The Man From Snowy River
(on the Australian $10 note)
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,
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
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
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
"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.
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,
So Clancy rode to wheel them -- he was racing on the wing /
Where the best and boldest riders take their place, /
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black /
Resounded to the thunder of their tread, /
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull, /
It well might make the boldest hold their breath, /
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet, /
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride, /
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat -- /
It was grand to see that
He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill, /
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute, /
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still, /
As he
And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam. /
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for
And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise /
Their torn and rugged battlements on high, /
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze /
At midnight in the
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At left, an enlarged scan of the portion of the $10 note with the microprinted text.
At right, the text of Paterson's much-loved poem,
with line breaks to match the microprinting.
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.
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.
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.
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."
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."
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 that could keep the mob in sight, /
If once they gain the shelter of those hills."
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face. /
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash, /
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view, /
And they
charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash, /
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead. /
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way, /
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide; /
And the old man muttered
fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day, /
No man can hold them down the other side."
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death. /
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head, /
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer, /
And he raced him down the
mountain like a torrent down its bed, /
While the others stood and watched in very fear.
mountain horseman ride. /
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground, /
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went; /
And he never drew the bridle till he
landed safe and sound, /
At the bottom of that terrible descent.
raced across the clearing in pursuit. /
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met /
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals /
On a dim and distant hillside the
wild horses racing yet, /
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.
home, /
And alone and unassisted brought them back. /
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot, /
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur; /
But his pluck was
still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot, /
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.
cold and frosty sky, /
And where around the Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway /
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide, /
The man from Snowy River is a household
word to-day, /
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.
transcription of this classic Aussie poem.
Click here to see the whole note.
