Written by
Henry Lawson |
Our Andy's gone to battle now
'Gainst Drought, the red marauder;
Our Andy's gone with cattle now
Across the Queensland border.
He's left us in dejection now;
Our hearts with him are roving.
It's dull on this selection now,
Since Andy went a-droving.
Who now shall wear the cheerful face
In times when things are slackest?
And who shall whistle round the place
When Fortune frowns her blackest?
Oh, who shall cheek the squatter now
When he comes round us snarling?
His tongue is growing hotter now
Since Andy cross'd the Darling.
The gates are out of order now,
In storms the 'riders' rattle;
For far across the border now
Our Andy's gone with cattle.
Poor Aunty's looking thin and white;
And Uncle's cross with worry;
And poor old Blucher howls all night
Since Andy left Macquarie.
Oh, may the showers in torrents fall,
And all the tanks run over;
And may the grass grow green and tall
In pathways of the drover;
And may good angels send the rain
On desert stretches sandy;
And when the summer comes again
God grant 'twill bring us Andy.
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Written by
John Milton |
God in the *great *assembly stands *Bagnadath-el
Of Kings and lordly States,
Among the gods* on both his hands.
*Bekerev.
He judges and debates.
How long will ye *pervert the right *Tishphetu
With *judgment false and wrong gnavel.
Favouring the wicked by your might,
Who thence grow bold and strong?
*Regard the *weak and fatherless *Shiphtu-dal.
*Dispatch the *poor mans cause,
And **raise the man in deep distress
By **just and equal Lawes.
**Hatzdiku.
Defend the poor and desolate,
And rescue from the hands
Of wicked men the low estate
Of him that help demands.
They know not nor will understand,
In darkness they walk on,
The Earths foundations all are *mov'd *Jimmotu.
And *out of order gon.
I said that ye were Gods, yea all
The Sons of God most high
But ye shall die like men, and fall
As other Princes die.
Rise God, *judge thou the earth in might,
This wicked earth *redress, *Shiphta.
For thou art he who shalt by right
The Nations all possess.
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Written by
John Berryman |
Full moon.
Our Narragansett gales subside
and the land is celebrating men of war
more or less, less or more.
In valleys, thin on headlands, narrow & wide
our targets rest.
In us we trust.
Far, near,
the bivouacs of fear
are solemn in the moon somewhere tonight,
in turning time.
It's late for gratitude,
an annual, rude
roar of a moment's turkey's 'Thanks'.
Bright & white
their ordered markers undulate away
awaiting no day.
Away from us, from Henry's feel or fail,
campaigners lie with mouldered toes, disarmed,
out of order,
with whom we will one.
The war is real,
and a sullen glory pauses over them harmed,
incident to murder.
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Written by
Henry Lawson |
It was a week from Christmas-time,
As near as I remember,
And half a year since, in the rear,
We'd left the Darling timber.
The track was hot and more than drear;
The day dragged out for ever;
But now we knew that we were near
Our camp - the Paroo River.
With blighted eyes and blistered feet,
With stomachs out of order,
Half-mad with flies and dust and heat
We'd crossed the Queensland border.
I longed to hear a stream go by
And see the circles quiver;
I longed to lay me down and die
That night on Paroo River.
The "nose-bags" heavy on each chest
(God bless one kindly squatter!),
With grateful weight our hearts they pressed -
We only wanted water.
The sun was setting in a spray
Of colour like a liver -
We'd fondly hoped to camp and stay
That night by Paroo River.
A cloud was on my mate's broad brow,
And once I heard him mutter:
'What price the good old Darling now? -
God bless that grand old gutter!"
And then he stopped and slowly said
In tones that made me shiver:
"It cannot well be on ahead -
I think we've crossed the river.
"
But soon we saw a strip of ground
Beside the track we followed,
No damper than the surface round,
But just a little hollowed.
His brow assumed a thoughtful frown -
This speech did he deliver:
"I wonder if we'd best go down
Or up the blessed river?"
"But where," said I, " 's the blooming stream?'
And he replied, 'we're at it!"
I stood awhile, as in a dream,
"Great Scott!" I cried, "is that it?
Why, that is some old bridle-track!"
He chuckled, "Well, I never!
It's plain you've never been Out Back -
This is the Paroo River!"
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