Slim Dusty — Paroles et traduction des paroles de la chanson The Man from Snowy River
La page contient les paroles et la traduction française de la chanson « The Man from Snowy River » de Slim Dusty.
Paroles
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…
Traduction des paroles
Il y avait du mouvement à la gare, car la Parole était passée
Que l'ânon du Vieux Regret s'était enfui,
Et avait rejoint les chevaux sauvages de brousse - il valait mille livres,
Donc, toutes les fissures s'étaient rassemblées à la mêlée.
Tous les coureurs essayés et notés des stations proches et lointaines
Avait rassemblé à la ferme pendant la nuit,
Car les bushmen aiment l'équitation dure où les chevaux sauvages de brousse sont,
Et le cheval arrache la bataille avec délice.
Il y avait Harrison, qui a fait sa pile quand Pardon a gagné la Coupe,
Le vieil homme avec ses cheveux blancs comme la neige
Mais peu pouvaient monter à côté de lui quand son sang était assez élevé —
Il irait partout où le cheval et l'homme pourraient aller.
Et Clancy du trop plein est descendu pour donner un coup de main,
Aucun meilleur cavalier n'a jamais tenu les rênes;
Car jamais le cheval ne pouvait le jeter pendant que les sangles de selle se tenaient,
Il a appris à monter en courant dans les plaines.
Et il y en avait un, un stripling sur une petite et mauvaise bête,
Il était quelque chose comme un cheval de course sous dimensionné,
Avec une touche de poney Timor - trois parties pur-sang au moins —
Et tels que sont par les cavaliers de montagne prisés.
Il était dur et dur et nerveux-juste le genre qui ne dira pas mourir —
Il y avait du courage dans sa bande de roulement rapide et impatiente;
Et il portait l'insigne de gameness dans son oeil brillant et ardent,
Et la voiture fière et haute de sa tête.
Mais encore si léger et herbeux, on douterait de son pouvoir de rester,
Et le vieil homme dit « " ce cheval ne fera jamais longtemps un galop fatigant, vous feriez mieux de vous arrêter,
Ces collines sont beaucoup trop rugueuses pour comme vous.»
Alors il a attendu triste et mélancolique-seul Clancy se tenait son ami —
«Je pense que nous devrions le laisser venir,» dit-il;
«Je vous garantis qu'il sera avec nous quand il voulait à la fin,
Car son cheval et lui sont élevés en montagne.
"Il est originaire de Snowy River, à côté de Kosciusko,
Où les collines sont deux fois plus raides et deux fois plus rugueuses,
Où les sabots d'un cheval frappent la lumière du feu des pierres de silex à chaque foulée,
L'homme qui tient le sien est assez bon.
Et les riders de la rivière enneigée sur les montagnes font leur maison,
Où la rivière coule ces collines géantes entre;
J'ai vu plein de nombreux cavaliers depuis que j'ai commencé à errer,
Mais nulle part encore de tels cavaliers n'ai-je vu.»
Alors il est allé - ils ont trouvé les chevaux par la grosse touffe de mimosa —
Ils ont couru vers le front de la montagne,
Et le vieil homme a donné ses ordres « " les garçons, allez-y du saut,
Inutile d'essayer de fantaisie à cheval maintenant.
Et, Clancy, tu dois les faire tourner, essayer de les faire tourner vers la droite.
Monter hardiment, garçon, et ne craignez jamais les déversements,
Car jamais encore était cavalier qui pourrait garder la foule en vue,
Si une fois ils gagnent l'abri de ces collines.»
Alors Clancy est monté pour les conduire-il courait sur l'aile
Où les meilleurs et les plus audacieux coureurs prennent leur place,
Et il a couru son cheval de trait devant eux, et il a fait sonner les gammes
Avec le stockwhip, comme il les a rencontrés face à face.
Puis ils s'arrêtèrent un instant, pendant qu'il balançait le cil redouté,
Mais ils ont vu leur montagne bien-aimée pleine en vue,
Et ils chargèrent sous le stockwhip avec un tiret brusque et soudain,
Et dans le maquis de montagne, ils ont volé.
Puis vite les cavaliers ont suivi, où les gorges profondes et noires
Retentit au tonnerre de leur bande de roulement,
Et les stockwhips réveillèrent les échos, et ils répondirent farouchement
Des falaises et des falaises qui ont coléoptères au-dessus.
Et en haut, toujours en haut, les chevaux sauvages tenaient leur chemin,
Où le sorbier et le kurrajong ont grandi;
Et le vieil homme murmura farouchement: "nous pouvons dire à la foule bonne journée,
Aucun homme ne peut les maintenir de l'autre côté.»
Quand ils ont atteint le sommet de la montagne, même Clancy a pris une traction,
Il pourrait bien faire les plus audacieux retenir leur souffle,
Le gommage de houblon sauvage poussait épais, et le sol caché était plein
Des trous de wombat, et tout glissement était la mort.
Mais L'homme de Snowy River a laissé le poney avoir sa tête,