Only A Sod

It's only a sod, but twill break me ould heart
Nigh hardened wid toilin and carin,
And make the ould wounds in it tingle and smart.
Its only a sod, but its parcel and part
Of strugglin, sufferin Erin.

Its only a sod, but it rakes the ould pain,
The ould love in me heart that still lingers,
That Time has been soothing and docthring in vain;
And now he must soothe it and heal it again
Wid his kindly and gentle ould fingers.

Its only a sod, but I see a big ship
Through the gallopin waters come tearin,
And a lass that looks back on the horizon dip,
Wid eyes full of tears and a thrimblin lip,
On the last that she saw of ould Erin.

Its only a sod, but wid care it will keep
Till me brooms and me brushes are silint
Put it into me arms ere they bury me deep,
And tell them old Biddy the slavey does sleep
Neath a sod from the bogs of ould Irlint.

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

Old North Sydney

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The God-Forgotten Election

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Genoa

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

William Street

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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The Poor And Honest Sodger.

Air - "The Mill, Mill, O."



I.

    When wild war's deadly blast was blawn
        And gentle peace returning,
    Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
        And mony a widow mourning;
    I left the lines and tented field,
        Where lang I'd been a lodger,
    My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
        A poor and honest sodger.

II.

    A leal, light heart was in my breast,
    My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;
    And for fair Scotia, hame again,
        I cheery on did wander.
    I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
        I thought upon my Nancy,
    I thought upon the witching smile
        That caught my youthful fancy.

III.

    At length I reach'd the bonny glen,
        Where ear...

Robert Burns

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 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

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

Trouble On The Selection

You lazy boy, youre here at last,
You must be wooden-legged;
Now, are you sure the gate is fast
And all the sliprails pegged
And all the milkers at the yard,
The calves all in the pen?
We dont want Poleys calf to suck
His mother dry again.

And did you mend the broken rail
And make it firm and neat?
I spose you want that brindle steer
All night among the wheat.
And if he finds the lucerne patch,
Hell stuff his belly full;
Hell eat till he gets blown on that
And busts like Ryans bull.

Old Spot is lost? Youll drive me mad,
You will, upon my soul!
She might be in the boggy swamps
Or down a diggers hole.
You neednt talk, you never looked
Youd find her if youd choose,
Instead of poking possum logs
And hun...

Henry Lawson

The Carriers Story or, Brightens Sister-In-Law

At a point where the old road crosses
The river, and turns to the right,
Id camped with the team; and the hosses
Was all fixed up for the night.
Id been to the town to carry
A load to the Cudgegong;
And Id taken the youngster, Harry,
On a trip as Id promisd him long.

I had seven more, and another
That died at the age of three;
But they all took arter the mother,
And Harry took arter me.
And from the tiniest laddie
Twas always his fondest dream
To go on the roads with his daddy,
And help him to drive the team.

He was bright at the school and clever,
The best of the youngsters there;
And the teacher said there was never
A lad that promised so fair.
And I half forgot lifes battle,
An its long, hard-beaten road,
In...

Henry Lawson