Henry Lawson: Всі вірші поета

Всі вірші Оригінали Переклади

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The Fire At Ross's Farm

The squatter saw his pastures wide

Decrease, as one by one

The farmers moving to the west

Selected on his run;

Selectors took the water up

And all the black soil round;

The best grass-land the squatter had

Was spoilt by Ross's Ground.

Henry Lawson

Mary Called Him 'Mister'

They'd parted but a year before—she never thought he’d come,

She stammer’d, blushed, held out her hand, and called him ‘Mister Gum.’

How could he know that all the while she longed to murmur ‘John.’

He called her ‘Miss le Brook,’ and asked how she was getting on.

They’d parted but a year before; they’d loved each other well,

But he’d been to the city, and he came back such a swell.

They longed to meet in fond embrace, they hungered for a kiss—

But Mary called him ‘Mister,’ and the idiot called her ‘Miss.’

Henry Lawson

Poverty

I HATE this grinding poverty—

To toil, and pinch, and borrow,

And be for ever haunted by

The spectre of to-morrow.

It breaks the strong heart of a man,

It crushes out his spirit—

Do what he will, do what he can,

However high his merit!

Henry Lawson

The Teams

A cloud of dust on the long white road,

And the teams go creeping on

Inch by inch with the weary load;

And by the power of the green-hide goad

The distant goal is won.

With eyes half-shut to the blinding dust,

And necks to the yokes bent low,

Henry Lawson

The Stringy-Bark Tree

There's the whitebox and pine on the ridges afar,

Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;

There is many another, but dearest to me,

And the king of them all was the stringy-bark tree.

Then of stringy-bark slabs were the walls of the hut,

And from stringy-bark saplings the rafters were cut;

And the roof that long sheltered my brothers and me

Was of broad sheets of bark from the stringy-bark tree.

Henry Lawson

The Uncultured Rhymer To His Cultured Critics

Fight through ignorance, want, and care —

Through the griefs that crush the spirit;

Push your way to a fortune fair,

And the smiles of the world you’ll merit.

Long, as a boy, for the chance to learn —

For the chance that Fate denies you;

Win degrees where the Life-lights burn,

And scores will teach and advise you.

Henry Lawson

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.

Henry Lawson

The Days when we went Swimming

The breezes waved the silver grass,

Waist-high along the siding,

And to the creek we ne'er could pass

Three boys on bare-back riding;

Beneath the sheoaks in the bend

The waterhole was brimming -

Do you remember yet, old friend,

The times we "went in swimming"?

Henry Lawson

'Here Died'

There's many a schoolboy's bat and ball that are gathering dust at home,

For he hears a voice in the future call, and he trains for the war to come;

A serious light in his eyes is seen as he comes from the schoolhouse gate;

He keeps his kit and his rifle clean, and he sees that his back is straight.

But straight or crooked, or round, or lame – you may let these words take root;

As the time draws near for the sterner game, all boys should learn to shoot,

From the beardless youth to the grim grey-beard, let Australians ne'er forget,

A lame limb never interfered with a brave man's shooting yet.

Henry Lawson

The Man Who Raised Charlestown

They were hanging men in Buckland who would not cheer King George –

The parson from his pulpit and the blacksmith from his forge;

They were hanging men and brothers, and the stoutest heart was down,

When a quiet man from Buckland rode at dusk to raise Charlestown.

Not a young man in his glory filled with patriotic fire,

Not an orator or soldier, or a known man in his shire;

He was just the Unexpected – one of Danger's Volunteers,

At a time for which he'd waited, all unheard of, many years.

Henry Lawson

To My Friends

These are songs of the Friends I neglected—

And the Foes, too, in part;

These are songs that were mostly rejected—

And songs from my heart.

Yours truly,

HENRY LAWSON. Sydney, 19/9/’10.

Henry Lawson

'Fall In, My Men, Fall In'

The short hour's halt is ended,

The red gone from the west,

The broken wheel is mended,

And the dead men laid to rest.

Three days have we retreated

The brave old Curse-and-Grin –

Outnumbered and defeated –

Fall in, my men, fall in.

Henry Lawson