The Poetry Corner

The Stockman

By Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton)

(Air: A wet sheet and a flowing sea.) A bright sun and a loosened rein, A whip whose pealing sound Rings forth amid the forest trees As merrily forth we bound As merrily forth we bound, my boys, And, by the dawns pale light, Speed fearless on our horses true From morn till starry night. Oh! for a tame and quiet herd, I hear some crawler cry; But give to me the mountain mob With the flash of their tameless eye With the flash of their tameless eye, my boys, As down the rugged spur Dash the wild children of the woods, And the horse that mocks at fear. Theres mischief in you wide-horned steer, Theres danger in you cow; Then mount, my merry horsemen all, The wild mobs bolting now The wild mobs bolting now, my boys, But twas never in their hides To show the way to the well-trained nags That are rattling by their sides. Oh! tis jolly to follow the roving herd Through the long, long summer day, And camp at night by some lonely creek When dies the golden ray. Where the jackass laughs in the old gum tree, And our quart-pot tea we sip; The saddle was our childhoods home, Our heritage the whip.