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 wild bush horses—he was worth a thousand pound,
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.

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—
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.

Banjo Paterson

Waltzing Matilda

Oh there once was a swagman camped by a billabong,
Under the shade of a Coolibah tree;
And he sang as he looked at the old billy boiling,
‘Who’ll come a-waltzing Matildah with me,’

Up came a jumbuck to drink at the waterhole,
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee;
And he sang as he put him in his tucker-bag,
‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matildah with me.’

Clancy of the Overflow

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago;
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just on spec, addressed as follows: ‘Clancy of the overflow’.

And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(And I think the same was written with a thumbnail dipped in tar):
‘Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
‘Clancy’s gone to Queensland droving, and we don’t know where he are.’

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 thorough bred 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,
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 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.

Born in rural Orange, Paterson worked as a lawyer before transitioning into literature, where he quickly gained recognition for capturing the life of the Australian bush. A representative of the Bulletin School of Australian literature, Paterson wrote many of his best known poems for the nationalist journal including “Clancy of the Overflow”(1889) and “The Man from snowy River” (1890). His 1895 ballad “Waltzing Matilda” is regarded widely as Australia’s unofficial national anthem and, according to the has been recorded more than any other Australian song. (Wikipedia)

Up came the squatter mounted on his thoroughbred;
Up came the policemen — one, two, three.
‘Whose is that jumbuck you’ve got in your tucker-bag?’
‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matildah with me.’

Up sprang the swagman and jumped into the waterhole,
‘You’ll never catch me alive,’ said he;
And his voice can be heard as you pass by that billabong,
‘Who’ll come a-waltzing Matildah with me.’

Chorus: Waltzing Matildah, my darling,
Who’ll come a-waltzing Matildah with me...

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving ‘down the Cooper’ where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover’s life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the unlit plains extended,
And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.