Across the stony ridges, Across the rolling plain,Young Harry Dale the drover
Comes riding home again.
And well his stock-horse bears him, And light of heart is he,And stoutly his old pack-horse
Is trotting by his knee.
Up Queensland way with cattle He travelled regions vast;And many months have vanished
Since home-folk saw him last. He hums a song of some oneHe hopes to marry soon;
And hobble-chains and camp-ware Keep jingling to the tune.
Beyond the hazy dado, Against the lower skiesAnd yon blue line of ranges, The homestead station lies.
And thitherward the drover
Jogs through the lazy noon,
While hobble-chains and camp-ware Are jingling to a tune.
An hour has filled the heavens
With storm clouds inky black; At times the lightning tricklesAround the drover"s track;
But Harry pushes onward,
His horses" strength he tries,
In hope to reach the river
Before the flood shall rise.
The thunder from above him
Goes rolling o"er the plain;
And down on thirsty pastures In torrents falls the rain.
And every creek and gully
Sends forth its little flood,
Till the river runs a banker,
All stained with yellow mud.
Now Harry speaks to Rover, The best dog on the plains,And to his hardy horses,
And strokes their shaggy manes:-
"We"ve breasted bigger rivers
When floods were at their height,
Nor shall this gutter stop us From getting home to-night!"The thunder growls a warning, The ghastly lightnings gleam,As the drover turns his horses
To swim the fatal stream.
But, oh! the flood runs stronger Than e"er it ran before;The saddle-horse is failing,
And only half-way o"er!
When flashes next the lightning, The flood"s grey breast is blank,And a cattle dog and pack-horse
Are struggling up the bank. But in the lonely homesteadThe girl will wait in vain-
He"ll never pass the stations
In charge of stock again.
The faithful dog a moment Sits panting on the bank,And then swims through the current
To where his master sank. And round and round in circlesHe fights with failing strength,
Till, borne down by the waters,
Drawn by Allan T. Bernaldo
Riding Home
The old dog sinks at length.
Across the flooded lowlands
And slopes of sodden loam, The pack-horse struggles onwardTo take dumb tidings home; And mud-stained, wet, and weary,Through ranges dark goes he; While hobble-chains and tin-wareAre sounding eerily.
The floods are in the ocean,
The stream is clear again, And now a verdant carpetIs stretched across the plain.
But some one"s eyes are saddened, And some one"s heart still bleedsIn sorrow for the drover
Who sleeps among the reeds.
- Henry Lawson
Author.-Henry Lawson (see "The Drover"s Wife").
General Notes.-All dangerous adventures in out-back Australia donot end so happily as Dick"s crossing of the flooded creek. Here is theother side of the picture. The poem starts happily-pick out some of the happy lines. Find lines in the second last stanza that give a different feeling. What word in the poem gives the first warning of the fate of the drover?
