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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408768" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Ballad of Mabel Clare</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye children of the Land of Gold,<br>I sing a song to you,<br>And if the jokes are somewhat old,<br>The main idea is new.<br>So be it sung, by hut and tent,<br>Where tall the native grows;<br>And understand, the song is meant<br>For singing through the nose. <br>There dwelt a hard old cockatoo<br>On western hills far out,<br>Where everything is green and blue,<br>Except, of course, in drought;<br>A crimson Anarchist was he—<br>Held other men in scorn—<br>Yet preached that ev’ry man was free,<br>And also ‘ekal born.’ </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He lived in his ancestral hut—<br>His missus wasn’t there—<br>And there was no one with him but<br>His daughter, Mabel Clare.<br>Her eyes and hair were like the sun;<br>Her foot was like a mat;<br>Her cheeks a trifle overdone;<br>She was a democrat. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A manly independence, born<br>Among the trees, she had,<br>She treated womankind with scorn,<br>And often cursed her dad.<br>She hated swells and shining lights,<br>For she had seen a few,<br>And she believed in ‘women’s rights’<br>(She mostly got’em, too). </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A stranger at the neighb’ring run<br>Sojourned, the squatter’s guest,<br>He was unknown to anyone,<br>But like a swell was dress’d;<br>He had an eyeglass to his eye,<br>A collar to his ears,<br>His feet were made to tread the sky,<br>His mouth was formed for sneers. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He wore the latest toggery,<br>The loudest thing in ties—<br>’Twas generally reckoned he<br>Was something in disguise.<br>But who he was, or whence he came,<br>Was long unknown, except<br>Unto the squatter, who the name<br>And noble secret kept. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And strolling in the noontide heat,<br>Beneath the blinding glare,<br>This noble stranger chanced to meet<br>The radiant Mabel Clare.<br>She saw at once he was a swell—<br>According to her lights—<br>But, ah! ’tis very sad to tell,<br>She met him oft of nights. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, strolling through a moonlit gorge,<br>She chatted all the while<br>Of Ingersoll, and Henry George,<br>And Bradlaugh and Carlyle:<br>In short, he learned to love the girl,<br>And things went on like this,<br>Until he said he was an Earl,<br>And asked her to be his. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Oh, say no more, Lord Kawlinee,<br>‘Oh, say no more!’ she said;<br>‘Oh, say no more, Lord Kawlinee,<br>‘I wish that I was dead:<br>‘My head is in a hawful whirl,<br>‘The truth I dare not tell—<br>‘I am a democratic girl,<br>‘And cannot wed a swell!’ </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Oh love!’ he cried, ‘but you forget<br>‘That you are most unjust;<br>‘’Twas not my fault that I was set<br>‘Within the upper crust.<br>‘Heed not the yarns the poets tell—<br>‘Oh, darling, do not doubt<br>‘A simple lord can love as well<br>‘As any rouseabout! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘For you I’ll give my fortune up—<br>‘I’d go to work for you!<br>‘I’ll put the money in the cup<br>‘And drop the title, too.<br>‘Oh, fly with me! Oh, fly with me<br>‘Across the mountains blue!<br>‘Hoh, fly with me! Hoh, fly with me!—’<br>That very night she flew. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They took the train and journeyed down—<br>Across the range they sped—<br>Until they came to Sydney town,<br>Where shortly they were wed.<br>And still upon the western wild<br>Admiring teamsters tell<br>How Mabel’s father cursed his child<br>For clearing with a swell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘What ails my bird this bridal night,’<br>Exclaimed Lord Kawlinee;<br>‘What ails my own this bridal night—<br>‘O love, confide in me!’<br>‘Oh now,’ she said, ‘that I am yaws<br>‘You’ll let me weep—I must—<br>‘I did desert the people’s cause<br>‘To join the upper crust.’ </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O proudly smiled his lordship then—<br>His chimney-pot he floor’d—<br>‘Look up, my love, and smile again,<br>‘For I am not a lord!’<br>His eye-glass from his eye he tore,<br>The dickey from his breast,<br>And turned and stood his bride before<br>A rouseabout—confess’d! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Unknown I’ve loved you long,’ he said,<br>‘And I have loved you true—<br>‘A-shearing in your guv’ner’s shed<br>‘I learned to worship you.<br>‘I do not care for place or pelf,<br>‘For now, my love, I’m sure<br>‘That you will love me for myself<br>‘And not because I’m poor. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘To prove your love I spent my cheque<br>‘To buy this swell rig-out;<br>‘So fling your arms about my neck<br>‘For I’m a rouseabout!’<br>At first she gave a startled cry,<br>Then, safe from care’s alarms,<br>She sigh’d a soul-subduing sigh<br>And sank into his arms. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He pawned the togs, and home he took<br>His bride in all her charms;<br>The proud old cockatoo received<br>The pair with open arms.<br>And long they lived, the faithful bride,<br>The noble rouseabout—<br>And if she wasn’t satisfied<br>She never let it out.</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=408768" data-title="The Ballad of Mabel Clare de Henry Lawson" data-description="Ye children of the Land of Gold,
I sing a song to you,
And if the jokes are somewhat old,
The main idea is new.
So be it sung, by hut and tent,
Where tall the native grows;
And understand, the song is meant
For singing through the nose. 
There dwe..."></div>
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