Henry LawsonFamous Australian Poet

 17 June 1867 – 2 September 1922 

Early LifeHenry Lawson is a famous Australian poet and a short story writer. He was born on the 17th of June, 1867, in Grenfell, New South Wales, Australia. His father was Niels Hertzberg (Peter) Larsen who was a miner from Norway, and his mother was Louisa Albury. While Henry Lawson was young, his family went to follow the gold rush in Australia. Henrys father was away from home quite a lot and his mother was busy managing the post office and other businesses. Henry was the oldest child and did not have a lot of friends growing up.

When he was nine he started school at the Eurunderee Public School. At this time he got sick and ended up with an incurable hearing condition, which made him feel even more alone. He only attended school for three years. He wrote his first published poem in 1887 called “A Song of the Republic” which was published in the Bulletin. He also wrote for the Republican. By the time he was 23 he had published several poems.

In 1891 he got the chance to become a journalist working for the Brisbane Boomerang although it only lasted 7-8 months since the Boomerang was in trouble. He then went back to write for the Bulletin. In 1892, he set out on a long trip to Bourke where he saw people begging and living like dogs and was shocked a at how they lived, but it gave him the ideas for many poems and stories to come. When he came back to Sydney, his life was depressing and he turned to alcohol.

In 1896 he married Bertha Marie Louise Bredt. He also published two books with Angus and Robertson. He began to drink a lot and hang out with the wrong people. Henry and Bertha tried living in New Zealand and Western Australia, but it didn’t work out for them, so they returned to Sydney. To follow his dream of writing, he took his wife and two children to England in 1900. But they returned to Sydney in 1902 as things again, did not go as he planned.

later LifeHenrys marriage to Bertha was not going so well. In 1902 he attempted suicide. The next year, he and Bertha got a legal separation. At this time he wrote many poems and stories but he was very poor. He often did not pay maintenance for his children and was gaoled several times in Darlinghurst Gaol. He also spent some time inside of a mental hospital.

In 1903 he bought a room at Mrs Byers’ Coffee Palace in North Sydney, which started a 20 year friendship. Although he was a famous writer at the time, he was almost always depressed and had no money and was often drunk. Mrs Byers was a great friend and did a lot for Henry Lawson including, getting his work published, arranging to see his children and getting him financial support.

Henry Lawson died of a cerebral haemorrhage in 1922 at Mrs Byers home in Abbotsford. He was given a State Funeral and the Prime Minister, Billy Hughes, and the Premier of NSW, Jack Lang both attended. Henry Lawson is buried in Waverley Cemetery.

Henry Lawson has been honoured in many ways. One of the main streets that runs between Young and Grenfell, where he was born, is now called Henry Lawson Way. Henry Lawson was on the old $10 note and a 1949 stamp.

Henry Lawson’s style of Poetry

Henry Lawson wrote over 600 poems and many short stories between 1885 and 1922. Many of his poems were published in the Bulletin Newspaper. The way that he was brought up and the things that he saw and experienced during his life greatly influenced his poetry. Henry’s mother and her friends were republicans, which inspired his first published poem “A Song Of The Republic” which was published in the Bulletin on 1st of October, 1887.

His trips to outback Australia inspired bush poetry. Lawson wrote about mateship and the underdog. Most of his work was set in the bush or about life in the bush. Because he was often poor a lot of his work contained characters who had suffered hardship and unemployment. Henry’s style is often described as realism.

The following quote from “Elder” gives us an accurate description of Henry Lawson's poetic style.

“He used short, sharp sentences, with language as raw as Ernest Hemingway or Raymond Carver. With sparse adjectives and honed-to-the-bone description, Lawson created a style and defined Australians: dryly laconic, passionately egalitarian and deeply humane.“

Five Examples of Henry Lawson’s work will be shown on the following pages.

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. 

Andy's Gone With Cattle 

Henry Lawson, 1888

A Song of the Republic 

Henry Lawson, 1887

Sons of the South, awake! arise!        Sons of the South, and do. Banish from under your bonny skies Those old-world errors and wrongs and lies. Making a hell in a Paradise        That belongs to your sons and you. 

