Ten Paces Off

An open country.
LAURENCE RABY and FORREST, BRIAN AYLMER and PRESCOT.

Forrest:
Ive won the two tosses from Prescot;
Now hear me, and hearken and heed,
And pull that vile flower from your waistcoat,
And throw down that beast of a weed;
Im going to give you the signal
I gave Harry Hunt at Boulogne,
The morning he met Major Bignell,
And shot him as dead as a stone;
For he must look round on his right hand
To watch the white flutter, that stops
His aim, for it takes off his sight, and
I cough while the handkerchief drops.
And you keep both eyes on his figure,
Old fellow, and dont take them off.
Youve got the sawhandled hair trigger,
You sight him and shoot when I cough.

Laurence (aside):
Though God will never forgive me,
Though men make light of my name,
Though my sin and my shame outlive me,
I shall not outlast my shame.
The coward, does he mean to miss me?
His right hand shakes like a leaf;
Shall I live for my friends to hiss me,
Of fools and of knaves the chief?
Shall I live for my foes to twit me?
He has masterd his nerve again,
He is firm, he will surely hit me,
Will he reach the heart or the brain?
One long look eastward and northward,
One prayer, Our Father which art,
And the cough chimes in with the fourth word,
And I shoot skyward, the heart.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Adam Lindsay Gordon was an Australian poet, jockey, and politician. Born in the Azores to Scottish parents, he moved to Australia in 1853. Known for his bush ballads and lyrical poetry, Gordon's works often reflect his passions for horse racing and the Australian landscape. His notable works include "The Sick Stockrider" and "Bush Ballads and Galloping Rhymes." Unfortunately, he struggled with depression and financial troubles, leading to his untimely death at the age of 36.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

The Sick Stockrider

Adam Lindsay Gordon, Simple Poetry

In The Garden

Adam Lindsay Gordon, Simple Poetry

The Roll Of The Kettledrum; or, The Lay Of The Last Charger

Adam Lindsay Gordon, Simple Poetry

The Last Leap

Adam Lindsay Gordon, Simple Poetry

English

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Fragmentary Scenes From The Road To Avernus - An Unpublished Dramatic Lyric

Scene I
Discontent

LAURENCE RABY.

Laurence:
I said to young Allan MIlveray,
Beside the swift swirls of the North,
When, in lilac shot through with a silver ray,
We hauld the strong salmon fish forth,
Said only, He gave us some trouble
To land him, and what does he weigh?
Our friend has caught one that weighs double,
The game for the candle wont pay
Us to-day,
We may tie up our rods and away.

I said to old Norman MGregor,
Three leagues to the west of Glen Dhu,
I had drawn, with a touch of the trigger,
The best bead that ever I drew,
Said merely, For birds in the stubble
I once had an eye, I could swear
Hes down, but hes not worth the trouble
Of seeking. You once shot a bear
In his l...

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Wolf And Hound

The hills like giants at a hunting lay
Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay.
- Browning.



Youll take my tale with a little salt,
But it needs none, nevertheless,
I was foild completely, fairly at fault,
Disheartend, too, I confess.
At the splitters tent I had seen the track
Of horse-hoofs fresh on the sward,
And though Darby Lynch and Donovan Jack
(Who could swear through a ten-inch board)
Solemnly swore he had not been there,
I was just as sure that they lied,
For to Darby all that is foul was fair,
And Jack for his life was tried.

We had run him for seven miles and more
As hard as our nags could split;
At the start they were all too weary and sore,
And his was quite fresh and fit.
Young Marsdens pony had ...

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Discontent

LAURENCE RABY.

Laurence:
I said to young Allan MIlveray,
Beside the swift swirls of the North,
When, in lilac shot through with a silver ray,
We hauld the strong salmon fish forth,
Said only, He gave us some trouble
To land him, and what does he weigh?
Our friend has caught one that weighs double,
The game for the candle wont pay
Us to-day,
We may tie up our rods and away.

I said to old Norman MGregor,
Three leagues to the west of Glen Dhu,
I had drawn, with a touch of the trigger,
The best bead that ever I drew,
Said merely, For birds in the stubble
I once had an eye, I could swear
Hes down, but hes not worth the trouble
Of seeking. You once shot a bear
In his lair,
Tis only a buck that lies there.
<...

Adam Lindsay Gordon

By Flood And Field - A Legend Of The Cottiswold

They have saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
They have bridled a hundred black. Old Ballad.
He turned in his saddle, now follow who dare.
I ride for my country, quoth * *.
- Lawrence.


I remember the lowering wintry morn,
And the mist on the Cotswold hills,
Where I once heard the blast of the huntsmans horn,
Not far from the seven rills.
Jack Esdale was there, and Hugh St. Clair,
Bob Chapman and Andrew Kerr,
And big George Griffiths on Devil-May-Care,
And, black Tom Oliver.
And one who rode on a dark-brown steed,
Clean jointed, sinewy, spare,
With the lean game head of the Blacklock breed,
And the resolute eye that loves the lead,
And the quarters massive and square,
A tower of strength, with a promise of speed
(There wa...

Adam Lindsay Gordon

De Te

A burning glass of burnished brass,
The calm sea caught the noontide rays,
And sunny slopes of golden grass
And wastes of weed-flower seem to blaze.
Beyond the shining silver-greys,
Beyond the shades of denser bloom,
The sky-line girt with glowing haze
The farthest, faintest forest gloom,
And the everlasting hills that loom.

We heard the hound beneath the mound,
We scared the swamp hawk hovering nigh,
We had not sought for that we found,
He lay as dead men only lie,
With wan cheek whitening in the sky,
Through the wild heath flowers, white and red,
The dumb brute that had seen him die,
Close crouching, howld beside the head,
Brute burial service oer the dead.

The brow was rife with seams of strife,
A lawless death made doubly plain...

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Lex Talionis - A Moral Discourse

And if theres blood upon his hand,
Tis but the blood of deer.
- W. Scott.


To beasts of the field, and fowls of the air,
And fish of the sea alike,
Mans hand is ever slow to spare,
And ever ready to strike;
With a license to kill, and to work our will,
In season by land or by water,
To our hearts content we may take our fill
Of the joys we derive from slaughter.

And few, I reckon, our rights gainsay
In this world of rapine and wrong,
Where the weak and the timid seem lawful prey
For the resolute and the strong;
Fins, furs, and feathers, they are and were
For our use and pleasure created,
We can shoot, and hunt, and angle, and snare,
Unquestioned, if not unsated.

I have neither the will nor the right to blame,<...

Adam Lindsay Gordon