When The Duke Of Clarence Died

Let us sing in tear-choked numbers how the Duke of Clarence went,
Just to make a royal sorrow rather more pre-eminent.
Ladies sighed and sobbed and drivelled, toadies spoke with bated breath,
And the banners floating half-mast made a mockery of death,
And they said Australia sorrowed for the Princes death, they lied!
She had done with kings and princes ere the Duke of Clarence died.

Whats a death in lofty places? Whats a noble birth?, say I,
To the poor who die in hundreds, as a man should never die?
Can they shed a tear, or sorrow for a royal dunces fate?
No! for royalty has taught them how to sing the songs of hate;
Oer the sounds of grief in Europe, and the lands across the tide
Rose the growl of revolution, when the Duke of Clarence died.

We, it matters not how lonely our oer-burdened lives are spent,
Claim in common with a Clarence, straight from Adam our descent!
Even the man they call a bastard has a lineage to himself,
Though he traces not his fathers through the sordid line of Guelph,
And, perhaps in some foul garret in his misery and pride,
One of Natures Kings was dying when the Duke of Clarence died.

Ah! the workgirls bloodless fingers, in the plundered human hive,
Sew the banners of rebellion, while the kings and princes thrive;
In the cold of northern winter, in the south in dust and heat,
Weary workmen preach sedition at the corners of the street.

They pre-eminent in sorrow! tis pre-eminence in cheek;
We shall hear what care and pain is when the slums begin to speak;
Hundreds starved to pay the shadow of a crown upon his head!
Yellow gold (at last impotent) fought with death beside his bed.
And, perhaps, a Prince of Nature sat despairing by the side
Of a noble mother STARVING when the Duke of Clarence died.

Ignoble living, splendid dead! behold the pomp of royal woe!
Lo, the funeral! battle-hero never yet was buried so.
Who and what was he? What has he done to benefit mankind?
Has he nought to show Saint Peter save a royal race behind?
Who is worthy? Who is noble? God! shall gold alone decide?
Better men like dogs were buried ere the Duke of Clarence died.

Thrones of earth and earthly rulers soon shall all be swept aside,
And twere better for his comfort that the Duke of Clarence died.

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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The Death Of The Duke Of Clarence And Avondale

To the Mourners.


The bridal garland falls upon the bier,
The shadow of a crown, that oer him hung,
Has vanishd in the shadow cast by Death.
So princely, tender, truthful, reverent, pure
Mourn! That a world-wide Empire mourns with you,
That all the Thrones are clouded by your loss,
Were slender solace. Yet be comforted;
For if this earth be ruled by Perfect Love,
Then, after his brief range of blameless days,
The toll of funeral in an Angel ear
Sounds happier than the merriest marriage-bell.
The face of Death is toward the Sun of Life,
His shadow darkens earth: his truer name
Is Onward, no discordance in the roll
And march of that Eternal Harmony
Whereto the worlds beat time, tho faintly heard
Until the great Hereafter. Mourn in hope!

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When I Was King

The second time I lived on earth
Was several hundred years ago;
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I know as much as most men know.
I was a king who held the reins
As never modern monarch can;
I was a king, and I had brains,
And, what was more, I was a man!

Called to the throne in stormy times,
When things were at their very worst,
I had to fight, and not with rhymes,
My own self and my kindred first;
And after that my friends and foes,
And great abuses born of greed;
And when Id fairly conquered those,
I ruled the land a king indeed.

I found a deal of rottenness,
Such as in modern towns we find;
I camped my poor in palaces
And tents upon the plain behind.
I marked the hovels, dens and drums
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A friend came up and said to me, Put out your muscles, John,
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I paused before I grasped the rope, and glanced around the place,
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My mates were strong and plucky chaps, but very soon I knew
That our opponents had the weight and strength to pull them through;
The boys were losing surely and defeat was very near,
When, high above the mighty roar, I heard the old man cheer!

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