Sons of the South, make choice between        (Sons of the South, choose true), The Land of Morn and the Land of E'en, The Old Dead Tree and the Young Tree Green, The Land that belongs to the lord and the Queen,   And the Land that belongs to you. 

Sons of the South, your time will come —       

Sons of the South, 'tis near — The "Signs of the Times", in their language dumb, Foretell it, and ominous whispers hum Like sullen sounds of a distant drum,        In the ominous atmosphere. 

Sons of the South, aroused at last!        Sons of the South are few! But your ranks grow longer and deeper fast, And ye shall swell to an army vast, And free from the wrongs of the North and Past        The land that belongs to you.

Rain in the Mountains 

Henry Lawson, 1889

The valley's full of misty cloud,        Its tinted beauty drowning, The Eucalypti roar aloud,        The mountain fronts are frowning. 

The mist is hanging like a pall        From many granite ledges, And many a little waterfall        Starts o'er the valley's edges. 

      

The sky is of a leaden grey,        Save where the north is surly, The driven daylight speeds away,        And night comes o'er us early. 

But, love, the rain will pass full soon,        Far sooner than my sorrow, And in a golden afternoon        The sun may set to-morrow.

The Lights of Cobb and Co. 

Henry Lawson, 1897

Fire lighted, on the table a meal for sleepy men, A lantern in the stable, a jingle now and then; The mail coach looming darkly by light of moon and star, The growl of sleepy voices — a candle in the bar. A stumble in the passage of folk with wits abroad; A swear-word from a bedroom — the shout of 'All aboard!' 'Tchk-tchk! Git-up!' 'Hold fast, there!' and down the range we go; Five hundred miles of scattered camps will watch for Cobb and Co. 

Old coaching towns already 'decaying for their sins,' Uncounted 'Half -Way Houses,' and scores of 'Ten Mile Inns;' The riders from the stations by lonely granite peaks; The black-boy for the shepherds on sheep and cattle creeks; The roaring camps of Gulgong, and many a 'Digger's Rest;' The diggers on the Lachlan; the huts of Farthest West; Some twenty thousand exiles who sailed for weal or woe; The bravest hearts of twenty lands will wait for Cobb and Co. 

The morning star has vanished, the frost and fog are gone, In one of those grand mornings which but on mountains dawn; A flask of friendly whisky — each other's hopes we share — And throw our top-coats open to drink the mountain air. The roads are rare to travel, and life seems all complete; The grind of wheels on gravel, the trot of horses' feet, The trot, trot, trot and canter, as down the spur we go — The green sweeps to horizons blue that call for Cobb and Co. 

      

We take a bright girl actress through western dust and damps, To bear the home-world message, and sing for sinful camps, To wake the hearts and break them, wild hearts that hope and ache — (Ah! when she thinks of those days her own must nearly break!) Five miles this side the gold-field, a loud, triumphant shout: Five hundred cheering diggers have snatched the horses out: With 'Auld Lang Syne' in chorus through roaring camps they go — That cheer for her, and cheer for Home, and cheer for Cobb and Co. 

Three lamps above the ridges and gorges dark and deep, A flash on sandstone cuttings where sheer the sidings sweep, A flash on shrouded waggons, on water ghastly white; Weird bush and scattered remnants of rushes in the night Across the swollen river a flash beyond the ford: 'Ride hard to warn the driver! He's drunk or mad, good Lord!' But on the bank to westward a broad, triumphant glow — A hundred miles shall see to-night the lights of Cobb and Co.! 

Swift scramble up the siding where teams climb inch by inch; Pause, bird-like, on the summit — then breakneck down the pinch Past haunted half-way houses — where convicts made the bricks — Scrub-yards and new bark shanties, we dash with five and six — By clear, ridge-country rivers, and gaps where tracks run high, Where waits the lonely horseman, cut clear against the sky; Through stringy-bark and blue-gum, and box and pine we go; New camps are stretching 'cross the plains the routes of Cobb and Co. 

Throw down the reins, old driver — there's no one left to shout; The ruined inn's survivor must take the horses out. A poor old coach hereafter! — we're lost to all such things — No bursts of songs or laughter shall shake your leathern springs When creeping in unnoticed by railway sidings drear, Or left in yards for lumber, decaying with the year — Oh, who'll think how in those days when distant fields were broad You raced across the Lachlan side with twenty-five on board. 

