Henry LawsonNineties and Federation (1890–1910)Bush poetryballads and songshumourbush lifeShort (under 3 hours)
Verses, Popular and Humorous, Henry Lawson: THE PROFESSIONAL WANDERER
THE PROFESSIONAL WANDERER
When you’ve knocked about the country—been away from home for years;
When the past, by distance softened, nearly fills your eyes with tears—
You are haunted oft, wherever or however you may roam,
By a fancy that you ought to go and see the folks at home.
You forget the family quarrels—little things that used to jar—
And you think of how they’ll worry—how they wonder where you are;
You will think you served them badly, and your own part you’ll condemn,
And it strikes you that you’ll surely be a novelty to them,
For your voice has somewhat altered, and your face has somewhat changed—
And your views of men and matters over wider fields have ranged.
Then it’s time to save your money, or to watch it (how it goes!);
Then it’s time to get a ‘Gladstone’ and a decent suit of clothes;
Then it’s time to practise daily with a hair-brush and a comb,
Till you drop in unexpected on the folks and friends at home.
When the past, by distance softened, nearly fills your eyes with tears—
You are haunted oft, wherever or however you may roam,
By a fancy that you ought to go and see the folks at home.
You forget the family quarrels—little things that used to jar—
And you think of how they’ll worry—how they wonder where you are;
You will think you served them badly, and your own part you’ll condemn,
And it strikes you that you’ll surely be a novelty to them,
For your voice has somewhat altered, and your face has somewhat changed—
And your views of men and matters over wider fields have ranged.
Then it’s time to save your money, or to watch it (how it goes!);
Then it’s time to get a ‘Gladstone’ and a decent suit of clothes;
Then it’s time to practise daily with a hair-brush and a comb,
Till you drop in unexpected on the folks and friends at home.
When you’ve been at home for some time, and the novelty’s worn off,
And old chums no longer court you, and your friends begin to scoff;
When ‘the girls’ no longer kiss you, crying ‘Jack! how you have changed!’
When you’re stale to your relations, and their manner seems estranged;
When the old domestic quarrels, round the table thrice a day,
Make it too much like the old times—make you wish you’d stayed away,
When, in short, you’ve spent your money in the fulness of your heart,
And your clothes are getting shabby.... Then it’s high time to depart.
And old chums no longer court you, and your friends begin to scoff;
When ‘the girls’ no longer kiss you, crying ‘Jack! how you have changed!’
When you’re stale to your relations, and their manner seems estranged;
When the old domestic quarrels, round the table thrice a day,
Make it too much like the old times—make you wish you’d stayed away,
When, in short, you’ve spent your money in the fulness of your heart,
And your clothes are getting shabby.... Then it’s high time to depart.
A LITTLE MISTAKE
’Tis a yarn I heard of a new-chum ‘trap’
On the edge of the Never-Never,
Where the dead men lie and the black men lie,
And the bushman lies for ever.
On the edge of the Never-Never,
Where the dead men lie and the black men lie,
And the bushman lies for ever.
’Twas the custom still with the local blacks
To cadge in the ‘altogether’—
They had less respect for our feelings then,
And more respect for the weather.
To cadge in the ‘altogether’—
They had less respect for our feelings then,
And more respect for the weather.
The trooper said to the sergeant’s wife:
‘Sure, I wouldn’t seem unpleasant;
But there’s women and childer about the place,
And—barrin’ a lady’s present—
‘Sure, I wouldn’t seem unpleasant;
But there’s women and childer about the place,
And—barrin’ a lady’s present—
‘There’s ould King Billy wid niver a stitch
For a month—may the drought cremate him!—
Bar the wan we put in his dhirty head,
Where his old Queen Mary bate him.
For a month—may the drought cremate him!—
Bar the wan we put in his dhirty head,
Where his old Queen Mary bate him.
‘God give her strength!—and a peaceful reign—
Though she flies in a bit av a passion
If ony wan hints that her shtoyle an’ luks
Are a trifle behind the fashion.
Though she flies in a bit av a passion
If ony wan hints that her shtoyle an’ luks
Are a trifle behind the fashion.
‘There’s two of the boys by the stable now—
Be the powers! I’ll teach the varmints
To come wid nought but a shirt apiece,
And wid dirt for their nayther garmints.
Be the powers! I’ll teach the varmints
To come wid nought but a shirt apiece,
And wid dirt for their nayther garmints.
