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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408855" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lights of Cobb & Co.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fire lighted; on the table a meal for sleepy men; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A lantern in the stable; a jingle now and then; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The mail-coach looming darkly by light on moon and star; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The growl of sleepy voices; a candle in the bar; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A stumble in the passage of folk with wits abroad; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A swear-word from a bedroom---the shout of &quot;All aboard!&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Tekh tehk! Git-up!&quot; &quot;Hold fast, there!&quot; and down the range we go; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Five hundred miles of scattered camps will watch for Cobb and Co. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old coaching towns already decaying for their sins; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Uncounted &quot;Half-way Houses,&quot; and scores of &quot;Ten-Mile Inns;&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The riders from the stations by lonely granite peaks; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The black-boy for the shepherds on sheep and cattle creeks; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The roaring camps of Gulgong, and many a Digger’s Rest;&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The diggers on the Lachlan; the huts of Farthest West; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some twenty thousand exiles who sailed for weal or woe--- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bravest hearts of twenty lands will wait for Cobb and Co. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The morning star has vanished, the frost and fog are gone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In one of those grand mornings which but on mountains dawn; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A flask of friendly whisky---each other’s hopes we share--- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And throw our top-coats open to drink the mountain air. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The roads are rare to travel, and life seems all complete; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The grind of wheels on gravel, the trop of horses’ feet, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The trot, trot, trot and canter, as down the spur we go--- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The green sweeps to horizons blue that call for Cobb and Co. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We take a bright girl actress through western dust and damps, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To bear the home-world message, and sing for sinful camps, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To stir our hearts and break them, wind hearts that hope and ache--- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Ah! When she thinks again of these her own must nearly break!) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Five miles this side of the gold-field, a loud, triumphant shout: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Five hundred cheering diggers have snatched the horses out: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">With &quot;Auld Lang Syne&quot; in chorus, through roaring camp they go </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That cheer for her, and cheer for Home, and cheer for Cobb and Co. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Three lamps above the ridges and gorges dark and deep, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A flash on sandstone cuttings where sheer the sidlings sweep, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A flash on shrouded wagons, on water ghastly white; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Weird brush and scattered remnants of &quot;rushes in the night;&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Across the swollen river a flash beyond the ford: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ride hard to warn the driver! He’s drunk or mad, good Lord! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But on the bank to westward a broad and cheerful glow--- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">New camps extend across the plains new routes for Cobb and Co. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Swift scramble up the sidling where teams climb inch by inch; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pause, bird-like, on the summit--then breakneck down the pinch; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">By clear, ridge-country rivers, and gaps where tracks run high, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where waits the lonely horseman, cut clear against the sky; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Past haunted half-way houses--where convicts made the bricks--- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Scrub-yards and new bark shanties, we dash with five and six; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through stringy-bark and blue-gum, and box and pine we go--- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A hundred miles shall see to-night the lights of Cobb and Co! <br></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=408855" data-title="The Lights of Cobb & Co. de Henry Lawson" data-description="Fire lighted; on the table a meal for sleepy men; 

A lantern in the stable; a jingle now and then; 

The mail-coach looming darkly by light on moon and star; 

The growl of sleepy voices; a candle in the bar; 

A stumble in the passage of folk wi..."></div>
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