SONGS OF HORSES P^y SONGS OF HORSJ 9090 014 557 066 ^yebsler Famity Library of Veterinaty Medicine Cummings School of Veterinary MedidnBat Tufts University 200 Westtxxno Road Noffh Grafton. MA 01636 The Old Corner Book Store, Inc. Boston, - Mass. SONGS OF HORSES, AN ANTHOI^ OGY SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY ROBERT FROTHINGHAM HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY THE RIVERSIDE PRESS CAMBRIDGE 1920 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVBD TO HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS Rider of the high trails, equally at ease astride Pegasus or the Roan Cayuse. " Since we deserve the name of friends, And thine effect so lives in me, A part of mine may live in thee And move thee on to noble ends." R. F. FOREWORD Since the dawn of civilization the horse and the Muses have been boon companions in all the heroics of mythology and history. The Ancients regarded the horse as a being of divine origin, pos- sessing supernatural power, and their creation of the Centaur — the only one of the fanciful mon- sters of antiquity to which any good traits were as- signed — as one of their tutelary deities, was the direct result of their efforts to establish an indis- soluble bond between themselves and their gods. Neptune, to whom the creation of the horse was attributed, might be called the original patron of horse-racing. The horses which pulled his chariot over the ocean had brazen hoofs and golden manes, and where he drove, calm succeeded storm. The golden Chariot of the Sun that Phoebus drove in the heavens was drawn by three white horses, the gift of Neptune. Pegasus, the horse of the Muses, has always been exploited by the poets of all modern languages — notably in Shakespeare's Henry IV, where Vernon describes Prince Henry as vaulting "... with such ease into his seat As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus And witch the world with noble horsemanship." viii FOREWORD No less a personage than that husky brute of a Roman emperor, Caligula, honored his favorite horse Incitatus by appointing him a Roman Consul, much to the confusion of the dissipated dandies of his coiirt, who considered it an unmerited "horse" on them. The versified story of this little incident will be found within. The intimate identity of the horse with the life and literature of all peoples, since civilization be- gan, has a most interesting scientific explanation as well. From the little five-toed Eohippus of Eocene times, through the four-toed and three- toed intermediate forms, down to his wonderful present-day development, the original species has never changed. Whatever his evolution during millions of years, the horse has always been a horse, and, according to our old friend Job, got a lot of satisfaction out of it; hence the " horse-laugh " — see Job's statement inside. Indeed, the advance of the horse has been coincidental with that of man himself. " Said the little Eohippus : * I'm going to be a horse, And on my middle finger-nails To run my earthly course.' '* " Giddap," little book. New York September, 1920 R. F. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The editor acknowledges his indebtedness to the following authors and publishers for the use of copy- right poems: Messrs. Angus & Robertson, Ltd., Sydney, N.S.W., for "Conroy's Gap," from The Man from Snowy River, by A. B. Paterson; and "The Riding Camel," from The Australian^ and Other VerseSy by Will H. Ogilvie. Mr. Richard G. Badger for "Ridin'," "The Song of the Leather," and "The Legend of Boastful Bill," from Sun and Saddle Leather, by Badger Clark. The Bobbs-Merrill Company for "The Kentucky Thoroughbred," from Biographical Edition of Com- plete Works of James Whitcomb Riley. Messrs. George H. Doran Company for "Pard- ners," from Songs of the Workaday World, by Berton Braley. Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co. and Rudyard Kipling for "The Ballad of East and West" and "The Undertaker's Horse," from Mr. KipUng's Collected Verse. Messrs. Houghton Mifllin Company for "Largo," "Riders of the Stars," "Sunlight," and "That Roan Cay use," from Riders of the Stars, by Henry Herbert Knibbs; "The Old-Timer," "The Pony Express," "The War-Horse Buyers," and "The Meeting," from Out Where the West Begins, by ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Arthur Chapman; "The Leap of RoushanBeg"and "Paul Revere*s Ride," by Henry W. Longfellow; "How the Old Horse Won the Bet," by Oliver Wendell Holmes; and "Chiquita," by Bret Harte. Messrs. Jarrolds, London, for "On Active Serv- ice"; "A Dumb Appeal," by Jessie Pope; and "A Prayer," by C. S. Purves, from Blue Cross Fund Poems. Messrs. John Lane Company for "The Old Gray Mare," from The Vagabonds, by R. C. Lehmann. Mr. Norbert Lyons, Manila, P.I., for "The Cochero and the Horse," from The Lays of Sergeant Con. The Outer's Press for "The Horse of Pete Lareau," from Fagots of Cedar ^ by Ivan Swift. Baltimore Sun for "The Cavalry Charge," by Folger McKinsey. Blackwood^s Magazine for "The Death of the Old Squire." Chicago Evening Post for "Consul Romanus," by Bertrand ShadweU. New York American for "The Horse" and "How Salvator Won," by Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Punch for "Troop Horses " and "A Call to the Cow Ponies," by Will H. Ogilvie. Rider and Driver for "Our Horses," by F. M. Ware; "The Elkridge Hunt Club," by D. S. G.; "Conscripts," by Anna M. Fielding; "Number 7," by Edith Musgrave; and "The Early Morning Ride," by Dorothea Gilroy. Saturday Post (London) for "Remounts," by Will H. OgUvie. CONTENTS THE WILD WEST LARGO, Henry Herbert Knibbs 3 RIDIN', Badger Clark 5 THE OLD-TIMER, Arthur Chapman 7 CHIQUITA, Bret Harte 8 RIDERS OF THE STARS, Henry Herbert Knibbs . 10 THE RANGE RIDER, Sharlot M. HaU . . . .13 BURRO, O. R 14 LASCA, Frank Desprez 16 THE PONY EXPRESS, Arthur Chapman .... 19 THE TRAIL OF DEATH, Sharlot M. Hall ... 20 THE SONG OF THE LEATHER, Badger Clark . . 22 THE OL' COW HAWSE, E. A. Brinninstool ... 24 THAT ROAN CAYUSE, Henry Herbert Knibbs . . 25 WHEN YOU 'RE THROWED, Anonymous ... 28 A SADDLE-SONG, Sharlot M. Hall 30 MARTA OF MILRONE, Herman G. Scheffauer . .31 PARDNERS, Berton Braley 36 THE MEETING, Arthur Chapman 37 TWO-BITS, Sharlot M. Hall 38 EL HIJO DEL MAR, Charles Howard Shinn ... 42 RIDING SONG, Anonymous 43 ORIENT AND OCCIDENT THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST, Rudyard Kipling 47 THE RIDING CAMEL, WUl H. OgUvie . . . . 53 MULEYKEH, Robert Browning 57 CONSUL ROMANUS, Bertrand Shadwell .... 65 xii CONTENTS THE KENTUCKY THOROUGHBRED, James Whit- comb Riley 67 THE EARLY MORNING RIDE, Dorothea Gilroy . . 67 CONROY'S GAP, A. B. Paterson 68 ALEXANDER TAMING BUCEPHALUS, Park Benjamin 73 THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE, Caroline Norton . 76 EL-AZREK, Bayard Taylor 78 NO REST FOR THE HORSE, Anonymous ... 81 THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED, Caroline Norton 83 BAVIECA, John G. Lockhart 86 THE GLORY OF THE HORSE, The Book of Job . 88 A PICTURE, Shakespeare 89 A HORSE'S EPITAPH, Lord Sherbrooke .... 89 FROM THE WRECK, Adam Lindsay Gordon ... 90 HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX, Robert Browning 96 LORRAINE, Charles Kingsley 99 THE BALLAD OF HADJI AND THE BOAR, Ian Hamilton lOO THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG, Henry W. LongfeUow 108 PAUL REVERE'S RIDE, Henry W. Longfellow . .111 TRACK AND FIELD HOW WE BEAT THE FAVOURITE, Adam Lindsay Gordon 119 HOW SALVATOR WON, Ella Wheeler Wilcox . . 124 PEDIGREES, Em. Pierce 127 THE RACE OF THE YEAR, W. PhiUpotts WiUiams . 128 TEN BROECK, James Tandy Ellis 130 THE FAMOUS BALLAD OF THE JUBILEE CUP, Arthur T. Quiller-Couch 13 1 THE TROTTING WONDERS OF 1889, Em. Pierce . 139 IN MEMORY OF NANCY HANKS, WiU J. Lampton . 140 CONTENTS xiii THE RINGERS, Em. Pierce 142 OUR HORSES, F. M. W 144 THE FOXHUNTER'S DREAM, G. C. Scheu . . .146 THE ELKRIDGE HUNT CLUB, D. S. G. ... 148 THE MASTER OF THE HORSE, George A. Fothergill 149 THE OLD GRAY MARE, R. C. Lehmann . . .151 " NOTA BENE," Anonymous 152 THE DEATH OF THE OLD SQUIRE, Anonymous . 152 " HORSE-PLAY " THE LEGEND OF BOASTFUL BILL, Badger Clark . 163 THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE, Rudyard KipUng . 165 THE COCHERO AND THE HORSE, Norbert Lyons , 167 BOLTS, Anonymous 170 THE PASSING OF THE HORSE, S. E. Kiser . . 172 SUNDAY TALK IN THE HORSE SHEDS, Robert J. Burdette 173 HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET, Oliver Wendell Holmes 176 THE LAY OF THE HOSPITAL RACE, Hugh Edmund Keough 182 THE HORSE OF PETE LAREAU, Ivan Swift . .189 THE HORSE IN WAR SUNLIGHT, Henry Herbert Knibbs 195 TROOP HORSES, Will H. Ogilvie 197 THE HORSE, Ella Wheeler Wilcox 198 ON ACTIVE SERVICE, Anonymous 200 A DUMB APPEAL, Jessie Pope 201 A PRAYER, C. S. Purves 202 THE WAR-HORSE BUYERS, Arthur Chapman . . 203 CONSCRIPTS, Anna M. Fielding 204 A CALL TO THE COW PONIES, Will H. Ogilvie . 205 xiv CONTENTS " NUMBER 7," Edith Musgrave 206 SIR GILES' WAR-SONG, William Morris . . .208 SONG OF THE CAVALIER, William Motherwell . 209 •' BAY BILLY," F. H. Gassaway 210 SHERIDAN'S RIDE, Thomas Buchanan Read . . 214 MILES KEOGH'S HORSE, John Hay .... 216 ON THE FIELDS OF FRANCE, Thomas H. Herndon 218 REMOUNTS, Will H. Ogilvie 219 CAVALRY CHARGE, Folger McKinsey . . . .220 THE WILD WEST SONGS OF HORSES LARGO Bought him of the Navajos — shadow of a pony, Over near the Largo draw, runnin* up and down; Twenty pesos turned the trick — broke me cold and stony; Then I set to figure as I rambled into town. * 'Fore I had the feel of him, twice he like to throwed me; He did n*t have to figure simis 'cause he was n't broke; Then he took to runnin' and unknowin'-like, he showed me Speed that was surprisin' in a twenty-dollar joke. Wiry little Navajo, no bigger than a minute ; Did a heap of restin' up when he got the chance. But . . . ever stop a pin-wheel just to locate what was in it, Findin' unexpected you was settin' on your pants? That was him — the Largo hoss; didn't take to schoolin' ; Relayed out of Calient' into Santa Fe; Fifty mile of kickin' sand and not a wink of foolin' When he hit the desert trail windin' down that way. SONGS OF HORSES Once they put a blooded hoss on the trail behind him; Passed me like a Kansas blow; Largo didn't mind, Kept a-runnin' strong and sweet. Reckoned that we'd find him Like we did, in twenty mile, busted, broke, and blind. Ever see a Injun race? Times I could 'a' sold him For a dozen cattle — a most interestin' price; Set to figurin' ag'in — bought the mare that foaled him: Shucks ! Her colts, they could n't beat a herd of hobbled mice. Took the brush and curry-comb — thought he 'd understand it . . . Him a-loafin' lazy with his nose across the bars; Reckon dudes comes natural; as hard as he could land it. He druv home his opinion while I gathered up the stars. That was him — the Largo hoss ; never saw an- other Desert hoss could beat him when he started out to float. Pedigree? He had n't none; a pony was his mother, And judgin' from his looks I guess his father was a goat. RIDIN' That's him a-standin' there, sleepy-like and dreamin' ; Sell him? Thought you M ask me that. Northern mail is late Just three hours. No, not to-day, pardner. With- out seemin* Brash — from here to Santa Fe we '11 wipe it off the slate. Bought him of the Navajos — broke me cold and stony; But I got a roll to-day — tell you what I '11 do — Ridin' south? Well, pardner, I '11 just give you that there pony. If we ain't in Santa Fe three hours ahead of you. Henry Herbert Knibbs RIDIN' There is some that likes the city — Grass that 's curried smooth and green, Theaytres and strangUn' collars, Wagons run by gasoUne — But for me it 's hawse and saddle Every day without a change. And a desert sun a-blazin' On a himdred miles of range. Just a-ridin\ a-ridirV — Desert ripplin^ in the sun^ Mountains blue along the skyline — I don^t envy anyone When Vm riding SONGS OF HORSES When my feet is in the stirrups And my hawse is on the bust, With his hoofs a-fiashin' lightnin' From a cloud of golden dust, And the bawlin' of the cattle Is a-comin' down the wind — ■ Then a finer life than ridin' Would be mighty hard to find. Just a-ridin\ a-ridin* — Split tin* long cracks through the airy Stirrin' up a baby cyclone, Rippin* up the prickly pear — As Pm ridin\ I don't need no art exhibits When the sunset does her best, Paintin' everlastin' glory On the mountains to the west, And your opery looks foolish When the night-bird starts his tune And the desert 's silver mounted By the touches of the moon. Just a-ridin^ a-ridin* — Who kin envy kings and czars When the coyotes down the valley Are a-singin* to the stars — Ifhe'sridin'? When my earthly trail is ended And my final bacon curled And the last great roundup 's finished At the Home Ranch of the world THE OLD-TIMER I don't want no harps nor haloes, Robes nor other dressed up things — Let me ride the starry ranges On a pinto hawse with wings ! Just a-ridin\ a-ridirC — NothirV Vd like half so well ; As a-roundin^ up the sinners That have wandered out of Hell, And a-ridin \ Badger Clark THE OLD-TIMER He showed up in the springtime, when the geese began to honk; He signed up with the outfit, and we fattened up his bronk; His chaps were old and tattered, but he never seemed to mind, 'Cause fer worryin' and frettin' he had never been designed; He 's the type of cattle-pimcher that has vanished now, of course, With his hundred-dollar saddle on his twenty- dollar horse. He never seemed to bother over fortune's ups and downs. And he never quit his singin' when the gang was full of frowns ; He would lose his roundup money in an hour of swift play. But he never seemed discouraged when he ambled on his way. 8 SONGS OF HORSES He would hit the trail a-singin*, and his smile was out full force, Though he *d lost his fancy saddle and he did n't have a horse. I have wondered where he wanders in these late, degenerate years, When there are no boundless ranges, and there are no long-horn steers ; But I '11 warrant he is cheerful, though unfriendly be the trail. And his cigarette is glowing, though his grub supply may fail ; For he had life's happy secret — he had traced it to the source. In his hundred-dollar saddle on his twenty-dollar horse. Arthur Chapman CHIQUITA Beautiful! Sir, you may say so. Thar isn't her match in the county ; Is thar, old gal, — Chiquita, my darling, my beauty? Feel of that neck, sir, —that's velvet! Whoa! steady — ah, will you, you vixen I "Whoa! I say. Jack, trot her out; let the gentleman look at her paces. Morgan ! — she ain't nothing else, and I 've got the papers to prove it. Sired by Chippewa Chief, and twelve hundred dol- lars won't buy her. CHIQUITA Briggs of Tuolumne owned her. Did you know Briggs of Tuolumne? Busted hisself in White Pine, and blew out his brains down in 'Frisco? Hed n't no savvy, hed Briggs. Thar, Jack ! that '11 do, — quit that foolin* ! riothin' to what she kin do, when she's got her work cut out before her. Hosses is bosses, you know, and likewise, too, jockeys is jockeys: And 't aint ev'ry man as can ride as knows what a boss has got in him. Know the old ford on the Fork, that nearly got Flanigan's leaders? Nasty in dayhght, you bet, and a mighty rough ford in low water! Well, it ain't six weeks ago that me and the Jedge and his newy Struck for that ford in the night, in the rain, and the water all roimd us; Up to our flanks in the gulch, and Rattlesnake Creek just a-bilin', Not a plank left in the dam, and nary a bridge on the river. I had the grey, and the Jedge had his roan, and his newy, Chiquita; And after us trundled the rocks jest loosed from the top of the canon. 