While the morning light beams on the fern-matted streams,
And the water-pools flash in its glow,
Down the ridges we fly, with a loud ringing cry,
Down the ridges and gullies below;
And the cattle we hunt they go racing in front,
With a roar in the distance like waves,
As the beat, and the beat, of our swift horses' feet
Start the Echoes away from their caves!
As the beat, and the beat,
Of our swift horses' feet,
Start the Echoes away from their caves!
Like a thundering shore that the billows ride o'er,
All the lowlands are filling with sound;
For swiftly we gain, where the herds on the plain,
Like a tempest, are tearing the ground:
And we'll follow them hard to the rails of the yard,
O'er the gulches and mountain tops grey,
Where the beat, and the beat, of our swift horses' feet,
Will die with the Echoes away!
Where the beat, and the beat,
Of our swift horses' feet,
Will die with the Echoes away!