Across the stony ridges, across the rolling plains, young Harry Dale the drover comes riding home again.
And well his stock horse bears him, and light of heart is he, and stoutly his old pack horse is trotting by his knee.
Up Queensland way with cattle, he's travelled regions fast, and many months have vanished since home folks o'er him laughed.
He hums a song of someone he hopes to marry soon, and hobbled chains and campfire keep jingling to the tune.
Beyond the hazy daydome, against the lower skies, and yon blue line of rangers,
the station homestead lies.
And thitherward the drover jogs through the lazy noon, wild hobbled chains and campfire keep jingling to the tune.
An hour has filled the heavens with storm clouds in key black.
At times the lightning trickles.
Down the drover's track.
But Harry pushes onward, his horse's strength he tries, in hope to reach the river before the flood shall rise.
The thunder pealing o'er him goes rumbling down the plain, and sweet on thirsty pastures beats fast the plashing rain.
And every creek and gully sends forth its tribute flood.
The river runs a banker, all stained with yellow mud.
Now Harry speaks to Rover, the best dog on the plains, and to his hardy horses he strokes their shaggy mane.
We've breasted bigger rivers when floods were at their height, nor shall this gutter stop us from getting home tonight.
Yes, there is water for the haute gangstay bill.
The thunder growls a warning, the blue fork lightning gleams.
The drover turns his horse's, to swim, the fatal stream.
But only the flood runs stronger, than e'ret' ran before.
Just the saddle horse failing, and all'y half way o'.
When flashes next to lightning,
The flood light lines, by, is common, it sure, it' long hath no yesterday informed o.
gray breast is blank a cattle dog and pack horse are struggling up the bank
but in the lonely homestead the girl shall wait in vain he'll never pass the stations
in charge of stock again the faithful dog a moment lies panting on the bank
then plunges through the current to where his master sank
and round and round in circles he fights with failing strength
till gripped by wilder waters he fails and sinks at length
oh across the flooded lowlands and slopes of sodden loam the pack horse struggles bravely
to take dumb tidings home and mud-stained wetting
winds and rain and snow and rain and rain and rain and rain and rain and rain and rain

weary he goes by rock and tree with clanging chains and tinware all sounding eerily