Library / Literature & Fiction

The Man from Snowy River
- Pages
- about 87
- Category
- Literature & Fiction
- Language
- English
- Reading time
- 1.6 h at 250 wpm
From the opening
It is not so easy to write ballads descriptive of the bushland of Australia
as on light consideration would appear. Reasonably good verse
on the subject has been supplied in sufficient quantity.
But the maker of folksongs for our newborn nation requires
a somewhat rare combination of gifts and experiences.
Dowered with the poet's heart, he must yet have passed his 'wander-jaehre'
amid the stern solitude of the Austral waste -- must have ridden the race
in the back-block township, guided the reckless stock-horse
adown the mountain spur, and followed the night-long moving,
spectral-seeming herd 'in the droving days'. Amid such scarce
congenial surroundings comes oft that finer sense which renders visible
bright gleams of humour, pathos, and romance, which,
like undiscovered gold, await the fortunate adventurer.
That the author has touched this treasure-trove, not less delicately
than distinctly, no true Australian will deny. In my opinion
this collection comprises the best bush ballads written
since the death of Lindsay Gordon.
A number of these verses are now published for the first time,
most of the others were written for and appeared in “The Bulletin”
(Sydney, N.S.W.), and are therefore already widely known
to readers in Australasia.
I have gathered these stories afar,
In the wind and the rain,
In the land where the cattle camps are,
On the edge of the plain.
On the overland routes of the west,
When the watches were long,
I have fashioned in earnest and jest
These fragments of song.
They are just the rude stories one hears
In sadness and mirth,
The records of wandering years,
And scant is their worth
Though their merits indeed are but slight,
I shall not repine,
If they give you one moment's delight,
Old comrades of mine.
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,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
A short sample. Read the whole book
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