西部的太阳，在他找到他的巢穴之前，斯克林?他在树梢上望了一眼，在篱笆边基蒂·麦克雷的卷发上歇了一会儿;她的眼睛看起来很焦虑，脸色苍白，因为父亲的邮件迟到了两个小时。他从来没有这么晚回来过，吉蒂觉得奇怪，希望他回来。她斜倚着大秋千门，那扇门开在马道上，马道是从一个采矿小镇的单街蜿蜒而下的。她乌黑的卷发和俏皮的笑容，棕色的眼睛闪烁着变幻的光芒，温柔地颤抖着，就像夜晚胸前的两颗星星，在白天的阳光下，你能在哪里找到比凯蒂·麦克雷更漂亮的姑娘呢?出生在马鞍上，这个女孩可以像无所畏惧的银弓女王一样骑行;我相信，任何被藏起来的东西都吓不倒凯蒂·麦克雷。她会在需要的时候驱赶一群暴民哪怕是魔鬼在领头。但现在，在阴影中?当最后的太阳火花停止?d to burn, Afar she catches the sullen ring Of horse-hoofs swinging around the turn, Then painfully down the narrow trail Comes Alex McCrae with the Greytown mail. "The fever-and-ague, my girl," he said, "'Twas all I got on that northern trip, When it left me then I was well-nigh dead, Has got me fast in its iron grip; And I'd rather rot in the nearest gaol Than ride to-night with the Greytown mail. "At Golden Gully they heard to-day - 'Twas a common topic about the town - That the Mulligan gang were around this way, So they wouldn't despatch the gold-dust down, And Brown, the manager, said he thought 'Twere wise to wait for a strong escort. "I rode the leaders, the other nags I left with the coach at the ?Travellers' Rest?. Kitty, my lass, you must take the bags - Postboy, I reckon's about the best; 'Tis dark, I know, but he'll never fail To take you down with the Greytown mail." It needed no further voice to urge This dutiful daughter to eager haste; She donned the habit, of rough blue serge, That hung in folds from her slender waist, And Postboy stood by the stockyard rail, While she mounted behind the Greytown mail. Dark points, the rest of him iron-grey, Boasting no strain of expensive blood, Down steepest hill he could pick his way, And never was baulked by a winter flood - Strong as a lion, hard as a nail, Was the horse that carried the Greytown mail; A nag that really seemed to be Fit for a hundred miles at a push, With the old Manaro pedigree, By ?Furious Rising,? out of ?The Bush,? Run in when a colt from a mountain mob By Brian O'Flynn and Dusty Bob. And Postboy's bosom was filled with pride As he felt the form of his mistress sway, In its easy grace, to his swinging stride As he dashed along down the narrow way. No prettier Mercury, I'll go bail, Than Kitty ere carried a Guv?nment mail. Leaving the edge of O'Connor's Hill, They merrily scattered the drops of dew In the spanning of many a tiny rill, Whose bubbling waters were hid from view: In quick-step time to the curlew's wail Rode Kitty McCrae, with the Greytown mail. Sidling the Range, by a narrow path Where towering mountain ash-trees grow, And a slip meant more than an icy bath In the tumbling waters that foamed below; Through the white fog, filling each silent vale, Rode Kitty McCrae, with the Greytown mail. The forest shadows became less dense, They fairly flew down the river fall, As out from the shade of an old brush-fence Stepped three armed men with a sudden call, Sharp and stern came the well-known hail: "Stand! for we want the Greytown mail!" Postboy swerved with a mighty bound, As an outlaw clung to his bridle rein, A hoof-stroke flattened him on the ground With a curse that was half a cry of pain, While Kitty, trembling and rather pale, Rode for life and the Greytown mail. To save the bags was her only thought As she bent `fore the whistle of angry lead That follow?d the flash and the sharp report; But,"Oh, you cowards!" was all she said. Fast as fast as the leaden hail - Kitty rode on with the Greytown mail. Safe? ah, no, for a tiny stream On Postboy's coat left its crimson mark. Still she rode on, but t'was in a dream, Through lands where shadows fell drear and dark, Like a wounded sea-bird before the gale Fled Kitty McCrae with the Greytown mail. And ever the crimson life-stream drips, For every hoof-stroke a drop of blood, From feeble fingers the bridle slips As down the Warrigal