10 SONGS OF HORSES Lickity, lickity, switch, we came to the ford, and Chiquita Buckled right down to her work, and, afore I could yell to her rider, Took water jest at the ford, and there was the Jedge and me standing. And twelve hundred dollars of hoss-flesh afloat, and a-driftin* to thimder! Would ye b'lieve it? That night, that hoss, that *ar filly, Chiquita, Walked herself into her stall, and stood there, all quiet and dripping : Clean as a beaver or rat, with nary a buckle of harness. Just as she swam the Fork, — that hoss, that 'ar filly, Chiquita. That 's what I call a hoss ! and — what did you say? — Oh, the nevvy? Drownded, I reckon, — leastways, he never kem back to deny it. Ye see the durned fool had no seat; ye could n't have made him a rider; And then, ye know, boys will be boys, and bosses — well, bosses is bosses ! Bret Harie RIDERS OF THE STARS Twenty abreast down the Golden Street ten thou- sand riders marched — Bow-legged boys in their swinging chaps, all climisily keeping time; RIDERS OF THE STARS ii And the Angel Host, to the lone, last ghost, their delicate eyebrows arched As the swaggering sons of the open range drew up to the Throne Sublime. Gaunt and grizzled a Texas man from out of the concourse strode; He doffed his hat with a rude, rough grace, then lifted his eagle head As the sunlit air on his silvered hair and the bronze of his visage glowed: " Marster, the boys have a talk to make on the things up here," he said. Then a hush ran over the waiting throng as the Cherubim replied: " He that weigheth the hearts of men, He deemeth your challenge strange, Though He long hath known that ye crave your own; that ye would not walk, but ride, O restless sons of the ancient earth, ye men of the open range ! " Then warily spake the Texas man: " A petition and no complaint We here present if the Law allows and the Mars- ter He thinks it fit; We all agree to the things that be, but we're long- ing for things that ain't, So we took a vote and we made a plan, and here is the plan we writ: 12 SONGS OF HORSES *^Give us a range, our horses and ropes; open the Pearly Gate; Turn us loose in the unfenced blue, riding the sunset rounds. Hunting each stray in the Milky Way and running the rancho straight. Not crowding the dogie stars too much on their way to the bedding grounds. ^^ Maverick comets that^s running wild, we HI rope 'em and brand 'cm fair, So they HI quit stampeding the starry herd; no rustling or blotting brands; And we HI save 'cm prime for the round-up time, and us riders will all be there. Ready and willing to do our work as we did on the mesa lands. ^^ Long we*ve studied the landmarks. Sir; Taurus, the Bear and Mars, Venus a-smiling across the west as bright as a burning coal; Plain to guide as we punchers ride, night-herding the milling stars. With Saturn's rings for a home corral and the Dipper our water hole. " Here we have nothing to do but yarn of the times that have long gone by; And our singing, it does nHfi.t in up here, though we^ve tried it for old times* sake; THE RANGE RIDER 13 Our hands are itching to swing a rope; our legs are stiff: that^s why We ask youy Marster, to turn us loose; just give us an even break! ^* Then the Lord He spake to the Cherubim, and this was His kindly word : "He that keepeth the threefold keys shall open and let them go; Turn these men to their work again to ride with the starry herd; My glory sings in the toil they crave ; 't is theirs ... I would have it so." Have you heard in the starlit dusk of eve, when the lean coyotes roam, The Yip ! Yip ! Yip ! of their hunting cry and the echo that shrilled afar. While you listened still on a desert hill and gazed at the twinkling dome As a viewless rider swept the sky on the trail of a shooting star? Henry Herbert Knibbs THE RANGE RIDER Up and saddle at daybreak. Into the hills with the light, While still on pinon and cedar Lingers the wings of night; Clatter of hoofs in the canon. Scatter of horns on the trail; Dim forms lost in the chaparral, Fleeing like frightened quail. 14 SONGS OF HORSES Follow! the deer behind them Pant in a beaten race; Light in its flight is slower Than a mountain steer in chase. 'Ware! That black bull charges; Head down, red eyes aglow; Crack ! Crack ! the pistol flashes — ■'God, but a noble foe ! His black bulk reels from the pathway, The horses reek and sweat; Unsaddle a space and breathe them, The day's before us yet: Look back from our bed of bracken Here on the world's green roof You 'd lie at less ease in the green below But for pistol and sure-set hoof. What ! Is your nerve so shaken? A man can die but once ! Who shirks the game for the chance-sent end Is a coward soul, or a dunce. The turn of a loose-cinched saddle. The plunge of a keen-curved horn — Play down to-day — and to-morrow Who cares that we were born ! Sharlot M. Hall BURRO Beloved vagrant of the ample ear; Philosopher ; gray hobo of the dunes ; Delight of children; thistle-chewing seer. From Lebanon and eld, how many moons? BURRO 15 Muse of manana; sturdy foe of haste, Complacent in your poise, your attitude; A statue of dejection, shaggy-faced. Or plodding with your pack of cedar wood; Pausing to turn your head, with motion stiff, As though you half-imagined something v/rong; Wondering if you were there, complete, or if The rest of you forgot to come along. What melancholy thoughts bestir your breast, When, like an ancient pump, you lift a tone, Lose it and lift another, with a zest Known to no beast on earth save you alone? Your melody means something deep, unseen, A storied mem'ry of some old Romance, And ears attimed to mysteries, might glean More from your song than simple assonance. You sing the Truth, without a touch of guile, And Truth were sad enough — and yet your guise Of March-mad melancholy moves a smile, And thus the world is richer, burro-wise: Richer, because you are yourself; you please That subtle sense that loves the ludicrous, Scorning no lesson. Oh, Demosthenes Of Andalusia, left to preach to us ! Dogging the sunlight of some empty street Content with what your indolence may find — Let the world rock, and you will keep your feet; Let the world run, and you will stray behind. O. R. i6 SONGS OF HORSES LASCA I want free life and I want fresh air; And I long for the gallop after the cattle In their frantic flight, like the roar of battle; The melee of horns, and hoofs, and heads That wars and wrangles and scatters and spreads — The green beneath and the blue above, And dash and danger, and life and love — And Lascal Lasca used to ride On a mouse-gray mustang, close to my side, With blue serape and bright-belled spur; I laughed with joy as I looked at her! Little knew she of books or creeds; An A ve Maria sufficed her needs. Little she cared, save to be by my side. To ride with me, and ever to ride, From San Saba's shore to Lavaca's tide. She was as bold as the billows that beat, ^• She was as wild as the breezes that blow; From her little head to her little feet She was swayed in her suppleness to and fro By each gust of passion; a sapling pine. That clings to the edge of a beetling bluff, And wars with the wind when the weather is rough. Is like this Lasca, this love of mine. She would hunger, that I might eat, She 'd take the bitter and leave me the sweet; But once, when I made her jealous for fun. At something I 'd whispered, or looked, or done One Sunday, in San Antonio, LASCA 17 To a glorious girl on the Alamo, She drew from her garter a dear little dagger, And ^ sting of a wasp !^ it made me stag- ger— An inch to the left or an inch to the right, And I would n't be maundering here to-night; But she sobbed, and, sobbing, so swiftly bound Her torn rebosa about the wound That I quite forgave her. Scratches don't count In Texas, down by the Rio Grande. Her eye was brown, — a deep, deep brown; Her hair was darker than her eye ; And something in her smile and frown, Curled crimson lip, and instep high. Showed that there ran in each blue vein, Mixed v/ith the milder Aztec strain. The vigorous vintage of old Spain, She was alive in every limb With feeling, to the finger tips; And when the sun is like a fire. And the sky one shining, soft sapphire — One does not drink in little sips. * * * The air was heavy, the night was hot, I sat by her side, and forgot — forgot; Forgot the herd that was taking its rest. Forgot that the air was close oppressed — That the Texas norther comes without warn- ing, In the dead of night or the dawn of morning — • And once let the herd at its breath take fright, And nothing on earth can stop its flight; i8 SONGS OF HORSES And woe to the rider, and woe to the steed, That falls in front of its mad stampede ! Hark ! was that thunder? No, by the Lord ! I sprang to my saddle without a word : One foot on mine, and she clung behind — Away ! on a wild chase down the wind ! And never was fox-chase half so hard. And never was steed so little spared — Per we rode for our lives: you shall hear how we fared In Texas, down by the Rio Grande. The mustang fiew, and we urged him on; There was one chance left, and you have but one — Halt, jump to the ground, and shoot your horse. Crouch under his carcass, and take your chance; And if the steers, in their frantic course, Don't batter you both to pieces at once. You may thank your star; or else, good-bye To the quickening kiss and the long-drawn sigh, To the balmy air and the open sky, In Texas, down by the Rio Grande. The cattle gained on us — and, just as I felt For my old six-shooter behind in my belt, Down came the mustang, and down came we. Clinging together, and — what was the rest — ? A body that spread itself over my breast, Two arms that shielded my dizzy head. Two lips that close to my lips were pressed; THE PONY EXPRESS 19 Then came thunder into my ears As over us surged the sea of steers, Blows that beat blood into my eyes, And when I could rise — Lasca was dead ! * * * I gouged out a grave a few feet deep. And there in Earth's bosom I laid her to sleep; And there she is lying — and no one knows — 'Neath summer's sun and winter's snows; Full many a day the flowers have spread A pall of petals over her head. And the little gray hawk hangs aloft in the air, And the sly coyote trots here and there. And the black snake glides, and glitters and slides Into a rift in the cotton-wood tree. And the buzzard sails on — And comes and is gone — Stately and still, like a ship at sea. And I wonder why I do not care For the things that are, like the things that were — Does half my heart lie buried there In Texas, down by the Rio Grande? Frank Desprez THE PONY EXPRESS The eddies swirl in the treacherous ford. And the clouds gather dark ahead ; And over the plain, where the sunlight poured. Scarce a gleam does the pale moon shed. 20 SONGS OF HORSES The pony drinks, but with gasp and sob, And wan is the man at its side ; The way has been long, past butte and knob, And still he must ride and ride. Now the cinch is drawn and the plunge is made, And the bank of the stream is gained ; Eyes study the darkness, unafraid, And ne'er is the good horse reined. And the hoof-beats die on the prairie vast. To the lone wolf's answerii7.g wail — Thus the ghost of the Pony Express goes past On the grass-grown Overland Trail. Arthur Chapman THE TRAIL OF DEATH We rode from daybreak; white and hot The sun beat like a hammer-stroke On molten iron; the blistered dust Rose up in clouds to sear and choke; But on we rode, gray-white as ghosts, Bepowdered with that bitter snow. The stinging breath of alkali From the grim, crusted earth below. Silent, our footsteps scarcely wrung An echo from the sullen trail; Silent, parched lip and stiffening tongue, We watched the horses fall and fail : THE TRAIL OF DEATH 21 Jack's first; he caught my stirrup strap; — God help me! but I shook him off; Death had not diced for two that day To meet him in that DeviPs trough. I flung him back my dry canteen, An ounce at most, weighed drop by drop "With life; he clutched it, drank, and laughed — Hard, hideous — a peal to stop The strongest heart — then turned and ran With arms outflung and mad eyes set, Straight on where 'gainst the dun sky's rim Green trees stood up, and cool and wet, . Long silver waves broke on the sand. The cursed mirage ! that lures and taunts The thirst-scourged lip and tortured sight Like some lost hope that mocking haunts A dying soul. I tried to call, The dry words rattled in my throat; And sun and sand and crouching sky — • God ! How they seemed to glare and gloat ! Reeling I caught the saddle-horn ; On, on; but now it seemed to be The spring-house path, and at the well My mother stood and beckoned me: The bucket glistened ; drip, drip, drip, I heard the water fall and plash ; Then keen as hell the burning wind ■ Awoke me with its fiery lash. SONGS OF HORSES On, on ; what was that bleaching thing Across the trail? I dared not look; But on — blind, aimless, till the sun Crept grudging past the hills and took His curse from off the gasping land. The blessed dusk! my gaunt horse raised His head and neighed, and staggered on; And I, with bleeding lips, half-crazed. Laughed out ; for just above us there. Rock-caught against a blackened ledge A little pool; one last hard climb; Full spent we fell upon its edge — One still forever. Weak I lay And drank; hot hands and temples laved: Jack gone, alas! the horses dead; But night and water — I was saved ! Sharlot M. Hall THE SONG OF THE LEATHER When my trail stretches out to the edge of the sky Through the desert so empty and bright, When I *m watchin' the miles as they go crawlin' by And a-hopin* I '11 get there by night. Then my hawse never speaks through the long sunny day. But my saddle he sings in his creaky old way: " Easy — easy — easy — For a temperit pace ainH a crime. Let your mount hit it steady, but give him his ease. THE SONG OF THE LEATHER 23 For the sun hammers hard and there ^s never a breeze. We kin get there in plenty of time.^^ When I'm after some critter that's hit the high lope, And a-spurrin' my hawse till he flies, When I'm watchin' the chances for throwin' my rope, And a-winkin' the sweat from my eyes, Then the leathers they squeal with the lunge and the swing, And I work to the livelier time that they sing : "Reach Hm! reach Hm! reach Hm! If you lather your hawse to the heel! There 's a time to he slow and a time to be quick; Never mind if it 's rough and the bushes are thick — Pull your hat down and fling in the steel! ^* When I 've rustled all day till I 'm achin' for rest And I 'm ordered a night-guard to ride. With the tired little moon hangin' low in the west And my sleepiness fightin' my pride. Then I nod and I blink at the dark herd below, And the saddle he sings as my hawse paces slow: " Sleepy — sleepy — sleepy — We was ordered a close watch to keepy But Pll sing you a song in a drowsy old key; All the world is a-snoozin' so why should n^t we? Go to sleepy pardner mine^ go to sleep.