The Man From Snowy River | Page 5

like a torrent down its bed, While the others stood and watched in very fear.
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 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.
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 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.
And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam. He followed like a bloodhound on their track,?Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for 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.
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 cold and frosty sky,?And where around the Overflow the reedbeds 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.
Old Pardon, the Son of Reprieve
You never heard tell of the story??Well, now, I can hardly believe!?Never heard of the honour and glory?Of Pardon, the son of Reprieve??But maybe you're only a Johnnie?And don't know a horse from a hoe??Well, well, don't get angry, my sonny,?But, really, a young un should know.
They bred him out back on the `Never',?His mother was Mameluke breed.?To the front -- and then stay there -- was ever?The root of the Mameluke creed.?He seemed to inherit their wiry?Strong frames -- and their pluck to receive --?As hard as a flint and as fiery?Was Pardon, the son of Reprieve.
We ran him at many a meeting?At crossing and gully and town,?And nothing could give him a beating --?At least when our money was down.?For weight wouldn't stop him, nor distance,?Nor odds, though the others were fast,?He'd race with a dogged persistence,?And wear them all down at the last.
At the Turon the Yattendon filly?Led by lengths at the mile-and-a-half,?And we all began to look silly,?While HER crowd were starting to laugh;?But the old horse came faster and faster,?His pluck told its tale, and his strength,?He gained on her, caught her, and passed her,?And won it, hands-down, by a length.
And then we swooped down on Menindie?To run for the President's Cup --?Oh! that's a sweet township -- a shindy?To them is board, lodging, and sup.?Eye-openers they are, and their system?Is never to suffer defeat;?It's `win, tie, or wrangle' -- to best 'em?You must lose 'em, or else it's `dead heat'.
We strolled down the township and found 'em?At drinking and gaming and play;?If sorrows they had, why they drowned 'em,?And betting was soon under way.?Their horses were good 'uns and fit 'uns,?There was plenty of cash in the town;?They backed their own horses like Britons,?And, Lord! how WE rattled it down!
With gladness we thought of the morrow,?We counted our wagers with glee,?A simile homely to borrow --?`There was plenty of milk in our tea.'?You see we were green; and we never?Had even a thought of foul play,?Though we well might have known that the clever?Division would `put us away'.
Experience `docet', they tell us,?At least so I've frequently heard,?But, `dosing' or `stuffing', those fellows?Were up to each move on the board:?They got to his stall -- it is sinful?To think what such villains would do --?And they gave him a regular skinful?Of barley -- green barley -- to chew.
He munched it all night, and we found him?Next morning as full as a hog --?The girths wouldn't nearly meet round him;?He looked like an overfed frog.?We saw we were done like a dinner --?The odds were a thousand to one?Against Pardon turning up winner,?'Twas cruel to ask him to run.
We got to the course with our troubles,?A crestfallen couple were we;?And we heard the `books' calling the doubles --?A roar like the surf of the sea;?And over the tumult and louder?Rang `Any price Pardon, I lay!'?Says Jimmy, `The children of Judah?Are out on