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
When wakened from your dream.

You are a child of field and flood,
But with the gipsy strains
A strong Norwegian sailors blood
Is running through your veins.
Be true, and slander never stings,
Be straight, and all may frown,
Youll have the strength to grapple things
That dragged your father down.

These lines I write with bitter tears
And failing heart and hand,
But you will read in after years,
And you will understand:
Youll hear the slander of the crowd,
Theyll whisper tales of shame,
But days will come when youll be proud
To bear your fathers name.

But oh! beware of bitterness
When you are wronged, my lad,
I wish I had the faith in men
And women that I had!
Tis better far (for I have felt
The sadness in my song)
To trust all men and still be wronged
Than to trust none and wrong.

Be generous and still do good
And banish while you live
The spectre of ingratitude
That haunts the ones who give.
But if the crisis comes at length
That your future might be marred,
Strike hard, my son, with all your strength!
For your own selfs sake, strike hard!

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

Out On The Roofs Of Hell

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Friends Of The Fallen fortunes

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

I'll Tell You What You Wanderers

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Two Samaritans And The Tramp

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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The Afterglow

Oh, for the fire that used to glow
In those my days of old!
I never thought a man could grow
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Ah, for the heart that used to ache
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I often wish my heart could break
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Along my track of storm and stress,
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Twas fate and only fate I know,
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Tis sadder than the afterglow,
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But still there lies a patch of sun
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The Writer's Dream

A writer wrote of the hearts of men, and he followed their tracks afar;
For his was a spirit that forced his pen to write of the things that are.
His heart grew tired of the truths he told, for his life was hard and grim;
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Written Afterwards

So the days of my tramping are over,
And the days of my riding are done,
Im about as content as a rover
Will ever be under the sun;
I write, after reading your letter,
My pipe with old memories rife,
And I feel in a mood that had better
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You must never admit a suggestion
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Was I happier then, after all?
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That make the sad pleasures of life,
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I have changed since the first day I kissed her.
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Pigeon Toes

A dusty clearing in the scrubs
Of barren, western lands,
Where, out of sight, or sign of hope
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A bare, unshaded wall,
A fence that guards no blade of green,
A dust-storm over all.
The books and slates are packed away,
The maps are rolled and tied,
And for an hour I breathe, and lay
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From voices shrill and thin,
That rasp for ever in the shed,
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Old Stone Chimney

The rising moon on the peaks was blending
Her silver light with the sunset glow,
When a swagman came as the day was ending
Along a path that he seemed to know.
But all the fences were gone or going,
The hand of ruin was everywhere;
The creek unchecked in its course was flowing,
For none of the old clay dam was there.

Here Time had been with his swiftest changes,
And husbandry had westward flown;
The cattle tracks in the rugged ranges
Were long ago with the scrub oergrown.
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The road, that as hard as rock had been;
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He thought at times from the mountain courses
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He Had So Much Work To Do

Tell a simple little story of a settler in the West,
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One of Masons sons, Jim Mason, and the straightest of the lot,
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Jim was courting Mary Kelly down at Lowes, at Wilbertree.

Jim was trucking for a sawmill to make money for the home,
He was making, out of Mudgee, for the family to come,
And a load-chain snapped the switch-bar, and Black Anderson found Jim,
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