So you're back from up the country,
Mister Lawson, where you went,
And you're cursing all the business in a bitter discontent;
Well, we grieve to disappoint you, and it makes us sad to
That it wasn't cool and shady — and there wasn't whips of beer,
And the looney bullock snorted when you first came into view —Well, you know it's not so often that he sees a swell like you;
And the roads were hot and dusty, and the plains were burnt and brown,
And no doubt you're better suited drinking lemon-squash in town.
Yet, perchance, if you should journey down the very track you
In a month or two at furthest, you would wonder what it meant;
Where the sunbaked earth was gasping like a creature in itts
You would find the grasses waving like a field of summer grain,
And the miles of thirsty gutters, blocked with sand and choked with mud,
You would find them mighty rivers with a turbid, sweeping flood.
For the rain and drought and sunshine make no changes in the street,
In the sullen line of buildings and the ceaseless tramp of feet;
But the bush has moods and changes, as the seasons rise and fall,
And the men who know the bush-land — they are loyal through it all.
But you found the bush was dismal and a land of no delight —Did you chance to hear a chorus in the shearers' huts at night?
Did they "rise up William Riley" by the camp-fire's cheery blaze?
Did they rise him as we rose him in the good old droving days?
And the women of the homesteads and the men you chanced to meet —Were their faces sour and saddened like the "faces in the street"?
And the "shy selector children" — were they better now or
Than the little city urchins who would greet you with a curse?
Is not such a life much better than the squalid street and
Where the fallen women flaunt it in the fierce electric glare,
Wher the sempstress plies her needle till her eyes are sore and
In a filthy, dirty attic toiling on for daily bread?
Did you hear no sweeter voices in the music of the
Than the roar of trams and buses, and the war-whoop of "the push"?
Did the magpies rouse your slumbers with their carol sweet and strange?
Did you hear the silver chiming of the bell-birds on the range?
But, perchance, the wild birds' music by your senses was despised,
For you say you'll stay in townships till the bush is civilized.
Would you make it a tea-garden, and on Sundays have a
Where the "blokes" might take their "donahs", with a "public" close at hand?
You had better stick to Sydney and make merry with the "push",
For the bush will never suit you, and you'll never suit the bush.
In 1892,
Banjo Paterson and Henry Lawson, his friend and co-contributor to The Bulletin, decided to have a little fun, and to stir up a controversy in their poems.
Henry Lawson set out to criticise the optimistic picture The Banjo painted of the Bush, and The Banjo in turn railed against the doom and gloom of Lawson's outlook.
Other poets became willing participants in this poetic altercation, and their poems are represented here.9 July
Henry
Borderland(Later re-titled "Up the country")23 July
Banjo
In Defence of the Bush30 July
Edward
The Fact of the Matter6 August
Henry
In Answer to "Banjo", and otherwise (Later:
The City Bushman)20 August 1892H.
H.
C.
C.
The Overflow of Clancy27 August
Francis
Banjo of the Overflow1 October
Banjo
In Answer to Various Bards(Later:
An Answer to Various Bards)8 October
Henry
The Poets of the Tomb20 October
Banjo PatersonA Voice from the
First response in "The Bush Controversy".
