The Man from Snowy River, by A. B. Paterson

The All Right ‘Un

He came from ‘further out’,

That land of heat and drought

And dust and gravel.

He got a touch of sun,

And rested at the run

Until his cure was done,

And he could travel.

When spring had decked the plain,

He flitted off again

As flit the swallows.

And from that western land,

When many months were spanned,

A letter came to hand,

Which read as follows:

‘Dear sir, I take my pen

In hopes that all your men

And you are hearty.

You think that I’ve forgot

Your kindness, Mr. Scott,

Oh, no, dear sir, I’m not

That sort of party.

‘You sometimes bet, I know,

Well, now you’ll have a show

The ‘books’ to frighten.

Up here at Wingadee

Young Billy Fife and me

We’re training Strife, and he

Is a all right ’un.

‘Just now we’re running byes,

But, sir, first time he tries

I’ll send you word of.

And running ‘on the crook’

Their measures we have took,

It is the deadest hook

You ever heard of.

‘So when we lets him go,

Why, then, I’ll let you know,

And you can have a show

To put a mite on.

Now, sir, my leave I’ll take,

Yours truly, William Blake.

P.S. — Make no mistake,


       . . . . .

By next week’s RIVERINE

I saw my friend had been

A bit too cunning.

I read: ‘The racehorse Strife

And jockey William Fife

Disqualified for life —

Suspicious running.’

But though they spoilt his game,

I reckon all the same

I fairly ought to claim

My friend a white ’un.

For though he wasn’t straight,

His deeds would indicate

His heart at any rate

Was ‘a all right ’un’.

Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:59