‘Howld on, ye blaggards! How dare ye dare
To come widin sight av the houses?—
I’ll give ye a warnin’ all for wance
An’ a couple of ould pair of trousers.’
To come widin sight av the houses?—
I’ll give ye a warnin’ all for wance
An’ a couple of ould pair of trousers.’
They took the pants as a child a toy,
The constable’s words beguiling
A smile of something beside their joy;
And they took their departure smiling.
The constable’s words beguiling
A smile of something beside their joy;
And they took their departure smiling.
And that very day, when the sun was low,
Two blackfellows came to the station;
They were filled with the courage of Queensland rum
And bursting with indignation.
Two blackfellows came to the station;
They were filled with the courage of Queensland rum
And bursting with indignation.
The constable noticed, with growing ire,
They’d apparently dressed in a hurry;
And their language that day, I am sorry to say,
Mostly consisted of ‘plurry.’
They’d apparently dressed in a hurry;
And their language that day, I am sorry to say,
Mostly consisted of ‘plurry.’
The constable heard, and he wished himself back
In the land of the bogs and the ditches—
‘You plurry big tight-britches p’liceman, what for
You gibbit our missuses britches?’
In the land of the bogs and the ditches—
‘You plurry big tight-britches p’liceman, what for
You gibbit our missuses britches?’
And this was a case, I am bound to confess,
Where civilisation went under;
Had one of the gins been less modest in dress
He’d never have made such a blunder.
Where civilisation went under;
Had one of the gins been less modest in dress
He’d never have made such a blunder.
And here let the moral be duly made known,
And hereafter signed and attested:
We should place more reliance on that which is shown
And less upon what is suggested.
And hereafter signed and attested:
We should place more reliance on that which is shown
And less upon what is suggested.
A STUDY IN THE “NOOD”
‘A SAILOR named Grice was seen by the guard of a goods train lying close to the railway-line near Warner Town (S.A.) in a nude condition. He was unconscious, and had lain there three days, during one of which the glass registed 110 in the shade. Grice expressed surprise that the train did not pick him up.’—Daily paper. In consequence, the muse:—
He was bare—we don’t want to be rude—
(His condition was owing to drink)
They say his condition was nood,
Which amounts to the same thing, we think
(We mean his condition, we think,
’Twas a naked condition, or nood,
Which amounts to the same thing, we think)
(His condition was owing to drink)
They say his condition was nood,
Which amounts to the same thing, we think
(We mean his condition, we think,
’Twas a naked condition, or nood,
Which amounts to the same thing, we think)
Uncovered he lay on the grass
That shrivelled and shrunk; and he stayed
Three hot summer days, while the glass
Was one hundred and ten in the shade.
(We nearly remarked that he laid,
But that was bad grammar we thought—
It does sound bucolic, we think
It smacks of the barnyard—
Of farming—of pullets in short.)
That shrivelled and shrunk; and he stayed
Three hot summer days, while the glass
Was one hundred and ten in the shade.
(We nearly remarked that he laid,
But that was bad grammar we thought—
It does sound bucolic, we think
It smacks of the barnyard—
Of farming—of pullets in short.)
Unheeded he lay on the dirt;
Beside him a part of his dress,
A tattered and threadbare old shirt
Was raised as a flag of distress.
(On a stick, like a flag of distress—
Reversed—we mean that the tail-end was up
Half-mast—on a stick—an evident flag of distress.)
Beside him a part of his dress,
A tattered and threadbare old shirt
Was raised as a flag of distress.
(On a stick, like a flag of distress—
Reversed—we mean that the tail-end was up
Half-mast—on a stick—an evident flag of distress.)
Perhaps in his dreams he persood
Bright visions of heav’nly bliss;
And artists who study the nood
Never saw such a study as this.
The ‘luggage’ went by and the guard
Looked out and his eyes fell on Grice—
We fancy he looked at him hard,
We think that he looked at him twice.
Bright visions of heav’nly bliss;
And artists who study the nood
Never saw such a study as this.
The ‘luggage’ went by and the guard
Looked out and his eyes fell on Grice—
We fancy he looked at him hard,
We think that he looked at him twice.
They say (if the telegram’s true)
When he woke up he wondered (good Lord!)
‘Why the engine-man didn’t heave to—
Why the train didn’t take him aboard.’
And now, by the case of poor Grice,
We think that a daily express
Should travel with sunshades and ice,
And a lookout for flags of distress.
When he woke up he wondered (good Lord!)
‘Why the engine-man didn’t heave to—
Why the train didn’t take him aboard.’
