Old Tunes

When friends are listening round me, Jack, to hear my dying breath,
And I am lying in a sleep they say will end in death,
Dont notice what the doctor says, and let the nurse complain,
Ill tell you how to rouse me if Ill ever wake again.

Just you bring in your fiddle, Jack, and set your heart in tune,
And strike up Annie Laurie, or The Rising of the Moon;
And if you see no token of a rising in my throat,
Youll need to brace your mouth, old manIm booked by Charons boat.

And if you are not satisfied that I am off the scene,
Strike up The Marseillaise, or else The Wearing of the Green;
And should my fingers tremble not, then I have crossed the line,
But keep your fingers steady, Jack, and strike up Auld Lang Syne.

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 Things We Dare Not Tell

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Ballad Of The Elder Son

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Skeleton Flat

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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The Jolly Dead March

If I ever be worthy or famous,
Which Im sadly beginning to doubt,
When the angel whose place tis to name us
Shall say to my spirit, Pass out!
I wish for no snivlling about me
(My work was the work of the land),
But I hope that my country will shout me
The price of a decent brass band.

Thump! thump! of the drum and Ta-ra-rit,
Thump! thump! and the music, its grand,
If only in dreams, or in spirit,
To ride or march after the band!
And myself and my mourners go straying,
And strolling and drifting along
With a band in the front of us playing
The tune of an old battle song!

I ask for no turn-out to bear me;
I ask not for railings or slabs,
And spare me! my country, oh, spare me!
The hearse and the long string of cabs!
I as...

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

As Good As New

Oh, this is a song of the old lights, that came to my heart like a hymn;
And this is a song for the old lights, the lights that we thought grew dim,
That came to my heart to comfort me, and I pass it along to you;
And here is a hand to the good old friend who turns up as good as new.

And this is a song for the camp-fire out west where the stars shine bright,
Oh, this is a song for the camp-fire where the old mates yarn to-night;
Where the old mates yarn of the old days, and their numbers are all too few,
And this is a song for the good old times that will turn up as good as new.

Oh, this is a song for the old foe, we have both grown wiser now,
And this is a song for the old foe, and were sorry we had that row;
And this is a song for the old love, the love that we thought untru...

Henry Lawson

Here's Luck

Old Time is tramping close to-day, you hear his bluchers fall,
A mighty change is on the way, an God protect us all;
Some dustll fly from beery coats, at least its been declared.
Im glad that wimin has the votes, but just a trifle scared.

Im just a trifle scared, For why? The wimin mean to rule;
It makes me feel like days gone by when I was caned at school.
The days of men is nearly dead, of double moons and stars,
Theyll soon put out our pipes, tis said, an close the public bars.

No more well take a glass of ale when pushed with care an strife,
Anchuckle home with that old tale we used to tell the wife.
Well laugh anjoke an sing no more with jolly beery chums,
An shout Heres luck! while waitin for the luck that never comes.

Did we prohibit sw...

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

The Shakedown On The Floor

Set me back for twenty summers,
For Im tired of cities now,
Set my feet in red-soil furrows
And my hands upon the plough,
With the two Black Brothers trudging
On the home stretch through the loam,
While, along the grassy siding,
Come the cattle grazing home.

And I finish ploughing early,
And I hurry home to tea,
Theres my black suit on the stretcher,
And a clean white shirt for me.
Theres a dance at Rocky Rises,
And, when all the fun is oer,
For a certain favoured party
Theres a shake-down on the floor.

You remember Mary Carey,
Bushmens favourite at the Rise?
With her sweet small freckled features,
Red-gold hair, and kind grey eyes;
Sister, daughter, to her mother,
Mother, sister, to the rest,
And of all my fri...

Henry Lawson