineteen Nine

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

One Hundred And Three

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Possum - A Lay Of Newchumland

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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Jack Cornstalk

I met with Jack Cornstalk in London to-day,
He saw me and coo-eed from over the way.
Oh! the solemn-faced Londoners stared with surprise
At his hair and his height as compared with his size!
For his trousers were short and his collar was low,
And, theres not room to coo-ee in London, I know.

But I said to him, Jack! as he gripped my hand fast,
Oh, I hear that our Countrys a nation at last!
I hear they have launched the new ship of the State,
And with men at the wheel who are steering it straight.
I hear twas the vote of your Bush mates and you;
And, oh, tell me, Jack Cornstalk, if this can be true?

I hear that the bitter black strike times are oer,
And that Grabbitt and Co. shall crush Labour no more;
That Australians are first where Australia ...

Henry Lawson

Knockin' Around

Weary old wife, with the bucket and cow,
Hows your son Jack? and where is he now?
Haggard old eyes that turn to the west,
Boys will be boys, and hes gone with the rest!
Grief without tears and grief without sound;
Somewhere up-country hes knocking around.
Knocking around with a vagabond crew,
Does for himself what a mother would do;
Maybe in trouble and maybe hard-up,
Maybe in want of a bite or a sup;
Dead of the fever, or lost in the drought,
Lonely old mother! hes knocking about.

Wiry old man at the tail of the plough,
Heard of Jack lately? and where is he now?
Pauses a moment his forehead to wipe,
Drops the rope reins while he feels for his pipe,
Scratches his grey head in sorrow or doubt:
Somewheers or others hes knocking about.

Henry Lawson

To Jack

So, Ive battled it through on my own, Jack,
I have done with all dreaming and doubt.
Though stoney to-night and alone, Jack,
I am watching the Old Year out.
I have finished with brooding and fears,
Jack, And the spirit is rising in me,
For the sake of the old New Years, Jack,
And the bright New Years to be.

I have fallen in worldly disgrace, Jack,
And I know very well that you heard;
They have blackened my name in this place, Jack,
And I answered them never a word.
But why should I bluster or grieve,
Jack? So narrow and paltry they be,
I knew you would never believe, Jack,
The lies that were said against me.

That is done which shall never be undone,
And I blame not, I blame not my land,
But Im hearing the Calling of London,
And I...

Henry Lawson

The New Chum Jackeroo

Let bushmen think as bushmen will,
And say whateer they choose,
I hate to hear the stupid sneer
At New Chum Jackaroos.

He may not ride as you can ride,
Or do what you can do;
But sometimes youd seem small beside
The New Chum Jackaroo.

His share of work he never shirks,
And through the blazing drought,
He lives the old things down, and works
His own salvation out.

When older, wiser chums despond
He battles brave of heart,
Twas he who sailed of old beyond
The margin of the chart.

Twas he who proved the world was round,
In crazy square canoes;
The lands youre living in were found
By New Chum Jackaroos.

He crossed the deserts hot and bare,
From barren, hungry shores,
The plains that you would scarcel...

Henry Lawson

The Old Jimmy Woodser

The old Jimmy Woodser comes into the bar
Unwelcomed, unnoticed, unknown,
Too old and too odd to be drunk with, by far;
So he glides to the end where the lunch baskets are
And they say that he tipples alone.

His frockcoat is green and the nap is no more,
And his hat is not quite at its best;
He wears the peaked collar our grandfathers wore,
The black-ribbon tie that was legal of yore,
And the coat buttoned over his breast.

When first he came in, for a moment I thought
That my vision or wits were astray;
For a picture and page out of Dickens he brought,
Twas an old file dropped in from the Chancery Court
To the wine-vault just over the way.

But I dreamed, as he tasted his bitter to-night
And the lights in the bar-room grew dim,
That the...

Henry Lawson

Since Then

I met Jack Ellis in town to-day,
Jack Ellis, my old mate, Jack,
Ten years ago, from the Castlereagh,
We carried our swags together away
To the Never-Again, Out Back.

But times have altered since those old days,
And the times have changed the men.
Ah, well! there's little to blame or praise,
Jack Ellis and I have tramped long ways
On different tracks since then.

His hat was battered, his coat was green,
The toes of his boots were through,
But the pride was his! It was I felt mean,
I wished that my collar was not so clean,
Nor the clothes I wore so new.

He saw me first, and he knew 'twas I,
The holiday swell he met.
Why have we no faith in each other? Ah, why?,
He made as though he would pass me by,
For he thought that I might fo...

Henry Lawson