Not all the ships that sail away since Roaring Days are done — Not all the boats that steam from port, nor all the trains that run, Shall take such hopes and loyal hearts — for men shall never know Such days as when the Royal Mail was run by Cobb and Co. The 'greyhounds' race across the sea, the 'special' cleaves the haze, But these seem dull and slow to me compared with Roaring Days! The eyes that watched are dim with age, and souls are weak and slow, The hearts are dust or hardened now that broke for Cobb and Co. 

The Babies of Walloon 

Henry Lawson, 1891

Two little girls aged six and nine, the daughters of a lengthsman on the railway at Walloon, near Ipswich, Queensland, were sent on an errand by their parents and it is supposed they were attracted by some water-

lilies in a pool near their home. They were found drowned in six feet of water. 

He was lengthsman on the railway, and his station scarce deserved That "pre-eminence in sorrow" of the Majesty he served, But as dear to him and precious were the gifts reclaimed so soon — Were the workman's little daughters who were buried near Walloon. 

Speak their names in tones that linger, just as though you held them dear; There are eyes to which the mention of those names will bring a tear. Little Kate and Bridget, straying in an autumn afternoon, Were attracted by the lilies in the water of Walloon. 

      

All is dark to us. The angels sing perhaps in Paradise Of the younger sister's danger, and the elder's sacrifice; But the facts were hidden from us, when the soft light from the moon Glistened on the water-lilies o'er the Babies at Walloon. 

Ah! the children love the lilies, while we elders are inclined To the flowers that have poison for the body and the mind. Better for the "strongly human" to have done with life as soon, Better perish for a lily like the Babies of Walloon. 

For they gather flowers early on the river far away, Where the everlasting lilies keep their purity for aye, And while summer brings our lilies to the run and the lagoon May our children keep the legend of the Babies of Walloon.

Andy's Gone With Cattle

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. 

Poem Analysis – Andy’s Gone With Cattle

Andy’s Gone With Cattle is a bush ballad that was written by Henry Lawson in 1888 when he was 21 years old. The bush ballad is usually a straight forward type of poem that would normally be about adventures or action. It would also usually be narrating a story about the characters and scenery of rural Australia.

The poem follows the traditional pattern for a ballad with 4 lines to each verse with the first and 3 rd lines of each verse having 4 beats, whereas the second and 4th lines of each verse have 3 beats. The lines that have the same amount of beats in them also have a rhyming pattern. e.g

Our Andy's gone to battle now        'Gainst Drought, the red marauder; Our Andy's gone with cattle now        Across the Queensland border. 

He also uses metaphors in his poetry, “Gainst Drought, the red marauder;” he is describing and comparing the drought to the red marauder. The red is describing the red colour of the Australian desert and the marauder is the drought that is stealing their livelihood.

Henry Lawson’s childhood in the bush was what inspired him to write this poem. Andy is a drover who is taking his cattle to Queensland in order to find water and a better place for the cattle to live. While he is away, his aunt, uncle and his dog are worried and miss him and they were worried about the squatters coming to the selection, which is their land. They are also hoping for rain and that Andy will come back home.

Bibliography

Australian Dictionary of Biography: http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/lawson-henry-7118Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Lawson Ironbark Resources: http://www.ironbarkresources.com/henrylawson/index3.htmlGoogle Images: PhotosThe Academy Literature and Drama Website: http://dlibrary.acu.edu.au/staffhome/siryan/academy/author%20pages/lawson,%20henry.htmAustralia Government Website: http://australia.gov.au Poem Hunter: http://www.poemhunter.com/henry-lawson/biography/Henry Lawson: http://www.henrylawson.com.au/Poetic Forms And Techniques: http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/poetic-forms-techniques Poetry Foundation: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/learning/glossary-terms?category=forms-and-typesPoetry Library: http://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poems-poetic-form/bush-balladsHumanities: http://www.humanities360.com/index.php/poetry-analysis-andys-gone-with-cattle-by-henry-lawson-8560/