The Man from Snowy River [1]
All Right 'Un
He came from `further out',
The Boss of the `Admiral Lynch'
Did you ever hear tell of Chili? I was readin' the other day
A Bushman's Song
I'm travellin' down the Castlereagh, and I'm a station hand,
How Gilbert Died
There's never a stone at the sleeper's head,
The Flying Gang
I served my time, in the days gone by,
Shearing at Castlereagh
The bell is set a-ringing, and the engine gives a toot,
The Wind's Message
There came a whisper down the Bland between the dawn and dark,
Johnson's Antidote
Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp,
Ambition and Art
I am the maid of the lustrous eyes
The Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying
In Defence of the Bush
So you're back from up the country, Mister Townsman, where you went,
Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the back block run,
Those Names
The shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong,
A Bush Christening
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
How the Favourite Beat Us
`Aye,' said the boozer, `I tell you it's true, sir,
The Great Calamity
MacFierce'un came to Whiskeyhurst
Come-by-Chance
As I pondered very weary o'er a volume long and dreary --
Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill
This is the place where they all were bred;
Jim Carew
Born of a thoroughbred English race,
The Swagman's Rest
We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses
The Man from Snowy River
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses -- he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.
There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up --
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.
And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony -- three parts thoroughbred at least --
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry -- just the sort that won't say die --
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.
But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, `That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop -- lad, you'd better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you.'
So he waited sad and wistful -- only Clancy stood his friend --
`I think we ought to let him come,' he said;
`I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.
`He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.'
So he went -- they found the horses by the big mimosa clump --
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, `Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try
He came from `further out',
The Boss of the `Admiral Lynch'
Did you ever hear tell of Chili? I was readin' the other day
A Bushman's Song
I'm travellin' down the Castlereagh, and I'm a station hand,
How Gilbert Died
There's never a stone at the sleeper's head,
The Flying Gang
I served my time, in the days gone by,
Shearing at Castlereagh
The bell is set a-ringing, and the engine gives a toot,
The Wind's Message
There came a whisper down the Bland between the dawn and dark,
Johnson's Antidote
Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp,
Ambition and Art
I am the maid of the lustrous eyes
The Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying
In Defence of the Bush
So you're back from up the country, Mister Townsman, where you went,
Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the back block run,
Those Names
The shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong,
A Bush Christening
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
How the Favourite Beat Us
`Aye,' said the boozer, `I tell you it's true, sir,
The Great Calamity
MacFierce'un came to Whiskeyhurst
Come-by-Chance
As I pondered very weary o'er a volume long and dreary --
Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill
This is the place where they all were bred;
Jim Carew
Born of a thoroughbred English race,
The Swagman's Rest
We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses
The Man from Snowy River
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses -- he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.
There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up --
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.
And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony -- three parts thoroughbred at least --
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry -- just the sort that won't say die --
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.
But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, `That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop -- lad, you'd better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you.'
So he waited sad and wistful -- only Clancy stood his friend --
`I think we ought to let him come,' he said;
`I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.
`He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.'
So he went -- they found the horses by the big mimosa clump --
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, `Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try