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There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the cold from Old Regret had got away.
She had joined the wild bush-horses, she was worth a thousand pound
And all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered to the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush-horses are
And the stockhorse 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
And few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up
He'd go where-ever horse and man could go.
And Clancy from 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, 'pon a small and weedy beast
Somewhat 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
The old man said "That horse'll 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 oughta 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 Koscuisko's side
"Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough
"Where the horse's hooves strike firelight from the flintstones ev'ry stride
"And the man who holds his own is good enough.
"The Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home
"Where the river runs those giant hills between
"I've seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam
"But, never yet, such horsemen have I seen."
So, he went. They found the horses by the big mimosa clump
And they sailed away towards the mountain's brow.
The old man gave the orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump!
"No use to try for fancy riding now
"And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right!
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills!"
For never yet was rider who could keep the mob in sight
If once they gained the shelter of those hills.
So Clancy rode to wheel them, he was riding on the wing,
Where the best and boldest riders take their place
And he raced the stockhorse past them and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip as he met them, face-to-face.
And they halted, for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountains full in view
And, they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash
And off into the mountain scrub they flew...
I love and adore A. B. (Banjo) Paterson. Google him to find out how it ends! (Yes, I typed that without a reference. I've been able to recite it since before I knew what it meant.)
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