章节正文
The Man from Snowy River
by Andrew Barton `Banjo' Paterson
with preface by Rolf Boldrewood
Preface
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.
Rolf Boldrewood
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.
A. B. Paterson
Prelude
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.
Contents
Prelude
I have gathered these stories afar,
The Man from Snowy River
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
Old Pardon, the Son of Reprieve
You never heard tell of the story?
Clancy of the Overflow
I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Conroy's Gap
This was the way of it, don't you know --
Our New Horse
The boys had come back from the races
An Idyll of Dandaloo
On Western plains, where shade is not,
The Geebung Polo Club
It was somewhere up the country, in a land of rock and scrub,
The Travelling Post Office
The roving breezes come and go, the reed beds sweep and sway,
Saltbush Bill
Now this is the law of the Overland that all in the West obey,
A Mountain Station
I bought a run a while ago,
Been There Before
There came a stranger to Walgett town,
The Man Who Was Away
The widow sought the lawyer's room with children three in tow,
The Man from Ironbark
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
The Open Steeplechase
I had ridden over hurdles up the country once or twice,
The Amateur Rider
HIM going to ride for us! HIM --
with the pants and the eyeglass and all.
On Kiley's Run
The roving breezes come and go
Frying Pan's Theology
Scene: On Monaro.
The Two Devines
It was shearing-time at the Myall Lake,
In the Droving Days
`Only a pound,' said the auctioneer,
Lost
`He ought to be home,' said the old man,
`without there's something amiss.
Over the Range
Little bush maiden, wondering-eyed,
Only a Jockey
Out in the grey cheerless chill of the morning light,
How M'Ginnis Went Missing
Let us cease our idle chatter,
A Voice from the Town
I thought, in the days of the droving,
A Bunch of Roses
Roses ruddy and roses white,
Black Swans
As I lie at rest on a patch of clover
The All Right 'Un
He came from `further out',
The Boss of the `Admiral Lynch'
Did you ever hear tell of Chili? I was readin' the other day
A Bushman's Song
I'm travellin' down the Castlereagh, and I'm a station hand,
How Gilbert Died
There's never a stone at the sleeper's head,
The Flying Gang
I served my time, in the days gone by,
Shearing at Castlereagh
The bell is set a-ringing, and the engine gives a toot,
The Wind's Message
There came a whisper down the Bland between the dawn and dark,
Johnson's Antidote
Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp,
Ambition and Art
I am the maid of the lustrous eyes
The Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying
In Defence of the Bush
So you're back from up the country, Mister Townsman, where you went,
Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the back block run,
Those Names
The shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong,
A Bush Christening
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
How the Favourite Beat Us
`Aye,' said the boozer, `I tell you it's true, sir,
The Great Calamity
MacFierce'un came to Whiskeyhurst
Come-by-Chance
As I pondered very weary o'er a volume long and dreary --
Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill
This is the place where they all were bred;
Jim Carew
Born of a thoroughbred English race,
The Swagman's Rest
We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses
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 --
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
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.
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 thoroughbred 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.
`He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.'
So he went -- they found the horses by the big mimosa clump --
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, `Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.'
So Clancy rode to wheel them -- he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.
Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
by Andrew Barton `Banjo' Paterson
with preface by Rolf Boldrewood
Preface
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.
Rolf Boldrewood
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.
A. B. Paterson
Prelude
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.
Contents
Prelude
I have gathered these stories afar,
The Man from Snowy River
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
Old Pardon, the Son of Reprieve
You never heard tell of the story?
Clancy of the Overflow
I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Conroy's Gap
This was the way of it, don't you know --
Our New Horse
The boys had come back from the races
An Idyll of Dandaloo
On Western plains, where shade is not,
The Geebung Polo Club
It was somewhere up the country, in a land of rock and scrub,
The Travelling Post Office
The roving breezes come and go, the reed beds sweep and sway,
Saltbush Bill
Now this is the law of the Overland that all in the West obey,
A Mountain Station
I bought a run a while ago,
Been There Before
There came a stranger to Walgett town,
The Man Who Was Away
The widow sought the lawyer's room with children three in tow,
The Man from Ironbark
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
The Open Steeplechase
I had ridden over hurdles up the country once or twice,
The Amateur Rider
HIM going to ride for us! HIM --
with the pants and the eyeglass and all.
On Kiley's Run
The roving breezes come and go
Frying Pan's Theology
Scene: On Monaro.
The Two Devines
It was shearing-time at the Myall Lake,
In the Droving Days
`Only a pound,' said the auctioneer,
Lost
`He ought to be home,' said the old man,
`without there's something amiss.
