Читать книгу When I was King - Henry Lawson - Страница 7

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Heednot the cock-sure tourist,

Seeing with English eyes;

Stroked at the banquet table

Still, with the old stock lies—

Pet of a social circle,

Guest in a garden fair—

Free of the first-class carriage—

He learns no Australia there.

Heed not the Southern humbugs

By the first saloons who come—

From his work in the wide, hot scrub-lands

The Australian goes not home.

Give them the toadies’ knighthood,

Fit for the souls they’ve got;

Fear not to shame Australia

For Australia knows them not.

Heed not the Sydney ‘dailies,’

Naught for the land they do;

Heed not the Melbourne street crowd,

For they know no more than you!

Pent in the coastal cities,

Still on the old-world track—

They know naught of Australia,

Of the heart of the great Out-Back.

But wait for the voice that gathers

Strength by the western creeks!

Heed ye the Out-Back shearers—

List when the Great Bush speaks!

Heed ye the black-sheep, working

His own salvation free—

And Oh! heed ye the sons of the exiles

When they speak of the things to be!