For the second time in two months the swollen Snowy River, which rises at Mt. Kosciusko, has disastrously flooded the Orbost plains.
Now, a stream may be a lady, Gleaming, dreaming placidly Now 'twixt sunlit banks, now shady, Singing down to greet the sea; Or, with passions curbed and bounded, Prone perchance a well-bred gent By his code's restraints surrounded, Lest he should wax turbulent. But the wild, wild Snowy River, He's a rough, tough mountain "bloke"; Nought can bind this fierce loose-liver On his periodic "soak". Drinking deep of heady waters, By his Kosciusko home, All his kindlier creed he slaughters When mad Snowy starts to roam. Roaring, raving down the mountain, Forth fares he, on drunken legs, Swilling more at each strong fountain Till he drains it to the dregs. Eastward first he weaves and wobbles, Cursing, crazy, stained with clay, Avidly he gizzles, gobbles Every drop that comes his way. Southward now he makes a sally, Tearing at the trees and scrubs; Down thro' many a peaceful valley, Calling in at all the "pubs". On he rages, boasting, brawling, Till he sinks with fuddled brain, In a drunken stupor sprawling Flat across the Orbost plain. Blind to all the ill he rendered, Blocking many a plain-land path, Here he lies, a sot surrendered To his orgy's aftermath; Then he wakes, and, in meek fashion, Shamefaced, sneaks away, till he Cools the embers of his passion Headlong in the healing sea. Now a stream may be a lady Or a gentleman serene Who, by sunlit ways or shady, Graces many a sylvan scene. But that wild, wild woodsman, Snowy, Crude uncultured, swift to rage, He's a hill "bloke", flash and showy, Roaring down on his rampage.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002-04|