^^ Badger Clark 24 SONGS OF HORSES THE OV COW HAWSE When it comes to saddle hawses, there 's a differ- ence in steeds: There is fancy-gaited critters that will suit some feller's needs; There is nags high-bred an' tony, with a smooth an' shiny skin, That will capture all the races that you want to run 'em in. But fer one that never tires; one that's faithful, tried and true; One that alius is a " stayer " when you want to slam him through — There is but one breed o' critters that I ever came across That will alius stand the racket : 't is the — 01' cow hawse ! No, he ain't so much for beauty, fer he 's scrubby an' he 's rough, An' his temper 's sort o' sassy, but you bet he 's good enough! Fer he '11 take the trail o' mornin's, be it up or be it down, On the range a-huntin' cattle or a-lopin' into town. An' he'll leave the miles behind him, an' he'll never sweat a hair, 'Cuz he 's a willin' critter when he 's goin' anyv/here. Oh, your thoroughbred at runnin' in a race may be the boss, But fer all day ridin' lemme have the — 01' cow hawse ! THAT ROAN CAYUSE 25 When my soul seeks peace and quiet on the Home Ranch of the blest, Where no storms or stampedes bother, an* the trails are trails o' rest, When my brand has been inspected an' pronounced to be O K, An* the boss has looked me over an* has told me I kin stay. Oh, I*m hopin* when I'm lopin* off across that blessed range That I won't be in a saddle on a critter new an* strange, But I *m prayin* every minnit that up there I '11 ride across That big heaven range 0' glory on an — • or cow hawse ! E. A, Brinninstool THAT ROAN CAYUSE Colt she was when I spied her, stray on the open range ; Starvin' poor, for the feed was thin and water- holes far between. I roped her and threw and tied her, for I saw she was actin' strange ; And on her breast was a barb-wire cut — the worst I have ever seen. Talk about nursin' ! Maybe that boss was n't raised by hand ! Boys they joshed when they saddled up and when they rode in at night; 26 SONGS OF HORSES " S-s-s-h! Don't you wake the baby! Say, can't you understand — Cussin' don't go in this horsepital, or Doc '11 get mad and bite ! " Look at her now! Like copper, shinin* and sleek and strong! Follow a mountain trail all day and finish a-step- pin' high. Nothin' out here can stop her, and she lopes like a swallow's song. Wicked as fire to a stranger — but as gentle to me as pie. Look at her straight-up ears, now, listenin' to you and me! Her eyes are askin' questions; wonderin' what 's to do. Understands what she hears? Now, watch when I call and see How she '11 circle around to my side and flatten her ears at you. Bronco? Yes — don't pay to quirt her. I 'm bronco myself, some days, Pitchin' when luck is a-ridin' me hard and pilin' it if I can. But a quick, hard word will hurt her — for a boss has peculiar ways; Use any boss like a human and he '11 treat you just like a man. THAT ROAN CAYUSE 27 You 'd ride her? That 's not surprising for judgin' your legs, you could. But flowers are scarce at this time of year and there is n't a parson nigh. She sure needs exercisin' ; 't would do her a lot of good, But I 'd hate to see you a-flyin', 'cause you ain't built right to fly. Remember that old-time sayin', cinched up in a two-bit rhyme? " There is n't a boss that can't be rode." And many a rider tries, But when it comes to stayin', why, you can't stay every time; " There is n't a man that can't be throwed " is the place where the song gets wise. " That roan cayuse of the Concho " : when a boss has a name like that, You can figure its reputation without askin* another word. You can roll it up in your poncho, or bury it under your hat. It 's just like that picture-writin' — means lots that you have n't heard. You straighten them ears up pronto ! You, showin' your teeth at me ! Here, now, you quit your bitin' — do you think I 'm a bale of hay? 28 SONGS OF HORSES You 'd buy her? She heard you say it — ears flat and eye rollin', see ! Well, she is the lady to talk to — and I guess that 's your answer, eh? Henry Herbert Knibbs WHEN YOU'RE THRO WED If a feller 's been a-straddle Since he 's big enough to ride, And has had to sling his saddle On most any colored hide, — Though it 's nothin' they take pride in, Still most fellers I have knowed, If they ever done much ridin'. Has at different times got throwed. All the boys start out together For the round-up some fine day When you 're due to throw your leather On a little wall-eyed bay. An' he swells to beat the nation When you 're cinchin' up the slack, An' he keeps an elevation In your saddle at the back. He stands still with feet a-sprawlin', An' his eye shows lots of white, An' he kinks his spinal column. An' his hide is puckered tight. He starts risin' an' a-jimipin'. An' he strikes when you get near. An' you cuss him an' you thump him Till you get him by the ear, — WHEN YOU'RE THROWED 29 Then your right hand grabs the saddle An' you ketch your stirrup, too, An' you try to light a-straddle Like a woolly buckaroo; But he drops his head an' switches, Then he makes a backward jump. Out of reach your stirrup twitches But your right spur grabs his hump. An' " Stay with him! " shouts some feller; Though you know it 's hope forlorn. Yet you '11 show that you ain't yeller An' you choke the saddle horn. Then you feel one rein a-droppin' An' you know he 's got his head ; An' your shirt tail 's out an' floppin' ; An' the saddle pulls like lead. Then the boys all yell together Fit to make a feller sick: " Hey, you short horn, drop the leather! Fan his fat an' ride him slick 1 " Seems you 're up-side-down an' flyin', Then your spurs begin to slip. There 's no further use in tryin', For the horn flies from your grip, An' you feel a vague sensation As upon the ground you roll, Like a violent separation 'T wixt your body an' your soul. 30 SONGS OF HORSES Then you roll agin a hummock Where you lay an* gasp for breath, An' there 's somethin' grips your stomach Like the finger-grips o' death. They all offers you prescriptions For the grip an' for the croup, An' they give you plain descriptions How you looped the spiral loop ; They all swear you beat a circus Or a hoochy-koochy dance, Moppin' up the caiion's surface With the bosom of your pants. Then you '11 get up on your trotters, But you have a job to stand ; For the landscape round you totters An' your collar 's full o' sand. Lots of fellers give prescriptions How a broncho should be rode. But there 's few that gives descriptions Of the times when they got throwed. Anonymous A SADDLE-SONG To horse ! as rode the knights of old for tourney and affray; To horse! the world is wide, and ours, free heart and summer day: Oh! Laughter now shall be our god and every care take wings. And we '11 take our marching orders from the song the saddle sings. MARTA OF MILRONE 31 The gipsy blood is coursing red along each leaping vein; V/e are brothers to the bursting flower and kindred with the rain: How the voice of Nature calls us ! How it beckons I How it rings, In the echoes of the marching song the old saddle sings ! The fir trees standing sentinel upon the mountain's crest Have sent their message on the wind to fill us with unrest; To mingle with our dreams the scent the healing balsam flings, And blend the forest whispers with the song the saddle sings. O jingling spur and rattling rein, brown earth and bending sky, We turn to you to brim again the cup of life run dry; Take toll of all the fancied gain that hard-spent striving brings. But set our days in measure with the song the sad- dle sings. Sharlot M, Hall MARTA OF MILRONE I shot him where the Rio flows; I shot him when the moon arose; And where he lies the vulture knows — Along the Tinto River. 32 SONGS OF HORSES In schools of eastern culture, pale, My cloistered flesh began to fail; They bore me where the deserts quail To winds from out the sun. I looked upon the land and sky, Nor hoped to live nor feared to die; And from my hollow breast a sigh Fell o*er the burning waste. But strong I grew and tall I grew; I drank the region's balm and dew, — It made me lithe in limb and thew, — How swift I rode and ran ! ») And oft it was my joy to ride Over the sand-blown ocean wide While, ever smiling at my side, Rode Marta of Milrone. A flood of horned heads before, The trampled thunder, smoke and roar, Of full four thousand hoofs, or more — A cloud, a sea, a storm ! O ! wonderful the desert gleamed. As, man and maid, we spoke and dreamed Of love in life, till white wastes seemed Like plains of paradise. Her eyes with Love's great magic shone : " Be mine, O Marta of Milrone, — Your hand, your heart be all my own! " — ■ Her lips made sweet response: MARTA OF MILRONE 33 " I love you, yes; for you are he Who from the East should come to me ^ And I have waited long ! " Oh, we Were happy as the sun. There came upon a hopeless quest, With hell and hatred in his breast, A stranger, v/ho his love confessed To Marta long in vain. To me she spoke: " O chosen mate, His eyes are terrible with fate, — I fear his love, I fear his hate, — I fear some looming ill ! " Then to the church we twain did ride, I kissed her as she rode beside; How fair — how passing fair my bride With golden combs in her hair! Before the Spanish priest we stood Of San Gregorio's brotherhood — A shot rang out ! — and in her blood My dark-eyed darling lay. God ! I carried her beside The Virgin's altar where she cried, — • Smiling upon me ere she died, — " Adieu, my love, adieu ! " 1 knelt before St. Mary's shrine And held my dead one's hand in mine, " Vengeance," I cried, " O Lord, be thine. But I thy minister ! '* 34 SONGS OF HORSES I kissed her thrice and sealed my vow, — Her eyes, her sea-cold lips and brow, — " Farewell, my heart is dying now, Marta of Milrone ! '* Then swift upon my steed I leapt; My streaming eyes the desert swept; 1 saw the accursed where he crept Against the blood-red sun. I galloped straight upon his track, And never more my eyes looked back; The world was barred with red and black; My heart was flaming coal. On, through delirious twilight dim And the black night I followed him ; Hills did we cross and rivers swim, — My fleet-foot horse and I. The morn burst red, a gory wound, O'er iron hills and savage ground; And there was never another sound Save beat of horses' hoofs: Unto the murderer's ear they said, " Thou 'rt of the dead! Thou 'rt of the dead! "^ Still on his stallion, black, he sped While death spurred on behind. Fiery dust from the blasted plain Burnt like lava in ev'ry vein; But I rode on with steady rein Though the fierce sand-devils spim. MARTA OF MILRONE 35 Then to a sullen land we came, Whose earth was brass, whose sky was flame; I made it balm with her blest name In the land of Mexico. With gasp and groan my poor horse fell, — Last of all things that loved me well ! I turned my head — a smoking shell Veiled me his dying throes. But fast on vengeful foot was I; His steed fell, too, and was left to die; He fled where a river's channel dry Made way to the rolling stream. Red as my rage the huge sun sank. My foe bent low on the river's bank And deep of the kindly flood he drank While the giant stars broke forth. Then face to face and man to man I fought him where the river ran. While the trembling palm held up its fan And emerald serpents lay. The mad, remorseless bullets broke From tongues of flame in the sulphur smoke ; The air was rent till the desert spoke To the echoing hills afar. Hot from his lips the curses burst ; He fell! The sands were slaked of thirst; A stream in the stream ran dark at first, And the stones grew red as hearts. 36 SONGS OF HORSES I shot him where the Rio flows ; I shot him when the moon arose ; And where he lies the vulture knows — Along the Tinto River. But where she lies to none is known Save to my poor heart and a lonely stone On which I sit and weep alone Where the cactus stars are white. Where I shall lie, no man can say ; The flowers all are fallen away; The desert is so drear and grey, O Marta of Milrone ! Herman Scheffauer PARDNERS You bad-eyed, tough-mouthed son-of-a-gun, Ye 're a hard little beast to break, But ye 're good for the fiercest kind of a run An' ye 're quick as a rattlesnake. Ye jolted me good when we first met In the dust of that bare corral, An' neither one of us will forget The fight we fit, old pal. But now — well, say, old boss, if John D. Rockefeller shud come With all the riches his paws are on And want to buy you, you bum, I 'd laugh in his face an' pat your neck An' say to him loud an' strong : THE MEETING 37 " I would n't sell you this durned old wreck For all your wealth — so long! '* For we have slept on the barren plains An' cuddled against the cold ; We 've been through tempests of drivin' rains When the heaviest thunder rolled; We 've raced from fire on the lone prairee An' run from the mad stampede ; An' there ain't no money could buy from me A pard of your style an' breed. So I reckon we '11 stick together, pard, Till one of us cashes in; Ye 're wiry an' tough an' mighty hard, An' homelier, too, than sin. But yer head 's all there an' yer heart 's all right, An' you 've been a good pardner, too. An' if ye 've a soul, it 's clean an' white, You ugly ol' scoundrel, you ! Berton Br ale y THE MEETING When walkin' down a city street, Two thousand miles from home. The pavestones hurtin' of the feet That never ought to roam, A pony just reached to one side And grabbed me by the clothes; He smelled the sagebrush, durn his hide! You bet a pony knows ! 38 SONGS OF HORSES I stopped and petted him, and seen A brand upon his side; I '11 bet, across the prairie green, He useter hit his stride; Some puncher of the gentle cow Had owned him — that I knows ; Which £ame is why he jest says: " How! There *s sagebrush in your clothes." He knowed the smell — no doubt it waked Him out of some bright dream; In some far stream his thirst is slaked — ■ He sees the mountains gleam; He bears his rider far and fast. And real the hull thing grows When I come sorter driftin* past / With sagebrush in my clothes. Poor little boss ! It 's tough to be Away from that fair land — ■ Away from that wide prairie sea With all its vistas grand ; I feel for you, old hoss, I do — It's hard, the way life goes; I 'd like to travel back with you — Back where that sagebrush grows ! Arthur Chapman TWO-BITS Where the shimmering sands of the desert beat In waves to the foothills' rugged line. And cat-claw and cactus and brown mesquite Elbow the cedar and mountain pine ; TWO-BITS 39 Under the dip of a wind-swept hill, Like a little gray hawk Fort Whipple clung; The fort was a pen of peeled pine logs And forty troopers the army strong. At the very gates when the darkness fell, Prowling Mohave and Yavapai Signalled with shrill coyote yell, Or mocked the night owl's piercing cry; Till once when the guard turned shuddering For a trace in the east of the welcome dawn. Spent, wounded, a courier reeled to his feet; — " Apaches — rising — Wingate — warni '* " And half the troop at the Date Creek Camp ! " The Captain muttered : " Those devils heard ! " White-lipped he called for a volunteer To ride " Two-Bits " and carry the word " Alone; it's a game of hide and seek; One man may win where ten would fail." Himself the saddle and cinches set And headed " Two-Bits " for the Verde Trail. " Two-Bits ! " How his still eyes woke to the chase ! The bravest soul of them all was he ! Hero of many a hard-won race, With a hundred scars for his pedigree. Wary of ambush, and keen of trail. Old in wisdom of march and fray; And the grizzled veteran seemed to know The lives that hung on his hoofs that day. 40 SONGS OF HORSES " A week ! God speed you and make it less ! Ride by night from the river on." Caps were swung in a silent cheer, A quick salute, and the word was gone. Sunrise, threading the Point of Rocks; Dusk, in the canyons dark and grim Where, coiled like a rope flung down the cliffs, The trail crawls up to the frowning rim. A pebble turned, a spark out-struck From steel-shod hoofs on the treacherous flint, Ears strain, eyes wait in the rocks above For the faintest whisper, the farthest glint; But shod with silence and robed with night They pass untracked, and mile by mile The hills divide for the flying feet, And the stars lean low to guide the-while. Never a plumed quail hid her nest With the stealthiest care that a mother may, As crouched at dawn in the chaparral These two, whom a heart-beat might betray. So, hiding and riding, night by night; Four days, and the end of the journey near; The fort just hid in the distant hills — But hist! A whisper — a breath of fear! They wheel and turn — too late. Ping! Ping! From their very feet a fiery jet. A lurch, a plunge, and the brave old horse Leaped out with his broad breast torn and wet. TWO-BITS 41 Ping! Thud! On his neck the rider swayed; Ten thousand deaths if he reeled and fell! Behind, exultant, the painted horde Poured down like a skirmish line from hell. Not yet! Not yet! Those ringing hoofs Have scarred their triumph on many a course; And the desperate, blood-trailed chase swept on, Apache sinews 'gainst wounded horse. Hour crowding hour till the yells died back. Till the pat of the moccasined feet was gone ; And dumb to heeding of foe or fear The rider dropped, — but the horse kept on. Stiff and stumbling and spent and sore, Plodding the long miles doggedly; Till the daybreak bugles of Wingate rang And a faint neigh answered the reveille. Wide swung the gates — a wounded horse — Red-dabbled pouches and riding gear; A shout, a hurry, a quick-fiung word — And " Boots and Saddles " rang sharp and clear. Like a stern commander the old horse turned As the troop filed out, and straight to the head He guided them back on that weary trail Till he fell by his fallen rider — dead — But the man and the message saved. And he Whose brave heart carried the double load. With his last trust kept and his last race won — • They buried him there on the Wingate road. Sharlot M. Hall 42 SONGS OF HORSES EL HIJO DEL MAR This is a story of long ago Before Ugarte of Mexico The keel of his holy vessel laid; Before the Monterey Cross was made, Or masses sung by Junipero. An old vaquero passing away Told it beside Estero Bay, While his horse listened outside the door, Lifting and shaking his hackamore — Listened as if he had dreamed the lore Of that brown Arab who swam ashore Through mighty waves, through sea-fog gray, With ship's bells wailing that winter day; Doubtfully watching two strangers near. Gringos and Northerners — that was clear ! — Sadly the brown colt chafed at the door, — Sadly old Juan looked forth once more. Down his half-roofed adobe old. The Spaniard whispered of ship-wrecked gold. Crazy Old Juan — they called him there But still he talked of a galleon fair, Blown out of her track from Asian isles. Northward for many wearying miles, Rudder broken and canvas in rags, Hurled at last on those outer crags. One brown stallion — a wonderful steed — Won safe to shore — and still his breed. His bold, brown Arabs master the hills. RIDING SONG 43 Each carries proudly his great white star, — Loud whinnied Juan's colt El Hijo del Mar! Sometimes the ocean rises and fills Its endless murmurs with brooding ills. Sighings of women come from the deep, Cryings of children waked from sleep. Sometimes the tides of Estero Bay Bring oaken timbers to light of day; Once a golden cup for blessed wine, Last filled for some girl of ancient line. As the storied galleon hung a breath And slowly slid to her ocean death. Charles Howard Shinn RIDING SONG Let us ride together, — Blowing mane and hair, Careless of the weather, ^ Miles ahead of care. Ring of hoof and snaffle. Swing of waist and hip, Trotting down the twisted road With the world let slip. Let us laugh together, — Merry as of old, To the creak of leather And the morning cold. Break into a canter ; Shout to bank and tree ; Rocking down the waking trail. Steady hand and knee. 44 SONGS OF HORSES Take the life of cities ! Here 's the life for me. 