And now, by the case of poor Grice,
We think that a daily express
Should travel with sunshades and ice,
And a lookout for flags of distress.
A WORD TO TEXAS JACK
Texas Jack, you are amusin’. By Lord Harry, how I laughed
When I seen yer rig and saddle with its bulwarks fore-and-aft;
Holy smoke! In such a saddle how the dickens can yer fall?
Why, I seen a gal ride bareback with no bridle on at all!
Gosh! so-help-me! strike-me-balmy! if a bit o’ scenery
Like ter you in all yer rig-out on the earth I ever see!
How I’d like ter see a bushman use yer fixins, Texas Jack;
On the remnant of a saddle he can ride to hell and back.
Why, I heerd a mother screamin’ when her kid went tossin’ by
Ridin’ bareback on a bucker that had murder in his eye.
When I seen yer rig and saddle with its bulwarks fore-and-aft;
Holy smoke! In such a saddle how the dickens can yer fall?
Why, I seen a gal ride bareback with no bridle on at all!
Gosh! so-help-me! strike-me-balmy! if a bit o’ scenery
Like ter you in all yer rig-out on the earth I ever see!
How I’d like ter see a bushman use yer fixins, Texas Jack;
On the remnant of a saddle he can ride to hell and back.
Why, I heerd a mother screamin’ when her kid went tossin’ by
Ridin’ bareback on a bucker that had murder in his eye.
What? yer come to learn the natives how to squat on horse’s back!
Learn the cornstalk ridin’! Blazes!—w’at yer giv’n’ us, Texas Jack?
Learn the cornstalk—what the flamin’, jumptup! where’s my country gone?
Why, the cornstalk’s mother often rides the day afore he’s born!
Learn the cornstalk ridin’! Blazes!—w’at yer giv’n’ us, Texas Jack?
Learn the cornstalk—what the flamin’, jumptup! where’s my country gone?
Why, the cornstalk’s mother often rides the day afore he’s born!
You may talk about your ridin’ in the city, bold an’ free,
Talk o’ ridin’ in the city, Texas Jack, but where’d yer be
When the stock horse snorts an’ bunches all ’is quarters in a hump,
And the saddle climbs a sapling, an’ the horse-shoes split a stump?
Talk o’ ridin’ in the city, Texas Jack, but where’d yer be
When the stock horse snorts an’ bunches all ’is quarters in a hump,
And the saddle climbs a sapling, an’ the horse-shoes split a stump?
No, before yer teach the native you must ride without a fall
Up a gum or down a gully nigh as steep as any wall—
You must swim the roarin’ Darlin’ when the flood is at its height
Bearin’ down the stock an’ stations to the great Australian Bight.
Up a gum or down a gully nigh as steep as any wall—
You must swim the roarin’ Darlin’ when the flood is at its height
Bearin’ down the stock an’ stations to the great Australian Bight.
You can’t count the bulls an’ bisons that yer copped with your lassoo—
But a stout old myall bullock p’raps ’ud learn yer somethin’ new;
Yer’d better make yer will an’ leave yer papers neat an’ trim
Before yer make arrangements for the lassooin’ of him;
Ere you’n’ yer horse is catsmeat, fittin’ fate for sich galoots,
And yer saddle’s turned to laces like we put in blucher boots.
But a stout old myall bullock p’raps ’ud learn yer somethin’ new;
Yer’d better make yer will an’ leave yer papers neat an’ trim
Before yer make arrangements for the lassooin’ of him;
Ere you’n’ yer horse is catsmeat, fittin’ fate for sich galoots,
And yer saddle’s turned to laces like we put in blucher boots.
And yer say yer death on Injins! We’ve got somethin’ in yer line—
If yer think your fitin’s ekal to the likes of Tommy Ryan.
Take yer karkass up to Queensland where the allygators chew
And the carpet-snake is handy with his tail for a lassoo;
Ride across the hazy regins where the lonely emus wail
An’ ye’ll find the black’ll track yer while yer lookin’ for his trail;
He can track yer without stoppin’ for a thousand miles or more—
Come again, and he will show yer where yer spit the year before.
But yer’d best be mighty careful, you’ll be sorry you kem here
When yer skewered to the fakements of yer saddle with a spear—
When the boomerang is sailin’ in the air, may heaven help yer!
It will cut yer head off goin’, an’ come back again and skelp yer.
If yer think your fitin’s ekal to the likes of Tommy Ryan.
