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Thread: Way of life lost!

  1. #1
    Regular Member Haz.'s Avatar
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    Way of life lost!

    A way of life lost long before firearms bans and government interfereing in free people ways. These days are just a dream to city children. I loved this way of life.

    My favourite poem! read it to your kids. Cheers, Haz.
    **********************************************

    Banjo Paterson's,

    Clancy of the Overflow.


    I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
    Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
    He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
    Just ‘on spec’, addressed as follows, ‘Clancy, of The Overflow’.

    And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
    (And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)
    ‘Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
    ‘Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving, and we don’t know where he are.’

    In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
    Gone a-droving ‘down the Cooper’ where the Western drovers go;
    As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
    For the drover’s life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

    And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
    In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
    And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
    And at night the wond’rous glory of the everlasting stars.

    . . . . .

    I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
    Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
    And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
    Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all

    And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
    Of the tramways and the ‘buses making hurry down the street,
    And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
    Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

    And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
    As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
    With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
    For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

    And I somehow rather fancy that I’d like to change with Clancy,
    Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
    While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal–
    But I doubt he’d suit the office, Clancy, of ‘The Overflow’
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    Last edited by Haz.; 09-28-2011 at 02:28 AM.
    When a criminal invades your home and has a gun and is trying to kill you, it would be reasonable to shoot back with your own gun.

    My Definition of Gun Control: The idea that dozens of people found dead in the Broadway Café, Tasmania, and many also seriously wounded, all while waiting for police, who were called to show up and protect them, is somehow morally superior to having several armed and therefore alive civilian's explaining to police how the attacker got that fatal bullet wound.

  2. #2
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    Hi Haz,I like your poem; very true. It's true here as well. I often yearn for a more peaceful, tranquil life. similar to what I knew as a child, 50 some years ago. It is gone forever. But I am hoping that someday in the not so distant future, I can move to a more rural location and live quietly and peacefully.I'm sorry for you and your fellow countrymen and women that you no longer have the right of self defense. That is an outrage. They keep trying here, but so far it has been unsuccessful, thank God. I think the government knows that with 80 million gun owners, it would have a civil war on it's hands. I pray for the day that all men and women everywhere have the right ot protect themselves from harm; and also free from tyrannical and oppresive "leaders." Governments will never stop people from wanting to be free; that desire was instilled in us by our Creator, it's part of our nature.Take care.
    Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world; it's the only thing that ever does.- Margaret Mead


    Those who will not fight for justice today will fight for their lives in the future,

    Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well armed lamb contesting the vote. Benjamin Franklin

  3. #3
    Regular Member Haz.'s Avatar
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    Thanks Ruby.

    Banjo Paterson was a great poet. he lived the life and wrote about it. Thanks for your kind words Ruby, I truly apreciate them. Cheers Haz.
    When a criminal invades your home and has a gun and is trying to kill you, it would be reasonable to shoot back with your own gun.

    My Definition of Gun Control: The idea that dozens of people found dead in the Broadway Café, Tasmania, and many also seriously wounded, all while waiting for police, who were called to show up and protect them, is somehow morally superior to having several armed and therefore alive civilian's explaining to police how the attacker got that fatal bullet wound.

  4. #4
    Regular Member Haz.'s Avatar
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    Mothers Fathers of children truly understand this poem." Lost"

    Lost

    By Banjo Paterson.


    ‘He ought to be home,’ said the old man, ‘without there’s something amiss.
    He only went to the Two-mile–he ought to be back by this.
    He would ride the Reckless filly, he would have his wilful way;
    And, here, he’s not back at sundown–and what will his mother say?

    ‘He was always his mother’s idol, since ever his father died;
    And there isn’t a horse on the station that he isn’t game to ride.
    But that Reckless mare is vicious, and if once she gets away
    He hasn’t got strength to hold her–and what will his mother say?’

    The old man walked to the sliprail, and peered up the dark’ning track,
    And looked and longed for the rider that would never more come back;
    And the mother came and clutched him, with sudden, spasmodic fright:
    ‘What has become of my Willie?–why isn’t he home to-night?’

    Away in the gloomy ranges, at the foot of an ironbark,
    The bonnie, winsome laddie was lying stiff and stark;
    For the Reckless mare had smashed him against a leaning limb,
    And his comely face was battered, and his merry eyes were dim.

    And the thoroughbred chestnut filly, the saddle beneath her flanks,
    Was away like fire through the ranges to join the wild mob’s ranks;
    And a broken-hearted woman and an old man worn and grey
    Were searching all night in the ranges till the sunrise brought the day.

    And the mother kept feebly calling, with a hope that would not die,
    ‘Willie! where are you, Willie?’ But how can the dead reply;
    And hope died out with the daylight, and the darkness brought despair,
    God pity the stricken mother, and answer the widow’s prayer!

    Though far and wide they sought him, they found not where he fell;
    For the ranges held him precious, and guarded their treasure well.
    The wattle blooms above him, and the blue bells blow close by,
    And the brown bees buzz the secret, and the wild birds sing reply.

    But the mother pined and faded, and cried, and took no rest,
    And rode each day to the ranges on her hopeless, weary quest.
    Seeking her loved one ever, she faded and pined away,
    But with strength of her great affection she still sought every day.

    ‘I know that sooner or later I shall find my boy,’ she said.
    But she came not home one evening, and they found her lying dead,
    And stamped on the poor pale features, as the spirit homeward pass’d,
    Was an angel smile of gladness–she had found the boy at last.
    When a criminal invades your home and has a gun and is trying to kill you, it would be reasonable to shoot back with your own gun.

    My Definition of Gun Control: The idea that dozens of people found dead in the Broadway Café, Tasmania, and many also seriously wounded, all while waiting for police, who were called to show up and protect them, is somehow morally superior to having several armed and therefore alive civilian's explaining to police how the attacker got that fatal bullet wound.

  5. #5
    movwills
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    "A way of life" is a inspirational poem and it learns us how to live a life....





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  6. #6
    Campaign Veteran since9's Avatar
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    That he wrote, instead of merely conceived, the way is not lost.
    The First protects the Second, and the Second protects the First. Together, they protect the rest of our Bill of Rights and our United States Constitution, and help We the People protect ourselves in the spirit of our Declaration of Independence.

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