'T were a thousand pities Not to gallop free. So we '11 ride together, Comrade, you and I, Careless of the weather. Letting care go by. Anonymous ORIENT AND OCCIDENT THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST O/i, East is East J and West is Westy and never the twain shall meety Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat; But there is neither East nor Westy Border y nor Breed, nor Birthy When two strong men stand face to facey though they come from the ends of the earth! Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side And he has lifted the ColonePs mare that is the Colonel's pride. He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day, And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away. Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the Guides : " Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides? " Then up and spoke Mohammed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar: " If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are. At dusk he harries the Abazai — at dawn he is into Bonair, But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare. 48 SONGS OF HORSES So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly, By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of Jagai. But if he be past the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then^ For the length and breadth of that grisly plain is sown with Kamal's men. There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between. And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen." The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he. With the mouth of a bell and the heart of hell and the head of a gallows-tree. The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat — Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat. He *s up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly, Till he was aware of his^father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai, Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back. And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack. He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whis- tling ball went wide. " Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. " Show now if ye can ride ! " THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 49 It 's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust- devils go, The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe. The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above, But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove. There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between. And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a man was seen. They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn. The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn. The dun he fell at a water-course — in a woeful heap fell he. And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free. He has knocked the pistol out of his hand — small room was there to strive, ** 'T was only by favour of mine,'* quoth he, " ye rode so long alive: There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree. But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee. If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low. The little jackals that flee so fast v/ere feasting all in a row. 50 SONGS OF HORSES If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high, The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly." Lightly answered the ColonePs son: " Do good to bird and beast, But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast. If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away. Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay. They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered grain. The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain. But if thou thinkest the price be fair, — thy breth- ren wait to sup. The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn, — howl, dog, and call them up ! And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack. Give me my father's mare again, and I '11 fight my own way back ! " Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his feet. " No talk shall be of dogs," said he, " when wolf and grey wolf meet. May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath ; What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with Death? " THE BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST 51 Lightly answered the Colonel's son: " I hold by the blood of my clan : Take up the mare for my father's gift — by God, she has carried a man !" The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuz- zled against his breast; " We be two strong men," said Kama! then, " but she loveth the younger best. So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise- studded rein. My 'broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain." The Colonel's son a pistol drew, and held it muzzle- end, " Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he ; *' "Will ye take the mate from a friend? " " A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; " a limb for the risk of a limb. Thy father has sent his son to me, I '11 send my son to him!" With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from a mountain-crest — • He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked like a lance in rest. " Now here is thy master," Kamal said, " who leads a troop of the Guides, And thou must ride at his left side as shield on. shoulder rides. Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed, Thy life is his — thy fate it is to guard him with thy head. 52 SONGS OF HORSES So, thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her foes are thine, And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace of the Border-line. And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power — Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged in Peshawur." They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no fault. They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and salt: They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod. On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names of God. The Colonel's son he rides the mare and Kamal's boy the dim. And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one. And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty swords flew clear — There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of the mountaineer. "Ha' done! ha' done!" said the Colonel's son. " Put up the steel at your sides! Last night ye had struck at a Border thief — to- night 't is a man of the Guides ! " Ohy East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet. Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat; THE RIDING CAMEL 53 But there is neither East nor West^ Border, nor Breed J nor Birth, When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth! Rudyard Kipling THE RIDING CAMEL I was Junda's riding camel. I went in front of the train. I was hung with shells of the Orient from saddle and cinch and rein. I was sour as a snake to handle and rough as a rock to ride, But I could keep up with the west wind, and my pace was Jimda's pride. I was Junda's riding camel. When first we left our land Camels were rare on the Queensland tracks as ropes made out of the sand ; But slowly we conquered a kingdom till down through the dust and heat Not a road from the Gulf to the Border but carried the print of our feet. And I was the riding camel. I carried him — Jimda Khan — The dark-skinned Afghan devil made in the mould of a man ! I gave no service to others, yellow, or white, or brown, But Jimda Khan was my master ; I knelt when he " Hooshed!" me down. 54 SONGS OF HORSES When the gloom on his forehead gathered, when he fingered the blade at his belt, The men who handled the nose-strings knelt low as the camels knelt; For each of them — beast and driver — from Koot to the camel-foal, Knew that the man who led them owned them body and soul. Northward I carried my master. The creek by the road was dry; The smi Uke a burning wagon-wheel rolled down the western sky; The dust was white on the saltbush, the ruts were deep in the road, And the camel behind me grunted at every lurch of his load. A dust-whirl rose in the bushes and circled into the sky. The shells on my harness rattled as its burning breath went by. And out of the endless distance, clear-cut on the world's edge, lone. Like a silver sail on the ocean the roof of a home- stead shone. The white man stood at my shoulder, sunburnt, lissome and straight; In the deep of his eyes was anger to match with the Afghan's hate. THE RIDING CAMEL 55 I know no word of the quarrel, the *' Hoosh-tal" came and I knelt; And Junda sprang from my saddle, and the knife leapt out of his belt. There was a cry in the sunset, an echo that rang at the ford ; Then silence fell on the roadway till a scared bull- camel roared. My master turned and mounted; I felt the sting of his goad, And we swept away through the saltbush ; and the rest stood still on the road. The night came up from the river, darksome and deep and drear. Swift were my feet on the sandhill, but swifter fol- lowed his fear. When the stars were dim in the daylight and the moon on the mulga, low, A hundred miles of desert lay between the blade and the blow. We were far from the fetter of fences and far from the dwellings of men. Yet for less than an hour he rested, then mounted and rode again. I was sore and weary and thirsty when out of the blaze of noon, We camped in the shade of a wilga clump and drank at a long lagoon. SONGS OF HORSES Ah ! Never was life-blood taken of white, or yellow, or brown, But the keen-eyed men in the helmets have ridden the taker down! Never a trail on the sandhill of camel, or horse, or shoe, Crossed by a hundred others but the trackers have tracked it through! Sore of the saddle and weary, Junda, the killer, slept ; But I, I watched from the bushes while the armed avenger crept. Sharp came the call in the English tongue, and my master sprang from sleep. Hand to the hilt of his Khyber knife, crouched for his one swift leap. Brave are these outpost English, but simple as chil- dren be ; The pistol-barrel that held his life hung loose at the trooper's knee. There was a flash in the simlight, the gleam of a long, blue blade, A cry in the noontide stillness, a corpse on the sand- hill laid. I was his riding camel; but deep in my heart there stirred Something of lust and anger I could not name in a word. MULEYKEH 57 When he came to me swift and sudden, the blood- red knife in his belt, I could not kneel at his bidding as I and my sires had knelt. Wrath at his long-time goading, fear of his cruel hand Made me a raging devil that heard no man's com- mand. And when he struck at my nostrils, mad with his human fear, I clenched my teeth in his shoulder and climg till the blood ran clear. I knelt with my weight and crushed him. He died, and at Allah's Gate The soul of him sobs and trembles where the grim Black Camels wait. Could I do else, my brothers, I who remembered then The moan of the laden pack-beasts and the mutter of Jimda's men? Will H. Ogilvie MULEYKEH If a stranger passed the tent of Hoseyn, he cried "A churl's!" Or haply " God help the man who has neither salt nor bread!" — " Nay," would a friend exclaim, " he needs nor pity nor scorn More than who spends small thought on the shore- sand, picking pearls. 58 SONGS OF HORSES — Holds but in light esteem the seed-sort, bears instead On his breast a moon-like prize, some orb which of night makes morn. ** What if no flocks and herds enrich the son of Sinan? They went when his tribe was mulct, ten thousand camels the due. Blood-value paid perforce for a murder done of old. * God gave them, let them go ! But never since time began, Muleykeh, peerless mare, owned master the match of you, And you are my prize, my Pearl: I laugh at men's land and gold ! * " So in the pride of his soul laughs Hoseyn — and right, I say. Do the ten steeds rim a race of glory? Outstripping all. Ever Muleykeh stands first steed at the victor's staff. Who started, the owner's hope, gets shamed and named, that day. * Silence,' or, last but one, is * The Cuffed,' as we used to call Whom the paddock's lord thrusts forth. Right, Hoseyn, I say, to laugh ! " " Boasts he Muleykeh the Pearl? " the stranger replies: *' Be sure On him I waste nor scorn nor pity, but lavish both MULEYKEH 59 On Duhl the son of Sheyban, who withers away in heart For envy of Hoseyn's luck. Such sickness admits no cure. A certain poet has sung, and sealed the same with an oath, * For the vulgar — flocks and herds ! The Pearl is a prize apart.* " Lo, Duhl the son of Sheyban comes riding to Hoseyn's tent. And casts his saddle down, and enters and " Peace!" bids he. " You are poor, I know the cause : my plenty shall mend the wrong. 'T is said of your Pearl — the price of a hundred camels spent In her purchase were scarce ill paid : such prudence is far from me Who proffer a thousand. Speak! Long parley may last too long." Said Hoseyn: " You feed yoimg beasts a many, of famous breed. Slit-eared, unblemished, fat, true offspring of Muzennem: There stumbles no weak-eyed she in the line as it climbs the hill. But I love Muleykeh*s face : her forefront whitens indeed Like a yellowish wave's cream-crest. Your camels — go gaze on them ! Her fetlock is foam-splashed too. Myself am the richer still." 