Bush Verses

Brumbies

Where the Brumbys run wild along the divide,

In nooks that are grassy and wooded;

Where the soft spring rain sings a sweet refrain,

In hollows with snowstorms flooded.

Where the "King" and the "Rose", from the Cobberas flow,

And the tablelands stretch between,

The topmost heights all robed in white,

And the valleys in tender green.

Where the suns gold rays, in a living blaze,

A myriad beauties unfold;

And the moon's soft light robes the fleecy white

In a mantle of cloth and gold.

`Tis a lone retreat, `tis the home of peace,

For a silence reigns everywhere;

I fain would express the sweet loneliness,

And the wonders and loveliness there.

In this mountain home the Warrigals roam,

On the granite strewn tablelands;

And the man who dare chase the Warrigals there,

Must carry his life in his hands.

The pride of them all, by the waterfall,

Had been hunted from day to day;

He had shown his tracks to the Gippsland cracks,

They had christened him Rapid Bay.

He'd been bred on the Rose, so the story goes,

By a bushranger hiding there;

And the stockmen say that this Rapid Bay,

Was a colt from his famous mare.

We'd made a vow to have him somehow,

And we'd singled him out one day;

We'd run him there my sweet grey mare,

So eager to join in the fray.

The Gem was but small, a handful, that's all,

Her milk coat mottled and dapple;

Her courage and fire sinews of wire,

Were fashioned as round as an apple.

Molly Asthore, was the name that she bore,

One who had prized her had named her;

She once earned her renown in a Queensland town,

In a selling race where I claimed her.

Her breeding was rare, this bonny grey mare,

Her dam was a daughter of "Haidee";

She boasted a flood of "Fisherman" blood,

A pedigree fit for a lady.

And Rapid Bay fire was gained from the sire,

He was hard, and game as a pebble;

For the outlaw strains ran right through his veins,

A real little Rose River rebel.

We sprang a surprise on the hopbrush rise,

To race pell mell through the heather;

Stride for stride down the mountain side,

We merrily flew together.

Racing through where the ti-tree grew,

And sodden with rain,

I felt her heart beat as she missed he feet,

But she quickly recovered again.

The ranges rang with a noisy clang,

From stones on the steep hillside;

While the firelights flew from the flit stones blue,

Good sooth, `twas a dare-devil ride.

The pace was sound on the falling ground,

Down the slope that leads to the river,

And I plied the whip from the shoulder to hip,

I must capture him now or never.

Down the rock ledge to the waters edge,

At hurricane pace we flew,

To crash with a rush through the tangled brush,

Where the flowering hop bush grew.

With the bushman's cunning I faced the running,

As I saw him stagger and roll;

And I steered him straight at a headlong rate,

To the blackfellows water-hole.

He doubled again, but the hope was vain,

As I kept the mare close on his quarter;

He saw to his cost, that all hope was lost,

And he leapt to the flooded water.

`Twas a fatal leap, for the banks rose steep,

With the river rushing wildly through,

Though he had fought and fell, he had battled well,

But he had met his Waterloo.

I quietened him then, and he proved a gem,

As I travelled far outback;

Where the rovers tell, for they know full well,

Of his fame on the racing track.

And they tell with pride, on the Queensland side,

Of his trials and triumphs today,

And they speak with zest in the golden west,

Of the merits of Rapid Bay.

By Wm Jas Wye