The Man From Snowy River Poem, Analysis and Movie

Introduction

The Man From Snowy River by Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson is one of the most loved and well-known Australian poems ever written. First published on 26 April 1890, the ballad has since become a part of Australia's culture and identity. While The Man From Snowy River tells an entertaining tale it also illustrates the typically Australian attitudes of supporting the underdog and of mateship.

As well as being a great story, The Man From Snowy River is also beautifully crafted. Throughout the poem, the mood is exciting and fast-paced. Tense anticipation at the beginning eventually leads up to the thrilling climax, which is followed by a sense of victory and achievement.

Summary of The Man From Snowy River

The Man From Snowy River tells the story of a band of horsemen who set out to capture a group of wild horses. In the end it is an unknown rider who prevails above the others and single-handedly rounds up the horses.

Analysis of the Language in The Man From Snowy River

A feature of The Man From Snowy River is its vivid and effective language. The bushmen language helps to convey the strong Australian culture behind the poem and the vivid descriptions, such as "cliffs and crags that beetled overhead", provoke marvellous imagery of the surroundings. So too do the many similes and metaphors such as "And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed" and "a stripling on a small and weedy beast", as does the personification, "the stock-whips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back".

Analysis of the Sound of The Man From Snowy River

The Man From Snowy River is structured into 13 stanzas, each containing eight lines. The entire poem is set to a fast, regular rhythm in which you can hear the wild horses galloping due to the stressed, hard consonants and continual beat. It also uses strong alliteration and onomatopoeia, such as "Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home" and "resounded to the thunder of the tread". These features, along with the rhyming pattern of ABAB CDCD, produce a beautifully musical poem, pleasing to the ear.

The Man From Snowy River on the Australian $10 Note

Such is Banjo Patterson's importance to Australia that his face appears on the Australian $10 note. The entire text of The Man From Snowy River poem is also printed a number of times in microprint on the note to prevent counterfeiting.

The Man From Snowy River Movie

The movie The Man From Snowy River, which is based on the poem, was released on 5 November 1982 and is a classic of Australian cinema. It stars Kirk Douglas, Jack Thompson, Tom Burlinson, Sigrid Thornton and Lorraine Bayly and has won several awards.

The Man From Snowy River Movie Quotes

"Male company will be a pleasant relief in this hothouse of female emotions." - Rosemary Hume

"There are a dozen good brood mares in that mob. I'll be back for them... and for whatever else is mine." - Jim Craig

"If I'd wanted your help, mate, I would've asked for it." - Jessica Harrison

"I heard you broke in more than the colt while we were away. Did you have to use your spurs boy!" - Curly to Jim Craig

"I'm not hiding beneath the skirts of a bunch of women." - Jim Craig

"Don't throw effort out to foolishness!" - Spur

The Man From Snowy River Poem Text

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses - he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stockhorse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up -
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony - three parts thoroughbred at least -
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry - just the sort that won't say die -
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, "That horse will never do
For a long a tiring gallop - lad, you'd better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you."
So he waited sad and wistful - only Clancy stood his friend -
"I think we ought to let him come," he said;
"I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

"He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."

So he went - they found the horses by the big mimosa clump -
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, "Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills."

So Clancy rode to wheel them - he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, "We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side."

When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

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 -
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringybarks 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 further 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 mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word today,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

Back to Home