A black-sheep, from England, who worked on the run – <br />Riding where the stockmen ride – <br />He sat by the hut when the day’s work was done – <br />Lone huts where the black sheep bide. <br />“I’m tired of my life!” to his lone self said he, <br />“My girl and my country are both done with me!” <br /> <br />“I’m tired of my life!” to the wide scrubs said he – <br />“My girl and my country are long done with me!” <br /> <br />He took from a packet a portrait and curl – <br />Such things as the exiles keep – <br />And sadly he gazed at the face of the girl – <br />Lost girl of a lost black-sheep. <br />“I’ll go where there’s fighting and die there!” said he; <br />“My girl and my country are well rid of me. <br /> <br />“I’ll go where there’s fighting and die there,” said he; <br />“For heart-break and country that’s well rid of me!” <br /> <br />He rode with a thousand, he rode with the best – <br />Riding as bushmen ride – <br />Who’d ridden alone on the wastes of the West – <br />Wide wastes where the drought-fiends bide, <br />They rode as they’d ride to an up-country ball, <br />And the laugh of the black-sheep was lightest of all! <br /> <br />The road was a shambles, the hill was a hell – <br />Red rosed where the reckless ride – <br />And he with the foremost lay torn by a shell – <br />(Die hard where your father died!) <br />“the death of a rebel!” he laughed as he groaned – <br />“for the land that adoptee – the land that disowned!” <br /> <br />the death of a black-sheep! – they laugh as they groan – <br />for the lands that adopt and the lands that disown!<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ballad-of-the-black-sheep/
