MY OLD STOCK HORSE.
(Norman.)
“Norman,” a large bay horse, bred on Conobie about 1870, broken in three or four years after, and worked on till twenty-four or twenty-five years old as a stock horse, and then nearly as good and safe to ride as ever. A surer, better stock horse was never ridden, and always ridden by the writer.
I have a friend—I’ve proved him so By many a task and token; I’ve ridden him long and found him true, Since first that he was broken.
For twenty years we both have been In storm and sunny weather, And many a thousand miles we’ve seen, Just he and I together.
From Cooktown’s breezy seaborn site, By Palmer’s golden river; Where Mitchell’s waters clear and bright, Roll on their course for ever.
Across the Lynd and Gilbert’s sands, And many a rocky river; Through trackless desert, forest lands, We’ve journeyed oft together.
Then on the great grey plains so vast, Where the sun’s rays dance and quiver, Through scorching heat and south-east blast, We’ve toiled on Flinders River.
Through tangled scrubs and broken ground, We have often had to scramble; To wheel the cunning brumbie’s round, From where they love to ramble.
Old Norman ne’er was known to fail, Or in the camp to falter, And just as sound to-day and hale, As when he first wore halter.