6o SONGS OF HORSES A year goes by: lo, back to tent again rides Duhl. " You are open-hearted, ay — moist-handed, a very prince. Why should I speak of sale? Be the mare your sim- ple gift! My son is pined to death for her beauty: my wife prompts ' Fool, Beg for his sake the Pearl ! Be God the rewarder, since God pays debts seven for one: who squanders on Him shows thrift.' " Said Hoseyn, " God gives each man one life, like a lamp, then gives That lamp due measure of oil: lamp lighted — hold high, wave wide Its comfort for others to share! once quench it, what help is left? The oil of your lamp is your son: I shine while Muleykeh lives. Would I beg your son to cheer my dark if Muleykeh died? It is life against life : what good avails to the life- bereft? " Another year, and— hist! What craft is it Duhl designs? He alights not at the door of the tent as he did last time. But, creeping behind, he gropes his stealthy way by the trench Half-round till he finds the flap in the folding, for night combines MULEYKEH 6i With the robber — and such is he: Duhl, covetous up to crime, Must wring from Hoseyn's grasp the Pearl, by whatever the wrench. " He was hunger-bitten, I heard: I tempted with half my store. And a gibe was all my thanks. Is he generous like Spring dew? Account the fault to me who chaffered with such an one! He has killed, to feast chance comers, the creature he rode : nay, more — For a couple of singing-girls his robe h^s he torn in two: I will beg! Yet I nowise gained by the tale of my wife and son. " I swear by the Holy House, my head will I never wash Till I filch his Pearl away. Fair dealing I tried, then guile. And now I resort to force. He said we must live or die : Let him die, then, — let me live ! Be bold — but not too rash ! I have found me a peeping-place: breast, bury your breathing while I explore for myself! Now, breathe! He de- ceived me not, the spy ! " As he said — there lies in peace Hoseyn — how happy! Beside Stands tethered the Pearl: thrice winds her head- stall about his wrist : 62 SONGS OF HORSES 'T is therefore he sleeps so sound — the moon through the roof reveals. And, loose on his left, stands too that other, known far and wide, Buheyseh, her sister born: fleet is she yet ever missed The winning tail's fire-flash a-stream past the thunderous heels. " No less she stands saddled and bridled, this sec- ond, in case some thief Should enter and seize and fly with the first, as I mean to do. What then? The Pearl is the Pearl: once mount her we both escape.*' Through the skirt-fold in glides Duhl, — so a ser- pent disturbs no leaf In a bush as he parts the twigs entwining a nest: clean through. He is noiselessly at his work: as he planned, he performs the rape. He has set the tent-door wide, has buckled the girth, has clipped The headstall away from the wrist he leaves thrice bound as before. He springs on the Pearl, is launched on the desert like bolt from bow. Up starts our plundered man: from his breast though the heart be ripped. Yet his mind has the mastery: behold, in a minute more, He is out and off and away on Buheyseh, whose worth we know ! MUL^YKEH 63 And Hoseyn — his blood turns flame, he has learned long since to ride, And Buheyseh does her part, — they gain — they are gaining fast On the fugitive pair, and Duhl has Ed-Darraj to cross and quit. And to reach the ridge El-Saban, — no safety till that he spied ! And Buheyseh is, bound by bound, but a horse- length off at last. For the Pearl has missed the tap of the heel, the touch of the bit. She shortens her stride, she chafes at her rider the strange and queer: Buheyseh is mad with hope — beat sister she shall and must Though Duhl, of the hand and heel so clumsy, she has to thank. She is near now, nose by tail — they are neck by croup — joy ! fear ! What folly makes Hoseyn shout " Dog Duhl, Damned son of the Dust, Touch the right ear and press with your foot my PearPs left flank!" And Duhl was wise at the word, and Muleykeh as prompt perceived Who was urging redoubled pace, and to hear him was to obey. And a leap indeed gave she, and evanished for ever- more. And Hoseyn looked one long last look as who, all bereaved, 64 SONGS OF HORSES Looks, fain to follow the dead so far as the living may: Then he turned Buheyseh's neck slow homeward, weeping sore. And, lo, in the sunrise, still sat Hosejrn upon the ground Weeping: and neighbors came, the tribesmen of Benu-Asad In the vale of green Er-Rass, and they questioned him of his grief; And he told from first to last how, serpent-like, Duhl had wound His way to the nest, and how Duhl rode like an ape, so bad ! And how Buheyseh did wonders, yet Pearl re- mained with the thief. And they jeered him, one and all: " Poor Hoseyn is crazed past hope I How else had he wrought himself his ruin, in for- tune's spite? To have simply held the tongue were a task for boy or girl. And here were Muleykeh again, the eyed like an antelope. The child of his heart by day, the wife of his breast by night!" — ** And the beaten in speed ! " wept Hoseyn. " You never have loved my Pearl!" Robert Browning CONSUL ROMANUS 65 CONSUL ROMANUS Shod with gold, And bitted with gold, Went an Emperor's steed in days of old. On gilded oats this Horse was fed, 'Neath a golden canopy had his bed: Rome bent the knee when he came in sight; And he Uved in a palace of marble white, With a hundred slaves to serve his need, For he was the Emperor's chosen steed, The best and fleetest in all the land, And stroked and patted by Caesar's hand; And his purple trappings of price imtold, Flashed with jewels, And flamed with gold. And the crazy Emperor laughed, and swore, ** There is not a king that I honour more; For where shall I find, in the Roman throng, A man who 's as handsome, as fine, as strong, Or, among my parasite, fawning ring, A friend who 's as true as that speechless thing? '' And he sought about till he found a way. Which gold and jewels could not express. His thoughts to the v/hole wide world to say — If you had n't heard it you'd never guess Who made him a consul, nothing less — And the Horse was a consul that self same day. So, with glittering guards in grand array, You can see him a-far on the Appian way, 66 SONGS OF HORSES Blazing with diamonds like a star, Consul Romanus ! ! S. P. Q. R. And though patricians may turn and sneer, The people laugh and the people jeer, — • They laugh at the title turned to scorn, They jeer to see it so proudly borne; For he looks so splendid, he steps so high. As he tosses his jeweled head to the sky: He spurns the earth with such proud disdain. As he rattles his priceless bridle chain; He is so shapely in every Une, So full of strength and yet so fine. So handsome and so debonnaire. So much a gentleman everywhere, That you never saw, Though you 've traveled far, Such a noble Consul S. P. Q. R. And when, to finish this equine lay. The Emperor died (in a sudden way). Reeking with murders, so they say. Mad as a hatter, fouled and stained With every vice which the world contained ; Yet he got the tribute the world might pay If mad Caligula lived to-day : " There are many worse: He'd his faults, of course; But he fostered sport, and he loved a horse." Bertrand Shadwell THE EARLY MORNING REDE 67 TPIE KENTUCKY THOROUGHBRED I love the hoss from hoof to head, From head to hoof and tail to mane; I love the hoss, as I have said, From head to hoof and back again. I love my God the first of all. Then Him that perished on the Cross; And next my wife, and then I fall Down on my knees and love the hoss. - James Whitcomh Riley THE EARLY MORNING RIDE The dawn has left a rosy Hght Where scintillates the frosty sun, Your coat is silken, soft and bright, Oh, gentle horse, my lovely one. A while we thread through crowded fares — With careful step and ears erect, And arching neck, away she bears To streams, where flying clouds reflect. There, stretched before a mossy bank, Its dew of morning still undried ; — I touch my beauty's shining flank, She hfts her quivering nostril wide, And, like an arrow in the wind. Away, away, we flash as one ! While playing, straining muscles bend Her slender Umbs to bear me on. Dorothea Gilroy 68 SONGS OF HORSES CONROY'S GAP This was the way of it, don't you know — Ryan was " wanted " for stealing sheep, And never a trooper, high or low. Could find him — catch a weasel asleep ! Till Trooper Scott, from the Stockman's Ford — A bushman, too, as I 've heard them tell — Chanced to find him drunk as a lord Roimd at the Shadow of Death Hotel. D' you know the place? It's a wayside inn, A low grog-shanty — a bushman trap, Hiding away in its shame and sin Under the shelter of Conroy's Gap — Under the shade of that frowning range, The roughest crowd that ever drew breath — Thieves and rowdies, uncouth and strange, Were mustered 'round at the Shadow of Death. r The trooper knew that his man would slide Like a dingo pup, if he saw the chance ; And with half a start on the mountain side, Ryan would lead him a merry dance. Drunk as he was when the trooper came, To him that did not matter a rap — Drunk or sober, he was the same : The boldest rider in Conroy's Gap. " I want you, Ryan," the trooper said, *' And listen to me, if you dare resist, So help me heaven, I'll shoot you dead! " — He snapped the steel on his prisoner's wrist, CONROY'S GAP 69 And Ryan, hearing the handcuffs click, Recovered his wits as they turned to go, For fright will sober a man as quick As all the drugs that the doctors know. There was a girl in that rough bar Who went by the name of Kate Carew. Quiet and shy as the bush girls are, But ready-witted and plucky, too. She loved this Ryan, or so they say, And passing by, while her eyes were dim With tears, she said in a careless way, " The Swagman's 'round in the stable, Jim." Spoken too low for the trooper's ear. Why should she care if he heard or not? Plenty of swagmen far and near, And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. ' That was the name of the grandest horse In all the district from east to west. In every show ring, on every course. They always counted the Swagman best. He was a wonder, a raking bay — One of the grand old Snowdon strain — One of the sort that could race and stay With his mighty limbs and his length of rein. Born and bred on the mountain side. He could race through scrub like a kangaroo. The girl herself on his back might ride. And the Swagman would carry her safely through. 70 SONGS OF HORSES He would travel gaily from daylight's flush Till after the stars hung out their lamps — There was never his Hke in the open bush, And never liis match in the cattle-camps. For faster horses might well be found On racing tracks, or a plain's extent, But few, if any, on broken ground Could see the way that the Swagman went. When this girl's father, old Jim Carew, Was droving out on the Castlereagh With Conroy's cattle, a wire came through To say that his wife could n't live the day. And he was a hundred miles from home, As flies the crow, with never a track, Through plains as pathless as ocean's foam — • He mounted straight on the Swagman's back - He left the camp by the sundown light. And the settlers out on the Marthaguy Awoke and heard, in the dead of night, A single horseman hurrying by. He crossed the Bogan at Dandaloo, And many a mile of the silent plain That lonely rider behind him threw Before they settled to sleep again. He rode all night and he steered his course By the shining stars with a bushman's skill. And every time that he pressed his horse The Swagman answered him gamely still. He neared his home as the east was bright, The doctor met him outside the town : CONROY'S GAP 71 " Carew! How far did you come last night?" " A hundred miles since the sxm went down." And his wife got 'round, and an oath he passed, So long as he or one of his breed Could raise a coin, though it took their last, The Swagman never should want a feed. And Kate Carew, when her father died. She kept the horse and she kept him well: The pride of the district far and wide, He lived in style at the bush hotel. Such was the Swagman ; and Ryan knew Nothing about could pace the crack; Little he 'd care for the man in blue If once he got on the Swagman's back. But how to do it? A word let fall Gave him the hint as the girl passed by; Nothing but " Swagman — stable-wall; Go to the stable and mind your eye." He caught her meaning, and quickly turned To the trooper: *' Reckon you'll gain a stripe By arresting me, and it's easily earned; Let's go to the stable and get my pipe — The Swagman has it." So off they went. And soon as ever they turned their backs The girl slipped down, on some errand bent Behind the stable, and seized an axe. The trooper stood at the stable door While Ryan went in quite cool and slow. And then (the trick had been played before) The girl outside gave the boards a blow. 72 SONGS OF HORSES Three slabs fell out of the stable wall — 'T was done 'fore ever the trooper knew — And Ryan, as soon as he saw them fall, Mounted the Swagman and rushed him through. The trooper heard the hoof-beats ring In the stable yard, and he slammed the gate. But the Swagman rose with a mighty spring At the fence, and the trooper fired too late, As they raced away and his shots flew wide — And Ryan no longer need care a rap, For never a horse that was lapped in hide Could catch the Swagman in Conroy's Gap. And that's the story. You want to know If Ryan came back to his Kate Carew? Of course he should have, as stories go, But the worst of it is, this story's true; And in real Ufe it's a certain rule, Whatever poets and authors say Of high-toned robbers and all their school, These horse-thief fellows are n't built that way. Come back ! Don't hope it — the slinking hound, He sloped across to the Queensland side, And sold the Swagman for fifty pound. And stole the money, and more beside. And took to drink, and by some good chance Was killed — thrown out of a stolen trap. And that was the end of this small romance, The end of the story of Conroy's Gap. A. B. Paterson ALEXANDER TAMING BUCEPHALUS 73 ALEXANDER TAMING BUCEPHALUS *' Bring forth the steed!" It was a level plain Broad and unbroken as the mighty sea, When in their prison caves the winds lie chained. There Philip sat, paviHoned from the sun; There, all around, thronged Macedonia's hosts, Bannered and plumed and armed — a vast array. There too among an undistinguished crowd, Distinguished not himself by pomp, or dress, Or any royal sign, save that he wore A god-like aspect like Olympian Jove, And perfect grace and dignity, — a youth, — ■ A simple youth scarce sixteen summers old, With swift impatient step walked to and fro. E'en from their monarch's throne, they turned to view — Those countless congregations, — that young form; And when he cried again, " Bring forth the steed ! " Like thunder rolled the multitudinous shout Along the heavens, — " Live, Alexander!'* Then PhiHp waved his sceptre, — silence fell O'er all the plain. — 'T was but a moment's pause, While every gleaming banner, helm, and spear Sunk down Uke ocean billows, when the breeze First sweeps along and bends their silvery crests. Ten thousand trumpets rung amid the hail Of armies, as in victory, — " Live the King!" And Philonicus, the PharsaHan, kneeled: From famous Thessaly a horse he brought, A matchless horse. Vigor and beauty strove Like rival sculptors carving the same stone 74 SONGS OF HORSES To win the mastery; and. both prevailed. His hoofs were shod with swiftness; where he ran Glided the ground like water ; in his eye Flashed the strange fire of spirits still untamed, As when the desert owned him for its lord. Mars ! What a noble creature did he seem ! Too noble for a subject to bestride, Worth gold in talents; chosen for a prince, The most renowned and generous on earth. " Obey my son, Pharsalian! bring the steed!" The Monarch spoke. A signal to the grooms, And on the plain they led Bucephalus. " Mount, vassal, mount ! Why pales thy cheek with fear? Mount — ha! art slain? Another! mount again!" 'T was all in vain. — No hand could curb a neck Clothed with such might and grandeur to the rein: No thong or spur could make his fury yield. — Now bounds he from the earth ; and now he rears, Now madly plunges, strives to rush away. Like that strong bird — his fellow, king of air! "Quick, take him hence," cried Philip; "he is wild!" " Stay, father, stay! — lose not this gallant steed. For that base grooms cannot control his ire ! Give me the bridle!" Alexander threw His light cloak from his shoulders, and drew nigh. The brave steed was no courtier: prince and groom ALEXANDER TAMING BUCEPHALUS 75 Bore the same mien to him. — He started back, But with firm grasp the youth retained and turned His fierce eyes from his shadow to the sun, Then with that hand, in after years which hurled The bolts of war among embattled hosts — Conquered all Greece, and over Persia swayed Imperial command, — which on Fame's Temple Graved: "Alexander, Victor of the World!'* — With that same hand he smoothed the flowing mane. Patted the glossy skin with soft caress. Soothingly speaking in low voice the while. Lightly he vaulted to his first great strife. How like a Centaur looked the youth and steed! Firmly the hero sat; his glowing cheek Flushed with the rare excitement; his high brow Pale with a stern resolve ; his Up as smiling And his glance as calm, as if, in dalUance, Instead of danger, with a girl he played. Untutored to obey, how raves the steed! Champing the bit, and tossing the white foam, And struggling to get free, that he might dart, Swift as an arrow from the shivering bow — The rein is loosened. *' Now, Bucephalus!" Away — away I he flies; away — away! The multitude stood hushed in breathless awe, And gazed into the distance. Lo ! a speck, — A darksome speck on the horizon ! 