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Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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Southerly Busters
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Was tightened in a frown —
He seemed the sort of party, now,
To burn a wool-shed down.
He told me, further, and his voice
Grew very plaintive here,
That now he'd got to make the choice
And work, or give up beer!
From heavy toil he'd always found
'Twas healthiest to keep,
And mostly stuck to cadgin' round,
And lookin' after sheep.
But shepherdin' was nearly "cooked" —
I think he meant to say
That shepherds' prospects didn't look
In quite a hopeful way.
A new career he must begin,
(And fresh it roused his ire)
For squatters they was fencin' in
With that infernal wire;
And sheep was paddocked everywhere —
'Twas like them squatters' cheek! —
And shepherds now, for all they'd care,
Might go to Cooper's Creek.
He said he couldn't use an axe,
And wouldn't if he could;
He'd see 'em blistered on their backs
'Fore he'd go choppin' wood;
That nappin' stones, or shovellin',
Warn't good enough for he,
And work it was a cussed thing
As didn't ought to be.
He'd known the Lachlan, man and boy,
For close on forty year,
But now they'd pisoned every joy,
He thought it time to clear.
They gave him sorrow's bitter cup,
And filled his heart with woe,
And now at last his back was up,
He felt he ought to go.
He'd heard of regions far away
Across the barren plains,
Where shepherds might be blythe and gay
And bust the squatters' chains.
To reach that land he meant to try,
He didn't care a cuss,
If 'twasn't any better, why,
It couldn't be much wuss.
Amongst the blacks, though old and grey,
Existence he'd begin,
And give his ancient hand away
In marriage to a "gin."
He really was so old and grim,
The thought was in my mind,
That any gin to marry him
Would have to be stone blind.
'Twould make an undertaker smile:
What tickled me was this,
The thought of such an ancient file
Indulging in a kiss!
And, if it's true, as Shakespeare said,
That equal justice whirls,
He ought to think of Nick instead
Of thinking of the girls.
Then drooped his grim and aged head,
And closed that glaring eye,
And not another word he said
.Except a grunt or sigh.
More lean he looks and still more lank
Such changes o'er him pass,
And down his ancient body sank
In slumber on the grass.
I thought, old chap, you're wearing out,
And not the sort of coon
To lead a blushing bride about,
Or spend a honeymoon;
Or if, indeed, there were a bride
For such a withered stick,
With such a tough and wrinkled hide,
That bride should be old Nick.
As streaks of faintish light began
He seemed the sort of party, now,
To burn a wool-shed down.
He told me, further, and his voice
Grew very plaintive here,
That now he'd got to make the choice
And work, or give up beer!
From heavy toil he'd always found
'Twas healthiest to keep,
And mostly stuck to cadgin' round,
And lookin' after sheep.
But shepherdin' was nearly "cooked" —
I think he meant to say
That shepherds' prospects didn't look
In quite a hopeful way.
A new career he must begin,
(And fresh it roused his ire)
For squatters they was fencin' in
With that infernal wire;
And sheep was paddocked everywhere —
'Twas like them squatters' cheek! —
And shepherds now, for all they'd care,
Might go to Cooper's Creek.
He said he couldn't use an axe,
And wouldn't if he could;
He'd see 'em blistered on their backs
'Fore he'd go choppin' wood;
That nappin' stones, or shovellin',
Warn't good enough for he,
And work it was a cussed thing
As didn't ought to be.
He'd known the Lachlan, man and boy,
For close on forty year,
But now they'd pisoned every joy,
He thought it time to clear.
They gave him sorrow's bitter cup,
And filled his heart with woe,
And now at last his back was up,
He felt he ought to go.
He'd heard of regions far away
Across the barren plains,
Where shepherds might be blythe and gay
And bust the squatters' chains.
To reach that land he meant to try,
He didn't care a cuss,
If 'twasn't any better, why,
It couldn't be much wuss.
Amongst the blacks, though old and grey,
Existence he'd begin,
And give his ancient hand away
In marriage to a "gin."
He really was so old and grim,
The thought was in my mind,
That any gin to marry him
Would have to be stone blind.
'Twould make an undertaker smile:
What tickled me was this,
The thought of such an ancient file
Indulging in a kiss!
And, if it's true, as Shakespeare said,
That equal justice whirls,
He ought to think of Nick instead
Of thinking of the girls.
Then drooped his grim and aged head,
And closed that glaring eye,
And not another word he said
.Except a grunt or sigh.
More lean he looks and still more lank
Such changes o'er him pass,
And down his ancient body sank
In slumber on the grass.
I thought, old chap, you're wearing out,
And not the sort of coon
To lead a blushing bride about,
Or spend a honeymoon;
Or if, indeed, there were a bride
For such a withered stick,
With such a tough and wrinkled hide,
That bride should be old Nick.
As streaks of faintish light began
Последний отзыв
Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
Далее