Henry Lawson Poems

BY RIGHT of birth in southern land I send my warning forth.
I see my country ruined by the wrongs that damned the North.
And shall I stand with fireless eyes and still and silent mouth
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NOT to the sober and staid,
Leading a quiet life,
But to men whose paths are laid
Ever through storm and strife—
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A BLANKET low and leaden,
Though rent across the west,
Whose darkness seems to deaden
The brightest and the best;
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Across the stony ridges,
Across the rolling plain,
Young Harry Dale, the drover,
Comes riding home again.
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THEY CHEERED him from the wharf—it was a glorious day:
His hand went to his scarf—his thoughts were far away.
Oh, he was “Jolly Good”, they sang it long and loud—
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They'd parted but a year before—she never thought he’d come,
She stammer’d, blushed, held out her hand, and called
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The Valley's full of misty cloud,
Its tinted beauty drowning,
The Eucalypti roar aloud,
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I’ve followed all my tracks and ways,from old bark school to Leicester Square,
I’ve been right back to boyhood’s days, and found no light or pleasure there.
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Sing us a song in this cynical age,
Sing us a song, my friend,
While the Flesh and the Devil are all the rage
And Death seems the only end.
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