Take yer karkass up to Queensland where the allygators chew
And the carpet-snake is handy with his tail for a lassoo;
Ride across the hazy regins where the lonely emus wail
An’ ye’ll find the black’ll track yer while yer lookin’ for his trail;
He can track yer without stoppin’ for a thousand miles or more—
Come again, and he will show yer where yer spit the year before.
But yer’d best be mighty careful, you’ll be sorry you kem here
When yer skewered to the fakements of yer saddle with a spear—
When the boomerang is sailin’ in the air, may heaven help yer!
It will cut yer head off goin’, an’ come back again and skelp yer.
P.S.—As poet and as Yankee I will greet you, Texas Jack,
For it isn’t no ill-feelin’ that is gettin’ up my back,
But I won’t see this land crowded by each Yank and British cuss
Who takes it in his head to come a-civilisin’ us.
For it isn’t no ill-feelin’ that is gettin’ up my back,
But I won’t see this land crowded by each Yank and British cuss
Who takes it in his head to come a-civilisin’ us.
So if you feel like shootin’ now, don’t let yer pistol cough—
(Our Government is very free at chokin’ fellers off);
And though on your great continent there’s misery in the towns
An’ not a few untitled lords and kings without their crowns,
I will admit your countrymen is busted big, an’ free,
An’ great on ekal rites of men and great on liberty;
I will admit yer fathers punched the gory tyrant’s head,
But then we’ve got our heroes, too, the diggers that is dead—
The plucky men of Ballarat who toed the scratch right well
And broke the nose of Tyranny and made his peepers swell
For yankin’ Lib.’s gold tresses in the roarin’ days gone by,
An’ doublin’ up his dirty fist to black her bonny eye;
So when it comes to ridin’ mokes, or hoistin’ out the Chow,
Or stickin’ up for labour’s rights, we don’t want showin’ how.
(Our Government is very free at chokin’ fellers off);
And though on your great continent there’s misery in the towns
An’ not a few untitled lords and kings without their crowns,
I will admit your countrymen is busted big, an’ free,
An’ great on ekal rites of men and great on liberty;
I will admit yer fathers punched the gory tyrant’s head,
But then we’ve got our heroes, too, the diggers that is dead—
The plucky men of Ballarat who toed the scratch right well
And broke the nose of Tyranny and made his peepers swell
For yankin’ Lib.’s gold tresses in the roarin’ days gone by,
An’ doublin’ up his dirty fist to black her bonny eye;
So when it comes to ridin’ mokes, or hoistin’ out the Chow,
Or stickin’ up for labour’s rights, we don’t want showin’ how.
They come to learn us cricket in the days of long ago,
An’ Hanlan come from Canada to learn us how to row,
An’ ‘doctors’ come from ’Frisco just to learn us how to skite,
An’ ‘pugs’ from all the lands on earth to learn us how to fight;
An’ when they go, as like or not, we find we’re taken in,
They’ve left behind no larnin’—but they’ve carried off our tin.
An’ Hanlan come from Canada to learn us how to row,
An’ ‘doctors’ come from ’Frisco just to learn us how to skite,
An’ ‘pugs’ from all the lands on earth to learn us how to fight;
An’ when they go, as like or not, we find we’re taken in,
They’ve left behind no larnin’—but they’ve carried off our tin.
THE GROG-AN’-GRUMBLE STEEPLECHASE
’Twixt the coastline and the border lay the town of Grog-an’-Grumble
In the days before the bushman was a dull ’n’ heartless drudge,
An’ they say the local meeting was a drunken rough-and-tumble,
Which was ended pretty often by an inquest on the judge.
An’ ’tis said the city talent very often caught a tartar
In the Grog-an’-Grumble sportsman, ’n’ retired with broken heads,
For the fortune, life, and safety of the Grog-an’-Grumble starter
Mostly hung upon the finish of the local thoroughbreds.
In the days before the bushman was a dull ’n’ heartless drudge,
An’ they say the local meeting was a drunken rough-and-tumble,
Which was ended pretty often by an inquest on the judge.
An’ ’tis said the city talent very often caught a tartar
In the Grog-an’-Grumble sportsman, ’n’ retired with broken heads,
For the fortune, life, and safety of the Grog-an’-Grumble starter
Mostly hung upon the finish of the local thoroughbreds.
