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 rough and ready rouseabouts that all the bushmen know, In the wiry old belt of the New South Wales.

And all the others used to meet With their dogs around their feet, With dozens of good horses in their train, And they came from near and far away To challenge his command today, For the man from Snowy River was the man to win the race!

His hat was pressed upon his head, He had no time to fear or dread, But he thundered on, as one who knew That the mountain was calling, every hollow and by-way, “Upon the liberty of the trees,” he said. And every gallant horse that started, He strung it on his saddle broad, And rode on as though it were fate? The very place in the world was waiting for him there!

And a most gallant thing, was he? He was bold and proud and boastful free And never once looked back behind, Though the young fellows at his side Were fast shook off and left behind.

So he rode in iridescent heat, Where the galloping rangers beat, In tandem with the station and the stream, With a spirit rising and wild, And a heart as full as dreams to ride!

But the others followed hard behind, For they held him in their mind For a more foolish and reckless lot, Who would champion then take their chance? To prove they could outrun the horseman … But the man from Snowy River on birds’ wings damned.

With the heart that pounced forth so bold, On the strength of the mountains that never grows old – He saw the risk of the hungry time, He went in where no dream can bear: what is ours is but our win! And he rode into the night, despite all the rest of his kin.

But among the dangers there will be prize, As each day the fresh dawn will rise, And the rain will pour, and a new world will come, For it may not even be the parting day!

• Banjo Paterson