Omeo

Up and down the roads they go --
   Vale to hill, and hill to vale --
Leading on to Omeo
   Over many an olden trail
Dainty lady of the hills,
   Rosy-cheecked amid her snows;
Beauty that her landscape fills
Tips the peak and downward spills,
   Down to where old Tambo flows.

As Tambo winds, so winds the road;
   Cascades sparkly by the way
Where o'er granite, waters flowed
   Since some pre-historic day.
Limestone glints and marble gleams,
   Beautiful and many-hued,
Bared by ever flowing streams
To recapture long-lost dreams
   Of an age-old solitude.

Six grey horses drew the coach.
   Climbing up and clattering down,
To the picturesque approach
   Of this quaint, old-fashioned town.
While the driver yarned apace,
   Six grey horses, coats agleam,
Straining steady at the trace,
Drew up at the stopping place --
   The Blue Duck Inn where anglers dream.

Dainty lady of the hills.
   Rosy-cheeked amid her snows,
Peace her quiet hamlet fills
  As full well the angler knows.
Peace and quiet pride inform
   All her moods as seasons go.
Summer sun nor winter storm --
Naught may change that welcome warm
   Of the Lady Omeo.