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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408607" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Eureka</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Roll up, Eureka's heroes, on that grand Old Rush afar,<br>For Lalor's gone to join you in the big camp where you are;<br>Roll up and give him welcome such as only diggers can,<br>For well he battled for the rights of miner and of Man.<br>In that bright golden country that lies beyond our sight,<br>The record of his honest life shall be his Miner's Right;<br>But many a bearded mouth shall twitch, and many a tear be shed,<br>And many a grey old digger sigh to hear that Lalor's dead.<br>Yet wipe your eyes, old fossickers, o'er worked-out fields that roam,<br>You need not weep at parting from a digger going home.<br>Now from the strange wild seasons past, the days of golden strife,<br>Now from the Roaring Fifties comes a scene from Lalor's life:<br>All gleaming white amid the shafts o'er gully, hill and flat<br>Again I see the tents that form the camp at Ballarat.<br>I hear the shovels and the picks, and all the air is rife<br>With the rattle of the cradles and the sounds of digger-life;<br>The clatter of the windlass-boles, as spinning round they go,<br>And then the signal to his mate, the digger's cry, &quot;Below!&quot;<br>From many a busy pointing-forge the sound of labour swells,<br>The tinkling of the anvils is as clear as silver bells.<br>I hear the broken English from the mouth of many a one<br>From every state and nation that is known beneath the sun;<br>The homely tongue of Scotland and the brogue of Ireland blend<br>With the dialects of England, right from Berwick to Lands End;<br>And to the busy concourse here the States have sent a part,<br>The land of gulches that has been immortalised by Harte;<br>The land where long from mining-camps the blue smoke upward curled;<br>The land that gave the &quot;Partner&quot; true and &quot;Mliss&quot; unto the world;<br>The men from all the nations in the New World and the Old,<br>All side by side, like brethren here, are delving after gold.<br>But suddenly the warning cries are heard on every side<br>As closing in around the field, a ring of troopers ride,<br>Unlicensed diggers are the game--their class and want are sins,<br>And so with all its shameful scenes, the digger hunt begins.<br>The men are seized who are too poor the heavy tax to pay,<br>Chained man to man as convicts were, and dragged in gangs away.<br>Though in the eyes of many a man the menace scarce was hid,<br>The diggers' blood was slow to boil, but scalded when it did.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now another match is lit that soon must fire the charge<br>&quot;Roll up! Roll up!&quot; the poignant cry awakes the evening air,<br>And angry faces surge like waves around the speakers there.<br>&quot;What are our sins that we should be an outlawed class?&quot; they say,<br>&quot;Shall we stand by while mates are seized and dragged like lags away?<br>Shall insult be on insult heaped? Shall we let these things go?&quot;<br>And with a roar of voices comes the diggers' answer--&quot;No!&quot;<br>The day has vanished from the scene, but not the air of night<br>Can cool the blood that, ebbing back, leaves brows in anger white.<br>Lo, from the roof of Bentley's Inn the flames are leaping high;<br>They write &quot;Revenge!&quot; in letters red across the smoke-dimmed sky.<br>&quot;To arms! To arms!&quot; the cry is out; &quot;To arms and play your part;<br>For every pike upon a pole will find a tyrant's heart!&quot;<br>Now Lalor comes to take the lead, the spirit does not lag,<br>And down the rough, wild diggers kneel beneath the Diggers' Flag;<br>Then, rising to their feet, they swear, while rugged hearts beat high,<br>To stand beside their leader and to conquer or to die!<br>Around Eureka's stockade now the shades of night close fast,<br>Three hundred sleep beside their arms, and thirty sleep their last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">About the streets of Melbourne town the sound of bells is borne<br>That call the citizens to prayer that fateful Sabbath morn;<br>But there upon Eureka's hill, a hundred miles away,<br>The diggers' forms lie white and still above the blood-stained clay.<br>The bells that toll the diggers' death might also ring a knell<br>For those few gallant soldiers, dead, who did their duty well.<br>The sight of murdered heroes is to hero-hearts a goad,<br>A thousand men are up in arms upon the Creswick road,<br>And wildest rumours in the air are flying up and down,<br>'Tis said the men of Ballarat will march on Melbourne town.<br>But not in vain those diggers died. Their comrades may rejoice,<br>For o'er the voice of tyranny is heard the people's voice;<br>It says: &quot;Reform your rotten law, the diggers' wrongs make right,<br>Or else with them, our brothers now, we'll gather to the fight.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas of such stuff the men were made who saw our nation born,<br>And such as Lalor were the men who led the vanguard on;<br>And like such men may we be found, with leaders such as they,<br>In the roll-up of Australians on our darkest, grandest day!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408607" data-title="Eureka de Henry Lawson" data-description="Roll up, Eureka's heroes, on that grand Old Rush afar,
For Lalor's gone to join you in the big camp where you are;
Roll up and give him welcome such as only diggers can,
For well he battled for the rights of miner and of Man.
In that bright golden..."></div>
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