'T is — 'T is he ! Now it enlarges : nov/ are seen The horse and rider; now, with ordered pace, The horse approaches, and the rider leaps Down to the earth and bends his rapid pace 76 SONGS OF HORSES Unto the King's pavilion. — The wild steed, Unled, uncalled, is following his subduer. Philip wept tears of joy: " My son, go seek A larger empire ; for so vast a soul, Too small is Macedonia!" Park Benjamin THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE Word was brought to the Danish king (Hurry) That the love of his heart lay suffering, And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; (Oh ! ride as though you were flying !) Better he loves each golden curl On the brow of that Scandinavian girl Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl; And his rose of the isles is dying! Thirty nobles saddled with speed: (Hurry!) Each one mounting a gallant steed Which he kept for battle and days of need; (Oh! ride as though you were flying!) Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; Worn-out chargers staggered and sank; Bridles were slackened and girths were burst; But ride as they would, the king rode first. For his rose of the isles lay dying ! His nobles are beaten, one by one; (Hurry) THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE 77 They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; His little fair page now follows alone. For strength and for courage trying ! The king looked back at that faithful child; Wan was the face that answering smiled; They passed the drawbridge with clattering din. Then he dropped; and only the king rode in Where his rose of the isles lay dying ! The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; (Silence !) No answer came ; but faint and forlorn An echo returned on the cold grey morn. Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide ; None welcomed the king from that weary ride; For dead, in the light of the dawning day. The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, Who had yearned for his voice while dying ! The panting steed, with a drooping crest, Stood weary. The king returned from her chamber of rest. The thick sobs choking in his breast; And, that dumb companion eying, The tears gushed forth which he strove to check; Ke bowed his head on his charger's neck: ' " O steed — that every nerve didst strain, Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain To the halls where my love lay dying!" Caroline Norton 78 SONGS OF HORSES EL-AZREK My only sequin served to bribe A cunning mother of the tribe To Mariam's mind my plan to bring. A feather of the wild dove's wing, A lock of raven gloss and stain Sheared from El-Azrek's flowing mane, And that pale flower whose fragrant cup Is closed until the moon comes up, — But then a tenderer beauty holds Than any flower the sun unfolds, — Declared my purpose. Her reply Let loose the winds of ecstasy: Two roses and the moonlight flower Told the acceptance, and the hour, — Two daily suns to waste their glow. And then, at moonrise, bUss — or woe ! El-Azrek now, on whom alone The burden of our fate was thrown, Claimed from my hands a double meed Of careful training for the deed. I gave him of my choicest store, — ■ No guest was ever honored more. With flesh of kid, with whitest bread And dates of Egypt was he fed; The camel's heavy udders gave Their frothy juice his thirst to lave : A charger groomed with better care, The Sultan never rode to prayer. My burning hope, my torturing fear, I breathed in his sagacious ear; EL-AZREK 79 Caressed him as a brother might, Implored his utmost speed in flight, Hung on his neck with many a vow. And kissed the white star on his brow. His large and lustrous eyeball sent A look which made me confident, As if in me some doubt he spied, And met it with a human pride. " Enough, I trust thee. 'T is the hour, And I have need of all thy power. Without a wing, God gives thee wings, And fortune to thy forelock clings." The yellow moon was rising large Above the desert's dusky marge, And save the jackal's whining moan, And distant camel's gurgling groan. And the lamenting monotone Of winds that breathe their vain desire And on the lonely sands expire, A silent charm, a breathless spell. Waited with me beside the well. She is not there, — not yet, — but soon A white robe glimmers in the moon. Her little footsteps make no sound On the soft sand ; and with a bound. Where terror, doubt, and love unite To blind her heart to all but flight Trembling, and panting, and oppressed, She threw herself upon my breast. By Allah ! Hke a bath of flame The seething blood tumultuous came From life's hot center as I drew Her mouth to mine : our spirits grew 8o SONGS OF HORSES Together in one long, long kiss, — One swooning, speechless pulse of bliss, That throbbing from the hearths core, met In the united lips. Oh, yet The eternal sweetness of that draught Renews the thirst with which I quaffed Love's virgin vintage : starry fire Leapt from the twilights of desire, And in the golden dawn of dreams The space grew warm with radiant beams, Which from that kiss streamed o'er a sea Of rapture, in whose bosom we Sank down and sank eternally. Now nerve thy limbs, El-Azrek! Fling Thy head aloft, and like a wing Spread on the wind thy cloudly mane I The hunt is on, their stallions strain Their urgent shoulders close behind, And the wide nostril drinks the wind. But thou art, too, of Nedjid's breed, My brother ! and the falcon's speed Aslant the storm's advancing Une Would laggard be if matched with thine. Still leaping forward, whistHng through The moonlight-laden air v/e flew; And from the distance threateningly, Came the pursuer's eager cry. Still forward, forward, stretched our flight Through the long hours of middle night; One after one the followers lagg'd, And even my faithful Azrek flagged NO REST FOR THE HORSE 8i Beneath his double burden, till The streaks of dawn began to fill The East, and freshening in the race, Their goaded horses gained apace. I drew my dagger, cut the girth. Tumbled my saddle to the earth, And clasped with desperate energies My stallion's side, with iron knees; While Mariam, clinging to my breast, The closer for that peril pressed. They come ! They come ! Their shouts we hear, Now faint and far, now fierce and near. O brave El-Azrek! on the track Let not one fainting sinew slack, Or know thine agony of flight Endured in vain ! The purple light Of breaking morn has come at last. O joy! the thirty leagues are past; And, gleaming in the sunrise, see, The white tents of the Aneyzee ! The warriors of the waste, the foes Of Shekh Abdallah's tribe, are those Whose shelter and support I claim, Which they bestov/ in Allah's name; While, wheeling back, the bafiled few No longer venture to pursue. Bayard Taylor NO REST FOR THE HORSE There's a union for teamster and waiter. There's a union for cabman and cook. There's a union for hobo and preacher, And one for detective and crook. 82 SONGS OF HORSES There 's a union for blacksmith and painter, There is one for the printer, of course; But where would you go in this realm of woe To discover a guild for the horse? He can't make a murmur in protest. Though they strain him both up and down hill. Or force him to work twenty hours At the whim of some drunken brute's will. Look back at our struggle for freedom — Trace our present day's strength to its source, And you'll find that man's pathway to glory Is strewn with the bones of the horse. The mule is a fool under fire; The horse, although frightened, stands true. And he 'd charge into hell v/ithout flinching 'T wixt the knees of the trooper he knew. When the troopers grow old they are pensioned, Or a berth or a home for them found; When horse is worn out they condemn him And sell him for nothing a pound. Just think, the old pet of some trooper, Once curried and rubbed twice a day, Now drags some damned ragpicker's wagon, With curses and blows for his pay. I once knew a grand king of racers. The best of a cup- winning strain; They ruined his knees on a hurdle. For his rider's hat covered no brain. I met him again, four years later. On his side at the foot of a hill. With two savages kicking his ribs. And doing their work with a will. THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED 83 I stroked the once velvety muzzle, I murmured the old name again. He once filled my purse with gold dollars; And this day I bought him for ten. His present address is " Sweet Pastures,'* He has nothing to do but to eat; Or loaf in the shade on the green, velvet grass And dream of the horses he beat. Now, a dog — well, a dog has a Umit; After standing for all that's his due, He'll pack up his duds some dark evening And shine out for scenes which are new. But a horse, once he's used to his leather, Is much Uke the old-fashioned wife: He may not be proud of his bargain. But still he'll be faithful through hfe. And I envy the merciful teamster Who can stand at the bar and say: "Kind Lord, with the justice I dealt my horse. Judge Thou my soul to-day." Anonymous THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED My beautiful, my beautiful, that standest meekly by, With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye ! Fret not to roam the desert now with all thy winged speed, I may not mount on thee again — thou'rt sold, my Arab steed! 84 SONGS OF HORSES Fret not with that impatient hoof — snuff not the breezy wind ; The farther that thou fiiest now, so far am I be- hind! The stranger hath thy bridle-rein, thy master ha-^h his gold — Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell — thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold! Farewell ! those free, untired limbs full many a mile must roam. To reach the chill and wintry clime that clouds the stranger's home; Some other hand, less kind, must now thy corn and bed prepare; The silk mane that I braided once must be another's care. The morning sun shall dawn again — but never- more with thee Shall I gallop o'er the desert paths where we were wont to be; Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the sandy plain Some other steed with slower pace shall bear me home again. Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright — Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and Hght; THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED 85 And when I raise my dreaming arms to check or cheer thy speed, Then must I startling wake to feel thou*rt sold, my Arab steed! Ah, rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide. Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side, And the rich blood that's in thee swells in thy in- dignant pain, Till careless eyes that on thee gaze may count each starting vein. Will they ill-use thee? if I thought — but no, it can- not be; Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed ; so gentle, yet so free. And yet if haply when thou'rt gone this lonely heart should yearn, Can the hand that casts thee from it now command thee to return? " Return ! " alas, my Arab steed ! what will thy mas- ter do. When thou that wast his all of joy hast vanished from his view? When the dim distance greets mine eyes, and through the gathering tears Thy bright form for a moment like the false mirage appears? 86 SONGS OF HORSES Slow and unmounted will I roam with wearied foot alone, Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou oft hast borne me on. And sitting dov/n by the green well, lUl pause, and sadly think, " 'T was here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink." When last I saw thee drink? — Away! the fevered dream is o'er! I could not live a day and know that we should meet no more; They tempted me, my beautiful — for hunger's power is strong — They tempted me, my beautiful — but I have loved too long — Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wert sold? 'T is false, 't is false, my Arab steed ! I fling them back their gold ! Thus — thus I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains ! Away ! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains. Caroline Norton BAVlfCA The King looked on him kindly, as on a vassal true : Then to the King Ruy Diaz spake, after reverence due: BAVIECA 87 ** O King, the thing is shameful, that any man be- side The liege lord of Castile himself should Bavieca ride: " For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring So good as he, and certes, the best befits my king. But that you may behold him, and know him to the core, I'll make him go as he was wont when his nostrils smelt the Moor." With that, the Cid, clad as he was in mantle furred and wide, On Bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side; And up and down, and 'round and 'round, so fierce was his career. Streamed like a pennon on the wind Ruy Diaz' minivere. And all that saw them praised them, — they lauded man and horse. As matched well, and rivalless for gallantry and force; Ne'er had they looked on horseman might to this knight come near. Nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier. Thus, to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed. He snapped in twain his hither rein; — " God pity now the Cid ! 88 SONGS OF HORSES God pity Diaz!" cried the lords; — but when they looked again, They saw Ruy Diaz ruling him with the fragment of his rein; They saw him proudly ruling, with gesture firm and calm, Like a true lord commanding, and obeyed as by a lamb. And so he led him foaming and panting to the King; — But " No!" said Don Alphonso, *' It were a shame- ful thing That peerless Bavieca should ever be bestrid By any mortal but Bivar, — mount, mount again, myCid!" John Gibson Lockhart (Translated from the Spanish) THE GLORY OF THE HORSE Hast thou given the horse strength? hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? the glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither turneth he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and A HORSE'S EPITAPH 89 rage : neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting. The Book of Job A PICTURE Look, when a painter would surpass the life In limning out a well-proportioned steed, His art with nature's workmanship at strife, As if the dead the living should exceed; So did this horse excel a common one ' In shape, in courage, color, pace, and bone. Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long. Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide. High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong. Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back. '? Shakespeare A HORSE'S EPITAPH Soft lies the turf on those who find their rest Beneath our common mother's ample breast, Unstained by meanness, avarice, or pride ; They never cheated, and they never Ued. 90 SONGS OF HORSES They ne'er intrigued a rival to dispose; They ran, but never betted on the race; Content with harmless sport and simple food, Boundless in faith and love and gratitude; Happy the man, if there be any such, — Of whom his epitaph can say as much. Lord Sherbrooke FROM THE WRECK " Turn out, boys" — " What's up with our super to-night? The man's mad — Two hours to daybreak I'd swear — Stark mad — why, there is n't a glimmer of light." " Take Bolingbroke, Alec, give Jack the young ^ mare ; Look sharp! A large vessel lies jamm'd on the reef. And many on board still, and some wash'd on shore. Ride straight with the news — they may send some relief From the township; and we — we can do little more. You, Alec, you know the near cuts; you can cross *The Sugarloaf ford with a scramble, I think; Don't spare the blood filly, nor yet the black horse ; Should the wind rise, God help them! the ship w^ill soon sink. Old Peter's away down the paddock, to drive FROM THE WRECK 91 The nags to the stockyard as fast as he can — A life and death matter; so, lads, look alive." Half-dressed, in the dark to the stockyard we ran. There was bridling with hurry, and saddHng with haste, Confusion and cursing for lack of a moon: " Be quick with these buckles, we've no time to waste"; " Mind the mare, she can use her hind legs to some tune." " Make sure of the crossing-place; strike the old track. They've fenced off the new one; look out for the holes On the wombat hills." " Down with the slip rails; stand back." " And ride, boys, the pair of you, ride for your souls." In the low branches heavily laden with dew, In the long grasses spoiUng with deadwood that day. Where the blackwood, the box, and bastard oak grew. Between the tall gum trees we gallop'd away — We crash'd through a brush fence, we splash'd through a swamp — We steered for the north near " The Eagle- hawk's Nest" — We bore to the left, just beyond " The Red Camp." And round the black tea-tree belt wheel'd to the west — 92 SONGS OF HORSES We crossM a low range sickly-scented with musk From the wattle-tree blossom — we skirted a marsh — Then the dawn faintly dappled with orange the dusk, And peal'd overhead the jay's laughter note harsh, And shot the first sunstreak behind us, and soon The dim, dewy uplands were dreamy v/ith light, And full on our left flash'd " The Reedy Lagoon," And sharply " The Sugarloaf " rear'd on our right. A smother'd curse broke through the bushman's brown beard. He turn'd in his saddle, his brick-color'd cheek Flush'd feebly with sun-dawn, said, " Just what I fear'd; Last fortnight's late rainfall has flooded the creek." Black Bolingbroke snorted, and stood on the brink One instant, then deep in the dark, sluggish swirl Plunged headlong. I saw the horse suddenly sink, Till round the man's armpits the waves seem'd to curl. We follow'd, — one cold shock, and deeper we sank Than they did, and twice tried the landing in vain; The third struggle won it, straight up the steep bank We stagger'd, then out on the skirts of the plain. FROM THE WRECK 93 The stock-rider, Alec, at starting had got The lead, and had kept it throughout; 't was his boast. That through thickest of scrub he could steer Uke a shot, And the black horse was counted the best on the coast. The mare had been awkward enough in the dark. She was eager and headstrong, and barely half broke ; She had had me too close to a big stringy-bark. And had made a near thing of a crooked she-oak ; But now on the open, lit up by the morn, She flung the white foamfiakes from nostril to neck. And chased him — I hatless, with shirtsleeves all torn (For he may ride ragged who rides from a wreck) — And faster and faster across the wide heath We rode till we raced. Then I gave her her head, And she — stretching out with the bit in her teeth — She caught him, outpaced him, and passed him, and led. We neared the new fence; we were wide of the track; I look'd right and left — she had never been tried At a stiff leap. T was little he cared on the black. " You're more than a mile from the gateway," he cried. 94 SONGS OF HORSES I hung to her head, touched her flank with the spurs (In the red streak of rail not the ghost of a gap) ; She shortened her long stroke, she pricked her sharp ears, She flung it behind her with hardly a rap — I saw the post quiver where BoUngbroke struck, And guessed that the pace we had come the last mile Had blown him a bit (he could jump like a buck). We galloped more steadily then for a while. The heath was soon passM, in the dim distance lay The mountain. The sun was just clearing the tips Of the ranges to eastward. The mare — could she stay? She was bred very nearly as clean as Eclipse; She led, and as oft as he came to her side, She took the bit free and untiring as yet. Her neck was arched double, her nostrils were wide. And the tips of her tapering ears nearly met — " You're lighter than I am," said Alec at last, " The horse is dead beat and the mare is n't blown. She must be a good one — ride on and ride fast, You know your way now." So I rode on alone. Still galloping forward we pass'd the two flocks At Maclntyre's hut and MacAllister's hill — She was galloping strong at the Warrigal Rocks — On the Wallaby Range she was galloping still — FROM THE WRECK 95 And over the wasteland and under the wood, By down and by dale, and by fell and by flat. She gallop'd, and here, in the stirrups I stood To ease her, and there, in the saddle I sat To steer her. We suddenly struck the red loam Of the track near the troughs — then she reeled on the rise — From her crest to her croup covered over with foam, And blood-red her nostrils and bloodshot her eyes, A dip in the dell where the wattle fire bloomed — A bend round a bank that had shut out the view — Large framed in the mild light the mountain had loom'd With a tall, purple peak bursting out from the blue, I puU'd her together, I pressM her, and she Shot down the decline to the Company's yard. And on by the paddocks, yet under my knee I could feel her heart thumping the saddle-flaps hard. Yet a mile and another, and now we were near The goal, and the fields and the farms flitted past. And Hwixt the two fences I turned with a cheer. For a green, grass-fed mare 't was a far thing and fast; And labourers, roused by her galloping hoofs. Saw bare-headed rider and foam-sheeted steed; And shone the white walls and the slate-covered roofs Of the township. I steadied her then — I had need — 96 SONGS OF HORSES Where stood the old chapel (where stands the new church — Since chapels to churches have changed in that town). A short, sidelong stagger, a long, forward lurch, A sHght choking sob, and the mare had gone down. I slipped off the bridle, I slackened the girth, I ran on and left her and told them my news; I saw her soon afterwards. What was she worth? How much for her hide? She had never worn shoes. Adam Lindsay Gordon HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; • " Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew, " Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS 97 Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Duff eld, 't was morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime, So Joris broke silence with, " Yet there is time!*' At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black every one, To stare through the mist at us galloping past; And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last. With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray: And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ! And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, We'll remember at Aix" — for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and stagger- ing knees, 98 SONGS OF HORSES And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Loos and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, ~ And " Gallop," gasped Joris, " for Aix is in sight!" " How they'll greet us !" — and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate. With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. Then I cast loose my bufifcoat, each holster let fall. Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all. Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any noise, bad or good. Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood, • And all I remember is — friends flocking round As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground ; LORRAINE 99 And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) - Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. Robert Browning LORRAINE " Are you ready for your steeplechase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree? You're booked to ride your capping race to-day at Coulterlee, You're booked to ride Vindictive, for all the world to see, To keep him straight, and keep him first, and win the run for me." She clasped her new-born baby, poor Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree: " Unless you ride Vindictive to-day at Coulterlee, And land him safe across the brook, and win the blank for me, It's you may keep your baby, for you'll get no keep from me." " That husbands could be cruel," said Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree, " That husbands could be cruel, I have known for seasons three; But oh ! to ride Vindictive while a baby cries for me, And be killed across a fence at last, for all the world to see?" 100 SONGS OF HORSES She mastered young Vindictive — oh ! the gallant lass was she ! — And she kept him straight, and won the race, as near as near could be; But he killed her at the brook against a pollard wil- low tree, Oh ! he killed her at the brook — the brute ! — for all the world to see, And no one but the baby cried for poor Lorraine, Lorree. Charles Kingsley THE BALLAD OF HADJI AND THE BOAR As I rode over the dusty waste My dainty Arab's hoof-strokes traced Glad rhythms in my mind, Which seemed to murmur unto me How he and I were lone and free As wide Sahara's wind. My heart beat high — the sun was bright — And, as a beacon's startling light Proclaims a threatening war. My burnished lance-point met the glare And flashed and sparkled in the air — A pale and glancing star. I saw a hawk pass hovering Through the azure heights, on balanced wing; Its shadow fell down sheer Upon my path, then onwards sped. Smoother than gliding skaters tread A fastly frozen mere. BALLAD OF HADJI AND THE BOAR loi Thus heedless I, when suddenly My Hadji broke the reverie By stamping on the ground, Whilst from a brake where grasses rank Embraced the margin of a tank, There came a rustling sound: No long suspense; — his bloodshot eyes Aflame with sullen fierce surprise — Stepped out a grisly boar; His gloomy aspect seemed to say — • " No other has the right to stray Along this marsh-bound shore." Now I had seen the life blood gush From many a boar of nine-inch tush. And so had Hadji too; But never I ween had we either seen So great a beast, so gaunt and lean, So ugly to the view. With others by to help at need, Or give success applausive meed, 'T is easy to be brave; But when a man must do alone Each danger seems more dismal grown; Each petty ditch a grave. And so — although the spear-point dropped — As still as ef£gy I stopped, Nor gave my steed the spur; The more I looked, more gruesome grew This king of all the swinish crew; More prudence made demur. 102 SONGS OF HORSES But, as I hung in anguished doubt, The marsh-born tyrant turned about, As weary of the play; He turned and dashed adown the glade (No phantom now or goblin shade) The well-known grisly gray: And doubt no more distressed my mind; In twenty years I'd never find Such trophy to my lance, For turning he had let me see His tusks gigantic — shame 't would be If I had lost the chance. I dropped my hand; when Hadji knew The slackened rein away he flew Across the belt of ooze; The slim reeds rustled — till he sprang Out on the plain whose surface rang Beneath his iron shoes. To left, to right, the wanton shied At shadows, as in lusty pride He rolled his dark fierce eye; Or gazing at our grim pursuit HeM lay his ears back at the brute And snort fxill savagely. As minutes came, and lived, and went, Ever the monster backward sent The pebbles in my face^ Yet, when an hour was spent — at length He seemed to fail in speed and strength And nearer drew the chase. BALLAD OF HADJI AND THE BOAR 103 But lo ! the impetuous Ravi ran Before us; not a means to span Its fiercely rushing stream; The boar sprang in — ■ we never checked — ■ And followed ere the foam that flecked His plunge had ceased to gleam. Above our heads the yellow wave Triumphant for an instant drave, Then gaping gave us day; It gave us day, and snorting loud Bold Hadji stemmed the whirling crowd Of surges topped with spray, * * * But short as seemed the time we'd lost, Long was the space of ground it cost. Not to be covered soon; For distant dim the monster grim Now flitted faint against the rim Of the uprising moon. Yes — like a bubble filled with smoke — The curd-white moon upswimming broke The vacancy of space. Whilst sinking slowly at my back The sun breathed blood stains on the rack Which veiled his dying face. On, on, again: the snow-fed flood Had cooled the monster's heated blood, And fresh and strong he fled; An aged peasant crossed his path; He turned upon him in his wrath. And left him there for dead. 104 SONGS OF HORSES The wretch implored me to remain And staunch his wound — but all in vain — I laughed to see his plight; For I was glad the hoar had stayed To wound the man, and so delayed His headlong rapid flight. And Hadji wearied not a whit, For stretching free he'd take the bit And hold it, or would fling A foam-flake from his tossing head, ' To glitter on his mane's silk thread, Whilst ever galloping. Ere long the arid landscape changed; A painter's eye had gladly ranged Amidst its varied hue ; — For far as mortal eye could reach, As close as pebbles on the beach Bright poppy flowers blew. * * * The crimson of the flowing west In fainter ruddy shadows dressed The mounting eastern moon; The slender-pillared palm-tree stems Were sky-tinged too, as though from gems Of garnet they were hewn. Hadji no longer fought the hand Which forced his fleetness to command, Or snorted to the breeze; His breaths were choked with piteous sobs, And I could feel his heart's wild throbs Between my close-set knees. BALLAD OF HADJI AND THE BOAR 105 His glossy coat no longer shone Red golden as he galloped on, And on! without a check; Dank sweat had rusted it to black Save where the reins had chafed a track Of snow along his neck. The deepening twilight scarce revealed Where flights of shadowy night-birds wheeled And shrieking greeted us, But never should my fixed soul Forsake the fast-approaching goal, For omens timorous. The jackals woke and like a rout Of hell-loosed fiends, their eldritch shout Was borne upon the breeze — Ai! Ai! Out Ai! — a ghoulish scream, And yet half-human, like a dream Of mortal agonies. As I closed on that evil beast The champed froth like creamy yeast Be-streaked his grizzled hide; And like a small and smould'ring brand His eye back-glancing ever scanned Me creeping to his side. Ha! Ha! He turned to charge and fight; I shouted out for pure delight. And drove my spear-point in. Clean through his body passed the steel — I held him off — I made him reel — Like chafer on a pin. io6 SONGS OF HORSES An instant so — then through the womb Of night I galloped, and the gloom Of jungles lone and drear; — But I had stricken, stricken home, For on my hand his bloody foam Had left a purple smear. So circling back, I peered around, And, by the moon, too soon I found The grisly brute at bay; His back was to a thorny tree, I looked at him, and he at me; — There one of us would stay. 