The Two Samaritans And The Tramp

A tramp was trampin on the road,
The afternoon was warm an muggy,
And by-and-by he chanced to meet
A parsin ridin in a buggy.
Said he: As follerers ov the Loard,
To do good offices we oughter!
An from a water-bag he poured,
An guv the tramp, a drink er water.

The parsin he went rattlin ome
To ware his fam-i-lee was thrivin,
The tramp went on until he met
A bullick-driver, bullick drivin,
Its bilin ot, the driver sed
As soons the dirty tramp drawed nearer,
And from a little keg he poured,
And giv the tramp a pint of beer, ah!

(P.S., The ah is meant to stand for the tramp a-drinking ov it.)

I aint agin the temperance cause,
Nor yet no advocate ov drinkin,
I only tells the yarn because,
Well, at the time it somehow seemed
Ter kind ov set me thinkin.

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.'

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English

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Sweeney

It was somewhere in September, and the sun was going down,
When I came, in search of `copy', to a Darling-River town;
`Come-and-have-a-drink' we'll call it, 'tis a fitting name, I think,
And 'twas raining, for a wonder, up at Come-and-have-a-drink.

'Neath the public-house verandah I was resting on a bunk
When a stranger rose before me, and he said that he was drunk;
He apologised for speaking; there was no offence, he swore;
But he somehow seemed to fancy that he'd seen my face before.

`No erfence,' he said. I told him that he needn't mention it,
For I might have met him somewhere; I had travelled round a bit,
And I knew a lot of fellows in the bush and in the streets,
But a fellow can't remember all the fellows that he meets.

Very old and thin and dirty were th...

Henry Lawson

The Good Samaritan

He comes from out the ages dim,
The good Samaritan;
I somehow never pictured him
A fat and jolly man;
But one whod little joy to glean,
And little coin to give,
A sad-faced man, and lank and lean,
Who found it hard to live.

His eyes were haggard in the drought,
His hair was iron-grey,
His dusty gown was patched, no doubt,
Where we patch pants to-day.
His faded turban, too, was torn,
But darned and folded neat,
And leagues of desert sand had worn
The sandals on his feet.

Hes been a fool, perhaps, and would
Have prospered had he tried,
But he was one who never could
Pass by the other side.
An honest man whom men called soft,
While laughing in their sleeves,
No doubt in business ways he oft
Had fallen amongst thiev...

Henry Lawson

The Ballad Of The Rousabout

A Rouseabout of rouseabouts, from any land, or none,
I bear a nick-name of the bush, and Im, a womans son;
I came from where I campd last night, and, at the day-dawn glow,
I rub the darkness from my eyes, roll up my swag, and go.

Some take the track for bitter pride, some for no pride at all,
(But, to us all the world is wide when driven to the wall)
Some take the track for gain in life, some take the track for loss,
And some of us take up the swag as Christ took up the Cross.

Some take the track for faith in men, some take the track for doubt,
Some flee a squalid home to work their own salvation out.
Some dared not see a mothers tears nor meet a fathers face,
Born of good Christian families some leap, head-long, from Grace.

Oh we are men who fought and ros...

Henry Lawson

The Stranger's Friend

The strangest things and the maddest things, that a man can do or say,
To the chaps and fellers and coves Out Back are matters of every day;
Maybe on account of the lives they lead, or the life that their hearts discard,
But never a fool can be too mad or a hard case be too hard.

I met him in Bourke in the Union days, with which we have nought to do
(Their creed was narrow, their methods crude, but they stuck to the cause like glue).
He came into town from the Lost Soul Run for his grim half-yearly bend,
And because of a curious hobby he had, he was known as The Strangers Friend.

It is true to the region of adjectives when I say that the spree was grim,
For to go on the spree was a sacred rite, or a heathen rite, to him,
To shout for the travellers passing through to...

Henry Lawson

Cherry-Tree Inn

The rafters are open to sun, moon, and star,
Thistles and nettles grow high in the bar,
The chimneys are crumbling, the log fires are dead,
And green mosses spring from the hearthstone instead.
The voices are silent, the bustle and din,
For the railroad hath ruined the Cherry-tree Inn.

Save the glimmer of stars, or the moon's pallid streams,
And the sounds of the 'possums that camp on the beams,
The bar-room is dark and the stable is still,
For the coach comes no more over Cherry-tree Hill.
No riders push on through the darkness to win
The rest and the comfort of Cherry-tree Inn.

I drift from my theme, for my memory strays
To the carrying, digging, and bushranging days,
Far back to the seasons that I love the best,
When a stream of wild diggers rushed i...

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