Rediscovering an Australian Classic

Few books have captured Australia’s emerging spirit as profoundly as Banjo Paterson’s seminal 1895 collection “The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses.” This milestone work established Paterson as the nation’s definitive literary voice.

The iconic title poem, often called Australia’s unofficial national anthem, vividly brings to life the frontier ethos through its thrilling account of a daring mountain horseback pursuit. This quintessential bush ballad has become enshrined as a foundational national story.

Yet as immortal as the headlong galloping rhythms of “The Man from Snowy River” remain, the collection offers much more. Poems like “Clancy of the Overflow” and “In Defence of the Bush” extol the beauty, freedom and virtue Paterson perceived in outback existence. His infectious lyrical style romanticizes the hard-won charms of the interior.

Balancing Paterson’s affection is keen wit, memorably seen in droll yarns like “The Man from Ironbark”, where a swaggering bushman is comically bested by a wily dentist. Such tabloid-style tales underscore Paterson’s knack for storytelling.

Undergirding the humour and spirit is genuineness. Paterson immersively captures the remote landscape and archetypal characters. We hear the rapids, feel the campfires, meet the drovers. It is this authenticity that makes the collection timeless.

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.

So 125 years later, “The Man from Snowy River” stands tall as a defining literary achievement. In reviving Banjo Paterson, we rediscover not only a great writer, but crises the very rhythms and contours that made Australia.

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