Эндрю Бартон Патерсон (Andrew Barton Paterson)

Anthony Considine

OUT in the wastes of the West countrie, 
Out where the white stars shine, 
Grim and silent as such men be, 
Rideth a man with a history— 
Anthony Considine. 
For the ways of men they are manifold 
As their differing views in life; 
Some sell themselves for the lust of gold, 
And some for the lust of strife: 
But this man counted the world well lost 
For the love of his neighbour’s wife. 

They fled together, as those must flee 
Whom all men hold in blame; 
Each to the other must all things be 
Who cross the gulf of iniquity 
And live in the land of shame. 

But a light-o’-love, if she sins with one, 
She sinneth with ninety-nine: 
The rule holds good since the world begun— 
Since ever the streams began to run 
And the stars began to shine. 
The rule holds still, and he found it true— 
Anthony Considine. 

A nobler spirit had turned in scorn 
From a love that was stained with mire; 
A weaker being might mourn and mourn 
For the loss of his Heart’s Desire: 
But the anger of Anthony Considine 
Blazed up like a gaming fire 

And she, with her new love, presently 
Came past with her eyes ashine; 
And Gad so willed it, and God knows why, 
She turned and laughed as they passed hire by— 
Anthony Considine. 

Her laughter stung as a whip might sting; 
And mad with his wounded pride 
He turned and sprang with a panther’s spring, 
And struck at his rival’s side: 
And only the woman, shuddering, 
Could tell how the dead man died! 


She dared not speak—and the mystery 
Is buried in auld lang syne, 
But out on the wastes of the West countrie, 
Grim and silent as such men be, 
Rideth a man with a history’ 
Anthony Considine.

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