The Man from Snowy River

from the Australian $10 note

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
<SPACER size="20">That the colt from Old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses -- he was worth a thousand pound,
<SPACER size="20">So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
<SPACER size="20">Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
<SPACER size="20">And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
<SPACER size="20">The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up --
<SPACER size="20">He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
<SPACER size="20">No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
<SPACER size="20">He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
<SPACER size="20">He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony -- three parts thoroughbred at least --
<SPACER size="20">And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry -- just the sort that won't say die --
<SPACER size="20">There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
<SPACER size="20">And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
<SPACER size="20">And the old man said, "That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop -- lad, you'd better stop away,
<SPACER size="20">Those hills are far too rough for such as you."
So he waited sad and wistful -- only Clancy stood his friend --
<SPACER size="20">"I think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
<SPACER size="20">For both his horse and he are mountain bred."

"He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
<SPACER size="20">Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
<SPACER size="20">The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
<SPACER size="20">Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
<SPACER size="20">But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."

So he went -- they found the horses by the big mimosa clump --
<SPACER size="20">They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump,
<SPACER size="20">No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
<SPACER size="20">Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
<SPACER size="20">If once they gain the shelter of those hills."

So Clancy rode to wheel them -- he was racing on the wing
<SPACER size="20">Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
<SPACER size="20">With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
<SPACER size="20">But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
<SPACER size="20">And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
<SPACER size="20">Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
<SPACER size="20">From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
<SPACER size="20">Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day,
<SPACER size="20">No man can hold them down the other side."

When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull,
<SPACER size="20">It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
<SPACER size="20">Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
<SPACER size="20">And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
<SPACER size="20">While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
<SPACER size="20">He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat --
<SPACER size="20">It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
<SPACER size="20">Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
<SPACER size="20">At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
<SPACER size="20">And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
<SPACER size="20">As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
<SPACER size="20">In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
<SPACER size="20">With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
<SPACER size="20">He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
<SPACER size="20">And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
<SPACER size="20">He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
<SPACER size="20">For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
<SPACER size="20">Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
<SPACER size="20">At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
<SPACER size="20">To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
<SPACER size="20">And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

The Bulletin, 26 April 1890<SPACER size="20">

The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses
20 October 1895