Analysis of The Drovers
Henry Lawson 1867 (Grenfell) – 1922 (Sydney)
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, we’ve seen ’em ‘bleaching whitely’ where the salt-bush sparkles brightly,
But their grins were over-friendly, so we passed and let them be.
And we’ve seen them ‘rather recent,’ and we’ve stopped to hide ’em decent
When they weren’t nice to handle and they weren’t 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 there’s little time to tarry, if you wish to live and marry,
When the cattle shy at something in the Dry Countree.
No, you needn’t fear the blacks on the Never Never tracks—
For the Myall in his freedom’s 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 sergeant’s yarning free:
Round the Myalls creep the trackers—there’s 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 don’t 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 water’s lapping—and no limb for saddle-strapping—
Better carry your revolver through the Dry Countree.
But I’m feeling gay and frisky, come with me and have a whisky!
Change of hells is all we live for (that’s my mate that’s got D.T.);
We have fought through hell’s own weather, he and I and death together—
Oh, the devil grins to greet us from the Dry Countree!
Scheme | ABCBDBBBXBXBBB XBABXBXB XBDBBCXB |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1101010001101010 111010101010111 101110101111010 001011011010111 01011101010111110 001110101011 1111101010111010 111010101110111 0111101001111110 11111100111111 1110111010011010 101110110010111 1110111011111010 101011100011 1111011010101 10101101010111 1111111000101110 01100010101011 101101010111010 001110100011 1101010101010010 11111110011 1111111010111011 111011101011111 0010101001111010 101010101011 1110101011101010 11111111111111 1111111010101010 101011111011 |
Closest metre | Iambic octameter |
Characters | 1,994 |
Words | 353 |
Sentences | 13 |
Stanzas | 3 |
Stanza Lengths | 14, 8, 8 |
Lines Amount | 30 |
Letters per line (avg) | 51 |
Words per line (avg) | 12 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 506 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 116 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 1:46 min read
- 57 Views
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