Skip to content
Linespedia

The Drovers

Topics: classic

Shrivelled leather, rusty buckles, and the rot is in our knuckles,     Scorched for months upon the pommel while the brittle rein hung free;     Shrunken eyes that once were lighted with fresh boyhood, dull and blighted,     And the sores upon our eyelids are unpleasant sights to see.     And our hair is thin and dying from the ends, with too long lying     In the night dews on the ashes of the Dry Countree.     Yes, weve seen em bleaching whitely where the salt-bush sparkles brightly,     But their grins were over-friendly, so we passed and let them be.     And weve seen them rather recent, and weve stopped to hide em decent     When they werent nice to handle and they werent too nice to see;     We have heard the dry bones rattle under fifteen hundred cattle,     Seen the rags go up in dust-clouds and the brittle joints kicked free;     But theres little time to tarry, if you wish to live and marry,     When the cattle shy at something in the Dry Countree.     No, you neednt fear the blacks on the Never Never tracks,     For the Myall in his freedoms an uncommon sight to see;     Oh! we do not stick at trifles, and the trackers sneak their rifles,     And go strolling in the gloaming while the sergeants yarning free:     Round the Myalls creep the trackers, theres a sound like firing crackers     And, the blacks are getting scarcer in the Dry Countree.     (Goes an unprotected maiden-cross the clearing carrion-laden,     Oh they ride em down on horseback in the Dry Countree.)     But you dont know what might happen when a tank is but a trap on     Roofs of hell, and there is nothing but the blaze of hell to see;     And the phantom waters lapping, and no limb for saddle-strapping,     Better carry your revolver through the Dry Countree.     But Im feeling gay and frisky, come with me and have a whisky!     Change of hells is all we live for (thats my mate thats got D.T.);     We have fought through hells own weather, he and I and death together,     Oh, the devil grins to greet us from the Dry Countree!

AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.

About this line

"Shrivelled leather, rusty buckles, and the rot is in our knuckles,..."

Henry Lawson's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "The Drovers"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...

Classified Tags

Related lines

"His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth,     His hat pushed from his brow,     His dress best fitted for the South,     I think I see him now;"

"There is a quiet gentleman a-motoring in France     (Oh, dont you hear the honking of a British motor-car?),     Like any quiet gentleman that"

"A fresh sweet-scented beauty     Came tripping down the street;     She was as fair a vision     As you might chance to meet.     A masher rai"

"O bard of fortune, you deem me nought     But a mark for your careless scorn.     For I am the echo-less grave of thought     That is strangled"

"Here morning in the ploughman's songs is met     Ere yet one footstep shows in all the sky,     And twilight in the east, a doubt as yet,     S"

"The Text is taken from Percy's Reliques (1765), vol. i. p. 71, 'given from two MS. copies, transmitted from Scotland.' Herd had a very similar bal"

Continue Reading

"His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth,     His hat ..."

Weekly Poetic Insight

Join our literary Sanctuary

Get the most inspiring lines, poetic analysis, and secret shayaris delivered to your inbox every Sunday.