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.
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
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',