Ten miles down Reedy River 
A pool of water lies, 
And all the year it mirrors 
The changes in the skies, 
And in that pool's broad bosom 
Is room for all the stars; 
Its bed of sand has drifted 
O'er countless rocky bars. 

Around the lower edges 
There waves a bed of reeds, 
Where water rats are hidden 
And where the wild duck breeds; 
And grassy slopes rise gently 
To ridges long and low, 
Where groves of wattle flourish 
And native bluebells grow. 

Beneath the granite ridges 
The eye may just discern 
Where Rocky Creek emerges 
From deep green banks of fern; 
And standing tall between them, 
The grassy she-oaks cool 
The hard, blue-tinted waters 
Before they reach the pool. 

Ten miles down Reedy River 
One Sunday afternoon, 
I rode with Mary Campbell 
To that broad, bright lagoon; 
We left our horses grazing 
Till shadows climbed the peak, 
And strolled beneath the she-oaks 
On the banks of Rocky Creek. 

Then home along the river 
That night we rode a race, 
And the moonlight lent a glory 
To Mary Campbell's face; 
And I pleaded for our future 
All through that moonlight ride, 
Until our weary horses 
Drew closer side by side. 

Ten miles from Ryan's Crossing 
And five miles below the peak, 
I built a little homestead 
On the banks of Rocky Creek; 
I cleared the land and fenced it 
And ploughed the rich, red loam, 
And my first crop was golden 
When I brought my Mary home. 

Now still down Reedy River 
The grassy she-oaks sigh, 
And the water-holes still mirror 
The pictures in the sky; 
And over all for ever 
Go sun and moon and stars, 
While the golden sand is drifting 
Across the rocky bars 

But of the hut I builded 
There are no traces now. 
And many rains have levelled 
The furrows of the plough; 
And my bright days are olden, 
For the twisted branches wave 
And the wattle blossoms golden 
On the hill by Mary's grave.