Author: Henry Lawson

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    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!

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Type of Poem: Ballad

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This poem captures a raw and unfiltered depiction of the harsh realities of life in an arid, barren environment referred to as the "Dry Countree". The poet uses vivid and stark imagery to portray the struggles and hardships faced by the inhabitants of this inhospitable land, embodied by the recurring motif of decay and desolation. The shrivelled leather, rusty buckles, and rotting knuckles in the opening lines immediately establish an atmosphere of deprivation and weariness.

The structure of the poem mirrors the relentless and bleak nature of life in the "Dry Countree". The repetition of the phrase "Dry Countree" at the end of several stanzas serves as a somber refrain that underscores the omnipresent hardship and adversity. The tone of the poem is predominantly grim and desolate, interspersed with moments of dark humor and defiant resilience. The mention of carrying a revolver and the devil's grin in the last stanza reflects a certain fatalistic acceptance of the harsh conditions, underscoring the resilience and tenacity of the poem's subjects in the face of adversity.

The poet’s use of language and literary devices dramatically conveys the dire condition of life in the "Dry Countree". The use of regional dialect and colloquialisms creates a sense of authenticity and immediacy, underscoring the stark realism of the poem. The poet’s use of visual imagery, such as the "phantom waters lapping" and the "blaze of hell", further enhances the sense of the surreal and nightmarish landscape. The poem, in its brutal honesty and stark depiction of survival, offers a poignant exploration of the human spirit's resilience in the face of relentless hardship.