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Up The Country Lyrics by Henry Lawson

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I am back from up the country — very sorry that I went
Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent
I have lost a lot of idols, which were broken on the track
Burnt a lot of fancy verses, and I'm glad that I am back
Further out may be the pleasant scenes of which our poets boast
But I think the country's rather more inviting round the coast
Anyway, I'll stay at present at a boarding-house in town
Drinking beer and lemon-squashes, taking baths and cooling down
`Sunny plains'! Great Scott! — those burning
Wastes of barren soil and sand
With their everlasting fences stretching out across the land!
Desolation where the crow is! Desert where the eagle flies
Paddocks where the luny bullock starts and stares with reddened eyes
Where, in clouds of dust enveloped, roasted bullock-drivers creep
Slowly past the sun-dried shepherd dragged behind his crawling sheep
Stunted peak of granite gleaming, glaring like a molten mass
Turned from some infernal furnace on a plain devoid of grass
Miles and miles of thirsty gutters — strings of muddy water-holes
In the place of `shining rivers' — `walled by cliffs and forest boles
Barren ridges, gullies, ridges! where the ever-madd'ning flies
Fiercer than the plagues of Egypt — swarm about your blighted eyes!
Bush! where there is no horizon! where the buried bushman sees
Nothing — Nothing! but the sameness of the ragged, stunted trees!
Lonely hut where drought's eternal, suffocating atmosphere
Where the God-forgotten hatter dreams of city life and beer
Treacherous tracks that trap the stranger
Endless roads that gleam and glare
Dark and evil-looking gullies, hiding secrets here and there!
Dull dumb flats and stony rises, where the toiling bullocks bake
And the sinister `gohanna', and the lizard, and the snake
Land of day and night — no morning freshness, and no afternoon
When the great white sun in rising bringeth summer heat in June
Dismal country for the exile, when the shades begin to fall
From the sad heart-breaking sunset, to the new-chum worst of all
Dreary land in rainy weather, with the endless clouds that drift
O'er the bushman like a blanket that the Lord will never lift
Dismal land when it is raining — growl of floods, and, oh! the woosh
Of the rain and wind together on the dark bed of the bush
Ghastly fires in lonely humpies where the granite rocks are piled
In the rain-swept wildernesses that are wildest of the wild
Land where gaunt and haggard women live alone and work like men
Till their husbands, gone a-droving, will return to them again
Homes of men! if home had ever such a God-forgotten place
Where the wild selector's children fly before a stranger's face
Home of tragedy applauded by the dingoes' dismal yell
Heaven of the shanty-keeper — fitting fiend for such a hell
And the wallaroos and wombats, and, of course, the curlew's call
And the lone sundowner tramping ever onward through it all!
I am back from up the country, up the country where I went
Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent
I have shattered many idols out along the dusty track
Burnt a lot of fancy verses — and I'm glad that I am back
I believe the Southern poets' dream will not be realised
Till the plains are irrigated and the land is humanised
I intend to stay at present, as I said before, in town
Drinking beer and lemon-squashes, taking baths and cooling down
Credits
Henry Lawson

Henry Lawson

About “Up The Country” by Henry Lawson

Read the complete lyrics to "Up The Country" by Henry Lawson. On Lyrks you can follow along with the full text, explore the artist's discography, and discover related songs. The track is often categorized under Non-Music, Literature.

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