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Project Gutenberg Australia HomeReturn to Index of Poems
Through the Myall Scrub, by the Crow’s Nest track,
But not as the crows may go,
The brumbies dash as the stockwhips crack
Mid the hills of Taromco.
Hard with them Rocket, the stoekhorse, flies
Through the tangle of green belar;
His ears laid back as he tops the rise
To the swing of the foam-flecked bar.
His rider's torn by the brush and briar,
His raiment is tattered, too,
As he clears the creeks in his wild desire
With the leap of a kangaroo.
To right and left his fellows fly
O’er gullies and logs and streams;
As lightning-streaky on a clouded sky
The shoe on each swift hoof gleams.
By the pine and bramble the brumbies dash
With a swift and a sweeping stride.
Whilst ever beside them the stirrups clash
To the roar of the plaited hide.
In vain they seek from the yard to wheel,
In vain to regain the glen;
The station horses are true as steel
To the call of the station men.
The stockwhips fall with a thunderous crack,
Awhile there’s a deafening din;
Then the gates are closed, and the reins fall slack....
The nags from the wilds are in.
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