Pat M‘Durmer was the owner of a horse they called the Screamer,
Which he called the ‘quickest shtepper ’twixt the Darling and the sea;’
And I think it’s very doubtful if the stomach-troubled dreamer
Ever saw a more outrageous piece of equine scenery;
For his points were most decided, from his end to his beginning,
He had eyes of different colour, and his legs they wasn’t mates.
Pat M‘Durmer said he always came ‘widin a flip av winnin’,’
An’ his sire had come from England, ’n’ his dam was from the States.
Which he called the ‘quickest shtepper ’twixt the Darling and the sea;’
And I think it’s very doubtful if the stomach-troubled dreamer
Ever saw a more outrageous piece of equine scenery;
For his points were most decided, from his end to his beginning,
He had eyes of different colour, and his legs they wasn’t mates.
Pat M‘Durmer said he always came ‘widin a flip av winnin’,’
An’ his sire had come from England, ’n’ his dam was from the States.
Friends would argue with M‘Durmer, and they said he was in error
To put up his horse the Screamer, for he’d lose in any case,
And they said a city racer by the name of Holy Terror
Was regarded as the winner of the coming steeplechase;
But he said he had the knowledge to come in when it was raining,
And irrelevantly mentioned that he knew the time of day,
So he rose in their opinion. It was noticed that the training
Of the Screamer was conducted in a dark, mysterious way.
To put up his horse the Screamer, for he’d lose in any case,
And they said a city racer by the name of Holy Terror
Was regarded as the winner of the coming steeplechase;
But he said he had the knowledge to come in when it was raining,
And irrelevantly mentioned that he knew the time of day,
So he rose in their opinion. It was noticed that the training
Of the Screamer was conducted in a dark, mysterious way.
Well, the day arrived in glory; ’twas a day of jubilation
With careless-hearted bushmen for a hundred miles around,
An’ the rum ’n’ beer ’n’ whisky came in waggons from the station,
An’ the Holy Terror talent were the first upon the ground.
Judge M‘Ard—with whose opinion it was scarcely safe to wrestle—
Took his dangerous position on the bark-and-sapling stand:
He was what the local Stiggins used to speak of as a ‘wessel
‘Of wrath,’ and he’d a bludgeon that he carried in his hand.
With careless-hearted bushmen for a hundred miles around,
An’ the rum ’n’ beer ’n’ whisky came in waggons from the station,
An’ the Holy Terror talent were the first upon the ground.
Judge M‘Ard—with whose opinion it was scarcely safe to wrestle—
Took his dangerous position on the bark-and-sapling stand:
He was what the local Stiggins used to speak of as a ‘wessel
‘Of wrath,’ and he’d a bludgeon that he carried in his hand.
‘Off ye go!’ the starter shouted, as down fell a stupid jockey—
Off they started in disorder—left the jockey where he lay—
And they fell and rolled and galloped down the crooked course and rocky,
Till the pumping of the Screamer could be heard a mile away.
But he kept his legs and galloped; he was used to rugged courses,
And he lumbered down the gully till the ridge began to quake:
And he ploughed along the siding, raising earth till other horses
An’ their riders, too, were blinded by the dust-cloud in his wake.
Off they started in disorder—left the jockey where he lay—
And they fell and rolled and galloped down the crooked course and rocky,
Till the pumping of the Screamer could be heard a mile away.
But he kept his legs and galloped; he was used to rugged courses,
And he lumbered down the gully till the ridge began to quake:
And he ploughed along the siding, raising earth till other horses
An’ their riders, too, were blinded by the dust-cloud in his wake.
From the ruck he’d struggled slowly—they were much surprised to find him
Close abeam of Holy Terror as along the flat they tore—
Even higher still and denser rose the cloud of dust behind him,
While in more divided splinters flew the shattered rails before.
‘Terror!’ ‘Dead heat!’ they were shouting—‘Terror!’ but the Screamer hung out
Nose to nose with Holy Terror as across the creek they swung,
An’ M‘Durmer shouted loudly, ‘Put yer tongue out! put yer tongue out!’
An’ the Screamer put his tongue out, and he won by half-a-tongue.
Close abeam of Holy Terror as along the flat they tore—
Even higher still and denser rose the cloud of dust behind him,
While in more divided splinters flew the shattered rails before.
‘Terror!’ ‘Dead heat!’ they were shouting—‘Terror!’ but the Screamer hung out
Nose to nose with Holy Terror as across the creek they swung,
An’ M‘Durmer shouted loudly, ‘Put yer tongue out! put yer tongue out!’
An’ the Screamer put his tongue out, and he won by half-a-tongue.