As I sat beside the campfire late last evening
My old blue dog he lay close by of course
All was quiet except for bells and hobbles jingling

And my horses fed along the watercourse

You know the way a campfire makes you drowsy

As you sit alone and gaze into its glow
I must have drifted off and started dreaming
And how I wish that dream was really so


Up to my fireside walked a weary swagman
He said good night and dropped his bluey down

And from his waterbag he filled his billy
And while it boiled he squatted on the ground


He filled his pipe and lit it from the fire
And in the glow his face I plainly saw
A face with lines of care and eyes of sadness

And I wondered where I'd seen that face before

He said his name was Lawson, Henry Lawson

And reached inside his tuckerbag for tea
And threw a handful in his battered billy
He filled two mugs and handed one to me


He told me that he'd had a spell from trampin'
And been resting in place called paradise

I'd said I'd never been there though I'd travelled
And seldom ever trod the same track twice


He said he'd noticed things had little altered
From what they were a hundred years ago
He noticed precious water from the Darling

Still wasted in the ocean far below

He puffed his pipe awhile and muttered something

That sounded like the storm that is to come
He spoke about the drought and desolation
Amazed that men of office are still as dumb


[Fiddle Solo]


A curlew screeching overhead awoke me
I stirred the fire and put the billy on
I just remembered then the old sundowner

And when I looked his swag and he were gone

Was it really Lawson's ghost that came to see me?

Or just a dream in my subconscious mind?
Oh I'll never know the answer to that question
Till I've left this living world behind


Then I thought about this Lawson, Henry Lawson
And all at once it hit me with a rush

He was the man who made his name immortal
And immortalized this country in his verse


He was the poet of the people, the common people
And he fought their cause with magic of his pen
And when sad alone and destitute he left us

He bore no ill to us his fellow men

And now in afterlife to all his greatness

A lasting monument that's carved in stone
Looks down upon some street where once he wandered
Hungry sad and worst of all alone


And from each ten dollar bill that now is printed
There looks at us his homely friendly dial

And he leans upon some haloed bar up yonder
I can almost see him smile his quiet smile