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Anthony Considine

 OUT in the wastes of the West countrie, 
Out where the white stars shine, 
Grim and silent as such men be, 
Rideth a man with a history— 
Anthony Considine.
For the ways of men they are manifold As their differing views in life; Some sell themselves for the lust of gold, And some for the lust of strife: But this man counted the world well lost For the love of his neighbour’s wife.
They fled together, as those must flee Whom all men hold in blame; Each to the other must all things be Who cross the gulf of iniquity And live in the land of shame.
But a light-o’-love, if she sins with one, She sinneth with ninety-nine: The rule holds good since the world begun— Since ever the streams began to run And the stars began to shine.
The rule holds still, and he found it true— Anthony Considine.
A nobler spirit had turned in scorn From a love that was stained with mire; A weaker being might mourn and mourn For the loss of his Heart’s Desire: But the anger of Anthony Considine Blazed up like a gaming fire And she, with her new love, presently Came past with her eyes ashine; And Gad so willed it, and God knows why, She turned and laughed as they passed hire by— Anthony Considine.
Her laughter stung as a whip might sting; And mad with his wounded pride He turned and sprang with a panther’s spring, And struck at his rival’s side: And only the woman, shuddering, Could tell how the dead man died! She dared not speak—and the mystery Is buried in auld lang syne, But out on the wastes of the West countrie, Grim and silent as such men be, Rideth a man with a history’ Anthony Considine.

Poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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