Читать книгу Poetical Works of Henry Lawson - Henry Lawson - Страница 20

Table of Contents

Igazeupon my son once more,

With eyes and heart that tire,

As solemnly he stands before

The screen drawn round the fire;

With hands behind clasped hand in hand,

Now loosely and now fast—

Just as his fathers used to stand

For generations past.

A fair and slight and childish form,

And big brown thoughtful eyes—

God help him, for a life of storm

And stress before him lies.

A wanderer and a gipsy wild,

I’ve learnt the world and know,

For I was such another child—

Ah, many years ago!

But in those dreamy eyes of him

There is no hint of doubt—

I wish that you could tell me, Jim,

The things you dream about.

You are a child of field and flood,

For with the Gipsy strain

A strong Norwegian sailor’s blood

Runs red through every vein.

Dream on, my son, that all is true

And things not what they seem—

’Twill be a bitter day when you Are wakened from your dream, Be true, and slander never stings, Be straight, and all may frown— You’llhave the strength to grapple things That dragged your father down.

These lines I write with bitter tears

And failing heart and hand,

But you will read in after years,

And you will understand:

You’ll hear the slander of the crowd,

They’ll whisper tales of shame,

But days will come when you’ll be proud

To bear your father’s name.