The Patteran

From over the leagues of ice and snow, and the miles of scorching sand;
From back of the days of long ago, and the lonely sea and land,
To the end of the world and our Gipsy race, to the death of our dark-eyed line,
I have set the lines on my childrens palms as my fathers did on mine,
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine,
I have set the lines on my childrens palms as my fathers did on mine.

I have given them health and strength, pure blood, clear skins for a glorious youth;
I have set in their souls contempt for sham, and a deathless regard for truth;
I have bequeathed the spirit to fight, I have given the will to rise,
And the slumbering fires of Hate and Love in their dreaming, dreaming eyes.
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine,
I have set the lines on my childrens palms as my fathers did on mine.

I have given the love for their native land, wherever that land may be
(My children came from the East, my friends, and round by the Northern Sea),
And a son of a son of mine enemy, to the end of his treacherous line,
Shall be stricken to earth, if he dare but speak, by a son of a son of mine.
That the world shall know and my name shall glow in the light of the aftershine,
I have set the lines on my childrens palms as my fathers did on mine.

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

The Shearers

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Army Of The Rear

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Past Carin'

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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To Jim

I gaze upon my son once more,
With eyes and heart that tire,
As solemnly he stands before
The screen drawn round the fire;
With hands behind clasped hand in hand,
Now loosely and now fast,
Just as his fathers used to stand
For generations past.

A fair and slight and childish form,
And big brown thoughtful eyes,
God help him! for a life of storm
And stress before him lies:
A wanderer and a gipsy wild,
Ive learnt the world and know,
For I was such another child,
Ah, many years ago!

But in those dreamy eyes of him
There is no hint of doubt,
I wish that you could tell me, Jim,
The things you dream about.
Dream on, my son, that all is true
And things not what they seem,
Twill be a bitter day for you
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Henry Lawson

The Wander-Light

And they heard the tent-poles clatter,
And the fly in twain was torn,
'Tis the soiled rag of a tatter
Of the tent where I was born.
And what matters it, I wonder?
Brick or stone or calico?,
Or a bush you were born under,
When it happened long ago?

And my beds were camp beds and tramp beds and damp beds,
And my beds were dry beds on drought-stricken ground,
Hard beds and soft beds, and wide beds and narrow,
For my beds were strange beds the wide world round.

And the old hag seemed to ponder
('Twas my mother told me so),
And she said that I would wander
Where but few would think to go.
"He will fly the haunts of tailors,
He will cross the ocean wide,
For his fathers, they were sailors
All on his good father's side."

Behind m...

Henry Lawson

The Spirits Of Our Fathers

The spirits of our fathers rise not from every wave,
They left the sea behind them long ago;
It was many years of slogging, where strong men must be brave,
For the sake of unborn children, and, maybe, a soul to save,
And the end a tidy homestead, and four panels round a grave,
And, the bones of poor old Someone down below.

Some left happy homes in old lands when they heard the New Land call
(Some were gentlemen and some were social wrecks)
Some left squalor and starvation, they were soldiers one and all,
And their weapons were the cross-cut and the wedges and the maul.
(How we used to run as children when we heard the big trees fall!
While they paused to wipe their faces and their necks.)

They were buried by our uncles where the ground was hard to dig
(It was l...

Henry Lawson

From The Bush

The Channel fog has lifted,
And see where we have come!
Round all the world we've drifted,
A hundred years from "home".
The fields our parents longed for,
Ah! we shall ne'er know how,
The wealth that they were wronged for
We'll see as strangers now!

The Dover cliffs have passed on,
In the morning light aglow,
That our fathers looked their last on
A weary time ago.
Now grin, and grin your bravest!
We need be strong to fight;
For you go home to picture
And I go home to write.

Hold up your head in England,
Tread firm on London streets;
We come from where the strong heart
Of all Australia beats!
Hold up your head in England
However poor you roam!
For no men are your betters
Who never sailed from home!

From ...

Henry Lawson

The Vagabond

White handkerchiefs wave from the short black pier
As we glide to the grand old sea,
But the song of my heart is for none to hear
If one of them waves for me.
A roving, roaming life is mine,
Ever by field or flood,
For not far back in my father's line
Was a dash of the Gipsy blood.

Flax and tussock and fern,
Gum and mulga and sand,
Reef and palm, but my fancies turn
Ever away from land;
Strange wild cities in ancient state,
Range and river and tree,
Snow and ice. But my star of fate
Is ever across the sea.

A god-like ride on a thundering sea,
When all but the stars are blind,
A desperate race from Eternity
With a gale-and-a-half behind.
A jovial spree in the cabin at night,
A song on the rolling deck,
A lark ashore wit...

Henry Lawson

The Song Of Australia

The centuries found me to nations unknown,
My people have crowned me and made me a throne;
My royal regalia is love, truth, and light,
A girl called Australia, I've come to my right.

Though no fields of conquest grew red at my birth,
My dead were the noblest and bravest on earth;
Their strong sons are worthy to stand with the best,
My brave Overlanders ride west of the west.

My cities are seeking the clean and the right;
My Statesmen are speaking in London to-night;
The voice of my Bushmen is heard oversea;
My army and navy are coming to me.

By all my grim headlands my flag is unfurled,
My artists and singers are charming the world;
The White world shall know its young outpost with pride;
The fame of my poets goes ever more wide.

By old...

Henry Lawson