The Man from Snowy River (7)

The Man from Snowy River (7)

He sent the flint-stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat ー
It was grand to see that mountain horsemen ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and
  broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound
At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the farther
  hill,
And the watchers on the mountain, standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely; he was right among
  them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two ountain
  gullies met
In the ranges ー but a final glimpse reveals
On a di and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

(7/8)