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    For Australia and Other Poems
    For Australia and Other Poems
    For Australia and Other Poems
    Ebook152 pages1 hour

    For Australia and Other Poems

    By Henry Lawson

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    "For Australia and Other Poems" by Henry Lawson. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGood Press
    Release dateNov 9, 2021
    ISBN4066338083258
    For Australia and Other Poems
    Author

    Henry Lawson

    Henry Lawson was born in Grenfell, NSW, in 1867. At 14 he became totally deaf, an affliction which many have suggested rendered his world all the more vivid and subsequently enlivened his later writing. After a stint of coach painting, he edited a periodical, The Republican, and began writing verse and short stories. His first work of short fiction appeared in the Bulletin in 1888. He travelled and wrote short fiction and poetry throughout his life and published numerous collections of both even as his marriage collapsed and he descended into poverty and mental illness. He died in 1922, leaving his wife and two children.

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      Book preview

      For Australia and Other Poems - Henry Lawson

      Henry Lawson

      For Australia and Other Poems

      Published by Good Press, 2022

      goodpress@okpublishing.info

      EAN 4066338083258

      Table of Contents

      For Australia

      The Day Before I Die

      The Spirits of Our Fathers

      For All the Land to See

      Our Mistress and Our Queen

      The Gathering of the Brown-Eyed

      Who’ll Wear the Beaten Colours?

      Macleay Street and Red Rock Lane

      The Wantaritencant

      The Motor Car

      Freedom on the Wallaby

      Give Yourself a Show

      39

      That Great Waiting Silence

      Above Crow’s Nest

      To Be Amused

      Australia’s Peril The Warning

      The Federal City

      Cypher Seven 07

      Every Man Should Have a Rifle

      What Have We All Forgotten?

      Since the Cities are the Cities

      To Victor Daly

      The Bards Who Lived at Manly

      The Empty Glass

      The Soul of a Poet

      Divorced

      And What Have You to Say

      Till All the Bad Things Came Untrue

      In Possum Land

      The Spirits for Good

      To Jack

      In the Height of Fashion

      The Prime of Life

      My Father-in-Law and I

      Johnson’s Wonder

      Bound for the Lord-Knows-Where

      The Rush to London

      A Word From the Bards

      The Stranded Ship (The Vincennes)

      The Cab Lamps or, From the Lanes of ’Loo

      The Bard of Furthest Out

      To Show What a Man Can Do

      The Lily of St Leonards

      Before We Were Married

      My Wife’s Second Husband

      The Peace Maker

      Keeping His First Wife Now

      Victor

      I’m an Older Man Than You

      When Your Sins Come Home to Roost

      The Muscovy Duck

      For He was a Jolly Good Fellow

      The Separated Women

      The Bush Beyond the Range

      Hannah Thomburn

      A Dan Yell

      Bush Hay

      When Hopes Ran High

      The Little Native Rose

      Take It Fightin’

      The Sorrows of a Simple Bard

      THE END

      "

      For Australia

      Table of Contents

      Now, with the wars of the world begun, they’ll listen to you and me,

      Now, while the frightened nations run to the arms of democracy,

      Now, when our blathering fools are scared, and the years have proved us right—

      All unprovided and unprepared, the Outpost of the White!

      Get the people—no matter how, that is the way they rave,

      Could a million paupers aid us now, or a tinpot squadron save?

      The loyal drivel, the blatant boast are as shames that used to be—

      Our fight shall be a fight for the coast, with the future for the sea!

      We must turn our face to the only track that will take us through the worst—

      Cable to charter that we lack, guns and cartridges first,

      New machines that will make machines till our factories are complete—

      Block the shoddy and Brummagem, pay them with wool and wheat.

      Build to-morrow the foundry shed (’tis a task we dare not shirk)

      Lay the runs and the engine-bed, and get the gear to work,

      Have no fear when we raise the steam in the hurried factory—

      We are not lacking in the brains that teem with originality.

      Have no fear, for the way is clear—we’ll shackle the hands of greed

      Every lad is an engineer in his country’s hour of need—

      Many are brilliant, swift to learn, quick at invention too,

      Born inventors whose young hearts burn to show what the South can do!

      To show what the South can do, done well, and more than the North can do.

      They’ll make us the cartridge and make the shell, and the gun to carry true,

      Give us the gear and the South is strong—the docks shall yield us more;

      The national arm like the national song comes with the first great war.

      Books of science from every land, volumes on gunnery,

      Practical teachers we have at hand, masters of chemistry,

      Clear young heads that will sift and think in spite of authorities,

      And brains that shall leap from invention’s brink at the clash of factories.

      Still be noble in peace or war, raise the national spirit high;

      And this be our watchword for evermore:—For Australia—till we die

      The Day Before I Die

      Table of Contents

      There’ssuch a lot of work to do, for such a troubled head!

      I’m scribbling this against a book, with foolscap round, in bed.

      It strikes me that I’ll scribble much in this way by and by,

      And write my last lines so perchance the day before I die.

      There’s lots of things to come and go, and I, in careless rhyme,

      And drink and love (it wastes the most) have wasted lots of time.

      There’s so much good work to be done it makes me sure that I

      Will be the sorriest for my death, the day before I die.

      But, lift me dear, for I am tired, and let me taste the wine—

      And lay your cheek a little while on this lined cheek of mine.

      I want to say I love you so—your patient love is why

      I’ll have such little time, you know, the day before I die.

      The Spirits of Our Fathers

      Table of Contents

      The spiritsof our fathers rise not from every wave,

      They left the sea behind them long ago;

      It was many years of slogging, where strong men must be brave,

      For the sake of unborn children, and, maybe, a soul to save,

      And the end a tidy homestead, and four panels round a grave,

      And—the bones of poor old Someone down below.

      Some left happy homes in old lands when they heard the New Land call

      (Some were gentlemen and some were social wrecks)

      Some left squalor and starvation—they were soldiers one and all,

      And their weapons were the cross-cut and the wedges and the maul.

      (How we used to run as children when we heard the big trees fall!

      While they paused to wipe their faces and their necks.)

      They were buried by our uncles where the ground was hard to dig

      (It was little need for churchmen that they had),

      And they sobbed like grown-up children, for their hearts were soft and big.

      And the myrtle and the ivy, and the vine-tree and the fig—

      And the heather—and the shamrock, where th’ mother kept the pig,

      Waited vainly for the Grand Australian Dad.

      The spirits of our fathers have belts and bowyangs on

      (Oh, Father! do you live again and know?)

      Strapped riding pants and leggings parched and perished in the sun,

      And love-belts worked by sweethearts ere the digging days were done,

      And the cabbage-tree that

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