Over the Range
Little bush maiden, wondering-eyed,
Only a Jockey
Out in the grey cheerless chill of the morning light,
How M'Ginnis Went Missing
Let us cease our idle chatter,
A Voice from the Town
I thought, in the days of the droving,
A Bunch of Roses
Roses ruddy and roses white,
Black Swans
As I lie at rest on a patch of clover
The All Right 'Un
He came from `further out',
The Boss of the `Admiral Lynch'
Did you ever hear tell of Chili? I was readin' the other day
A Bushman's Song
I'm travellin' down the Castlereagh, and I'm a station hand,
How Gilbert Died
There's never a stone at the sleeper's head,
The Flying Gang
I served my time, in the days gone by,
Shearing at Castlereagh
The bell is set a-ringing, and the engine gives a toot,
The Wind's Message
There came a whisper down the Bland between the dawn and dark,
Johnson's Antidote
Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp,
Ambition and Art
I am the maid of the lustrous eyes
The Daylight is Dying
The daylight is dying
In Defence of the Bush
So you're back from up the country, Mister Townsman, where you went,
Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the back block run,
Those Names
The shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong,
A Bush Christening
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
How the Favourite Beat Us
`Aye,' said the boozer, `I tell you it's true, sir,
The Great Calamity
MacFierce'un came to Whiskeyhurst
Come-by-Chance
As I pondered very weary o'er a volume long and dreary --
Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill
This is the place where they all were bred;
Jim Carew
Born of a thoroughbred English race,
The Swagman's Rest
We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses
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 --
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
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.
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 thoroughbred 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.
`He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.'
So he went -- they found the horses by the big mimosa clump --
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, `Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.'
So Clancy rode to wheel them -- he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.
Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
- consideration [kən,sidə´reiʃən]
n.考虑；原因；体谅 (初中英语单词) - combination [,kɔmbi´neiʃən] n.结合；联合；团体 (初中英语单词)
- humour [´hju:mə] n.幽默，诙谐 (初中英语单词)
- romance [rəu´mæns] n.中世纪骑士小说 (初中英语单词)
- fortunate [´fɔ:tʃənət] a.幸运的，侥幸的 (初中英语单词)
- distinctly [di´stiŋktli] ad.清楚地，明晰地 (初中英语单词)
- collection [kə´lekʃən] n.收集；征收；募捐 (初中英语单词)
- therefore [´ðeəfɔ:] ad.&conj.因此；所以 (初中英语单词)
- earnest [´ə:nist] a.认真的 n.认真；诚恳 (初中英语单词)
- movement [´mu:vmənt] n.活动；运动；动作 (初中英语单词)
- pardon [´pɑ:dən] n.&vt.原谅；饶恕；赦免 (初中英语单词)
- western [´westən] a.西的；西方的 (初中英语单词)
- amateur [´æmətə, ,æmə´tə:] n.业余爱好者 (初中英语单词)
- maiden [´meidn] n.少女 a.未婚的 (初中英语单词)
- whisper [´wispə] v.耳语 n.低语；沙沙声 (初中英语单词)
- daylight [´deilait] n.日光；黎明 (初中英语单词)
- volume [´vɔlju:m, ´vɑljəm] n.卷；书籍；体积；容量 (初中英语单词)
- wherever [weər´evə] conj.无论在哪里 (初中英语单词)
- learnt [lə:nt] learn 的过去式(分词) (初中英语单词)
- carriage [´kæridʒ] n.马车；客车；货运 (初中英语单词)
- gallop [´gæləp] n.&v.奔驰；急速行进 (初中英语单词)
- thunder [´θʌndə] n.雷 vi.打雷 vt.吼出 (初中英语单词)
- preface [´prefis] n.序 v.开始；导致 (高中英语单词)
- solitude [´sɔlitju:d] n.孤独；寂寞；荒凉 (高中英语单词)
- reckless [´rekləs] a.不注意的；鲁莽的 (高中英语单词)
- sadness [´sædnis] n.悲哀；悲痛；凄惨 (高中英语单词)
- hearty [´hɑ:ti] a.热忱的；强健的 (高中英语单词)
- dreary [´driəri] a.阴郁的；枯燥无味的 (高中英语单词)
- overflow [´əuvəfləu] v.(使)泛滥 n.泛滥 (高中英语单词)
- horseman [´hɔ:smən] n.骑手，马术师 (高中英语单词)
- impatient [im´peiʃənt] a.不耐烦的，急躁的 (高中英语单词)
- nowhere [´nəuweə] n.无处；不知道 (高中英语单词)
- boldly [´bəuldli] ad.大胆地；醒目地 (高中英语单词)
- barton [´bɑ:tn] n.(庄园中的)农场 (英语四级单词)
- reasonably [´ri:zənəbli] ad.有理地；合理地 (英语四级单词)
- ridden [´ridn] ride 的过去分词 (英语四级单词)
- township [´taunʃip] n.乡；区 (英语四级单词)
- mister [´mistə] n.先生 vt.称...先生 (英语四级单词)
- homestead [´həumsted] n.家宅，宅基 (英语四级单词)
- wistful [´wistfəl] a.渴望的；不满足的 (英语四级单词)
- warrant [´wɔrənt] n.根据；委任书；权利 (英语四级单词)
- overland [´əuvə,lænd, ,əuvə´lænd] a.陆上的 ad.陆上 (英语六级单词)
- sydney [´sidni] n.悉尼 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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