'T was still as death — we charged together, And in the dim and sightless weather I struck him, but not true : He seized the lance-shaft in his jaw And split it as it were a straw, Instead of good bamboo. Then swift as thought the brute accursed, Made fiercely in — at Hadji first — . Who much disdained to fly: The little Arab shuddering stood — Then fell — as monarchs of the wood When cruel axes ply. Ere I could rise, his tusk had cut All down my back a gaping rut. — He gashed me deep and sore: No weapon armed me for the strife, But rage can fight without a knife, I sprang upon the boar. BALLAD OF HADJI AND THE BOAR 107 The thorn stretched out its sable claws, And nodded with a black applause ! With fierce sepulchral glee Three plantains whispered in a rank, And clapped their fingers long and lank — A ghostly gallery. Above him now — then fallen beneath, I tore him madly with my teeth, Nor loosed my frantic hold ; One finger searched the spear-head hole And dug there like a frightened mole 'Neath skin and fieshy fold : I clung around his sinewy crest; He leaped, but could not yet divest Himself of his alarm. I hung as close as keepsake locket On maiden breast — but, from its socket, He wrenched my bridle-arm ! No more could I, and with a curse I yielded to a last reverse. And dropped upon the sand. He glowered o*er me — then drew back To make more headlong the attack V/hich nothing should withstand. But, even then, he chanced to pass The spot where dying lay — alas ! — Brave Hadji — desert-born; Not e'en that bristled front was proof Against the Arab's armed hoof — His brains festooned the thorn. io8 SONGS OF HORSES Then I arose, all dripping red, And gazed on him I oft had fed, And wept to see him low: No more he'd gallop in his pride — No mortal man would e'er bestride Poor Hadji here below. He died amidst those jungles tangled; I staggered on all torn and mangled, Gasping for painful breath ; And when, beneath that placid moon, My spirit left me in a swoon, I'd known the worst of death. Ian Hamilton THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, His chestnut steed with four white feet, Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, Son of the road and bandit chief, Seeking refuge and relief. Up the moimtain pathway flew. Such was Kyrafs wondrous speed Never yet could any steed Reach the dust-cloud in his course. Mpre than maiden, more than wife, More than gold and next to life Roushan the Robber loved his horse. In the land that lies beyond Erzeroum and Trebizond, THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG 109 Garden-girt his fortress stood ; Plundered khan, or caravan Journeying north from Koordistan, Gave him wealth and wine and food. Seven hundred and fourscore Men at arms his livery wore, Did his bidding night and day; Now, through regions all unknown, He was wandering, lost, alone, Seeking without guide his way. Suddenly the pathway ends, Sheer the precipice descends, Loud the torrent roars unseen; Thirty feet from side to side Yawns the chasm ; on air must ride He who crosses this ravine. Following close in his pursuit. At the precipice's foot Reyhan the Arab of Orfah Halted with his hundred men, Shouting upward from the glen, " La Illah ilia Allah !'» Gently Roushan Beg caressed Kyrat's forehead, neck, and breast; Kissed him upon both his eyes; Sang to him in his wild way. As upon the topmost spray Sings a bird before it flies. no SONGS OF HORSES " O my Kyrat, O my steed, Round and slender as a reed, Carry me this danger through! Satin housings shall be thine, Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine, O thou soul of Kurrogloul " Soft thy skin as silken skein, • Soft as woman's hair thy mane, Tender are thine eyes and true; All thy hoofs like ivory shine. Polished bright; O life of mine, Leap, and rescue Kurrogloul" Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet, Drew together his four white feet, Paused a moment on the verge, Measured with his eye the space. And into the air's embrace Leaped as leaps the ocean surge. As the ocean surge o'er sand Bears a swimmer safe to land, ; Kyrat safe his rider bore; Rattling down the deep abyss Fragments of the precipice Rolled like pebbles on a shore. Roushan's tasseled cap of red Trembled not upon his head. Careless sat he and upright; Neither hand nor bridle shook, Nor his head he turned to look. As he galloped out of sight. PAUL RE VERB'S RIDE iii Flash of harness in. the air, Seen a moment like the glare Of a sword drawn from its sheath ! Thus the phantom horseman passed, And the shadow that he cast Leaped the cataract underneath. Reyhan the Arab held his breath While this vision of life and death Passed above him. " Allahu!" Cried he; *' in all Koordistan Lives there not so brave a man As this Robber Kurroglou ! " Henry W. Longfellow PAUL REVERE'S RIDE Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, " If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light. One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be. Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country-folk to be up and to arm." 112 SONGS OF HORSES Then he said, " Good-night!" and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Wanders and watches with eager ears. Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door. The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. And the measured tread of the grenadiers. Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry- chamber overhead. And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade, — By the trembling ladder, steep and tall. To the highest window in the wall. Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, — And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night-encampment on the hill. Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he coiUd hear, like a sentinel's tread, PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 113 The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, " All is well!" A moment only he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away. Where the river widens to meet the bay, — A line of black that bends and bloats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore, walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side. Now gazed at the landscape far and near, Then, impetuous, stamped the earth. And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry tower of the Old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns ! A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark. And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: 114 SONGS OF HORSES That v/as all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight. Kindled the land into flame with its heat. He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides: And under the alders that skirt its edge. Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. It was one by the village clock. When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed. And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare. As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock. When he came to the bridge in Concord tovm. He heard the bleating of the flock. And the twitter of birds among the trees. And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead. Pierced by a British musket-ball. PAUL REVERE'S RWE 115 You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British Regulars fired and fled, — How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere ; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm, — A cry of defiance and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo forevermore ! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last. In the darkness and peril and need. The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed. And the midnight message of Paul Revere. Henry W. Longfellow TRACK AND FIELD HOW WE BEAT THE FAVOURITE " Ay, squire," said Stevens, " they back him at evens ; The race is all over, bar shouting, they say; The Clown ought to beat her; Dick Neville is sweeter Than ever — he swears he can win all the way. " A gentleman rider — well, I 'm an outsider, But if he's a gent, who the mischief's a jock? You swells mostly blunder, Dick rides for the plunder, He rides, too, like thunder — he sits like a rock. " He calls * hunted fairly' a horse that has barely Been stripp'd for a trot within sight of the hounds, A horse that at Warwick beat Birdlime and Yorick, And gave Abd-el-Kader at Aintree nine pounds. " They say we have no test to warrant a protest; Dick rides for a lord and stands in with a steward ; The light of their faces they show him — his case is Prejudged and his verdict already secured. " But none can outlast her, and few travel faster. She strides in her work clean away from The Drag, You hold her and sit her, she could n't be fitter. Whenever you hit her she'll spring like a stag. 120 SONGS OF HORSES " And p'rhaps the green jacket, at odds though they back it, May fall, or there 's no knowing what may turn up. The mare is quite ready, sit still and ride steady. Keep cool; and I think you may just win the Cup." Dark-brown, with tan muzzle, just stripped for the tussle. Stood Iseult, just arching her neck to the curb, A lean head and fiery, strong quarters and wiry, A loin rather light, but a shoulder superb. Some parting injimctions, bestow'd with great unction, I tried to recall, but forgot like a dimce, "When Reginald Murray, full tilt on White Surrey, Came down in a hurry to start us at once. " Keep back in the yellow ! Come up on Othello ! Hold hard on the chestnut ! Turn ^round on The Drag! Keep back there on Spartan ! Back you, sir, in tar- tan! So, steady there, easy," and down went the flag. We started, and Kerr made strong running on Mer- maid, Through furrows that led to the first stake-and- bound. The crack half extended lookM bloodlike and splendid. Held wide on the right where the headland was sound. HOW WE BEAT THE FAVOURITE 121 I pulled hard to bafHe her rush with the snaffle, Before her two-thirds of the field got away, All through the wet pasture where floods of the last year Still loitered, they clotted my crimson with clay. The fourth fence, a wattle, fioor'd Monk and Blue- bottle; The Drag came to grief at the blackthorn and ditch. The rails toppled over Redoubt and Red Rover, The lane stopped Lycurgus and Leicestershire Witch. She passed like an arrow Kildare and Cock Spar- row, And Mantrap and Mermaid refused the stone wall; And Giles on The Grayling came down at the paling, And I was left sailing in front of them all. I took them a burster, nor eased her nor nursed her Until the black bullfinch led into the plough. And through the strong bramble we bored with a scramble — My cap was knocked off by the hazel-tree bough. Where furrows looked lighter I drew the rein tighter — Her dark chest all dappled with flakes of white foam, Her flanks mud-bespattered, a weak rail she shat- tered ^ We landed on turf with our heads turn'd for home. 122 SONGS OF HORSES Then crash'd a low binder, and then close behind her The sward to the strokes of the favourite shook, His rush roused her mettle, yet ever so little She shortened her stride as we raced at the brook. She rose when I hit her. I saw the stream glitter, A wide scarlet nostril flashed close to my knee, Between sky and water The Clown came and caught her. The space that he cleared was a caution to see. And forcing the running, discarding all cunning, A length to the front went the rider in green; A long strip of stubble, and then the big double. Two stiff flights of rails with a quickset between. She raced at the rasper, I felt my knees grasp her, I found my hands give to her strain on the bit. She rose when The Clown did — our silks as we bounded Brush'd lightly, our stirrups clash'd loud as we Ut. A rise steeply sloping, a fence with stone coping — The last — we diverged round the base of the hill. His path was the nearer, his leap was the clearer, I flogg'd up the straight, and he led sitting still. She came to his quarter and on still I brought her And, up to his girth, to his breast-plate she drew, A short prayer from Neville just reached me, ** The Devil !'» He mutterM — lock'd level the hurdles we flew; HOW WE BEAT THE FAVOURITE 123 A hum of hoarse cheering, a dense crowd career- ing, All sights seen obscurely, all shouts vaguely heard, " The green wins ! " " The crimson ! " The multi- tude swims on. And figures are blended and features are blurr'd. " The horse is her master ! " ** The green forges past her ! " "The Clown will outlast her!" "The Clown wins!" "The Clown!" The white railing races with all the white faces. The chestnut outpaces, outstretches the brown. On, still, past the gateway she strains in the straightway, Still struggles, " The Clown by a short neck at most," He swerves, the green scourges, the stand rocks and surges. And flashes, and verges, and fiits the white post. Ay! so ends the tussle, — I knew the tan muzzle Was first, though the ring-men were yelling "Dead heat!" A nose I could swear by, but Clarke said, " The mare by A short head." And that 's how the favourite was beat. Adam Lindsay Gordon 124 SONGS OF HORSES HOW SALVATOR WON The gate was thrown open, I rode out alone, More proud than a monarch who sits on a throne ; I am but a jockey, but shout upon shout I Went up from the people who v/atched me ride out. And the cheers that rang forth from the warm- hearted crowd Were as earnest as those to which monarch e*er bowed. My heart thrilled with pleasure, so keen it was pain, As I patted my Salvator's soft, silken mane; And a sweet shiver shot from his hide to my hand As we passed by the multitude down to the stand. The great waves of cheering came billowing back, As the hoofs of brave Tenny ran swift down the track; And he stood there beside us, all bone and all muscle. Our noble opponent, well trained for the tussle That waited us there on the smooth, shining course. My Salvator, fair to the lovers of horse. As a beautiful woman is fair to man's sight — Pure type of the thoroughbred, clean limbed and bright. Stood taking the plaudits as only his due And nothing at ail unexpected or new. And then there before us the bright flag is spread, There *s a roar from the grand stand, and Tenny 's ahead ; HOW SALVATOR WON 125 At the sound of the voices that shouted " a go ! " He sprang like an arrow shot straight from the bow; I tighten the reins on Prince CharHe's great son, He is off like a rocket, the race is begun. Half way down the furlong, their heads are to- gether, Scarce room 'twixt their noses to wedge in a feather. Past grand stand and judges, in neck-to-neck strife, All, Salvator, boy! 't is the race of your life. I press my knees closer, I coax him, I urge — I feel him go out with a leap and a surge ; I see him creep on, inch by inch, stride by stride; While backward, still backward, falls Tenny be- side. We are nearing the turn, the first quarter is passed — 'Twixt leader and chaser the daylight is cast; The distance elongates, still Tenny sweeps on, As graceful and free-limbed and swift as a fawn. His awkwardness vanished, his muscles all strained, A noble opponent, well born and well trained. • I glanced o'er my shoulder; ha! Tenny, the cost Of that one second's flagging will be — the race . lost. One second's weak yielding of courage and strength. And the daylight between us has doubled its length. 126 SONGS OF HORSES The first mile is covered, the race is mine — no ! • For the blue blood of Tenny responds to a blow. He shoots through the air like a ball from a gun, And the two lengths between us are shortened to one. My heart is contracted, my throat feels a lump — For Tenny's long neck is at Salvator's rump; And now, with new courage, grows bolder and bolder. I see him once more running shoulder to shoulder, With knees, hands and body I press my great ; steed, I urge him, I coax him, I pray him to heed ! Oh, Salvator ! Salvator ! List to my calls. For blow of my whip will hurt both if it falls. There 's a roar from the crowd like the ocean in storm. As close to my saddle leaps Tenny's great form; One more mighty plunge, and, with knee, limb and hand, I lift my horse first by a nose past the stand ; We are under the string now — the great race is done — And Salvator, Salvator, Salvator won ! Cheer, hoar-headed patriarchs ; cheer loud, I say ; 'T is the race of the century witnessed to-day ! Though ye live twice the space that's allotted to men. Ye never will see such a grand race again. Let the shouts of the populace roar like the surf, For Salvator, Salvator, king of the turf ! PEDIGREES 127 He has rivaled the record of thirteen long years, He has won the first place in the vast line of peers; 'T was a neck-to-neck contest, a grand, honest race, And even his enemies grant him the place; Down into the dust let old records be hurled, And hang out 2:05 to the gaze of the world. Ella Wheeler Wilcox PEDIGREES The stock farms are booming. The stable boys grooming. The new silken coats on the trotters crop out, The horses are neighing. The frisky colts playing. The spring is just throwing her bouquets about. The horse kings are praising The stock they are raising. They tell you each strain is the best in the land; And of course you agree. All the points you can see — But how each is best you cannot understand. When you leave the great stable You 're smart if you 're able To step back and give one correct pedigree. For the dams on the sire's side And the sires on the dam's side Are mixed so you can't tell one dam that you see. Em. Pierce 128 SONGS OF HORSES THE RACE OF THE YEAR Come down to the Derby, come down to the race, Come down to the downs with a smile on your face. In spite of the rain and the absence of sun, There's something to see in Isonomy's son; You'll find some good fellows and lots of good cheer, It 's always the case at the race of the year. A wonderful sight is this wonderful course To all v/ho profess a regard for the horse. Just look at the crowd from the bend of the land, Like bees in a swarm all about the grand stand. The roar of the voices that falls on the ear Has a wonderful sound at the race of the year. YouVe plenty of choice if you look for a nag; See the blood-looking team come along with the drag. Each horse in his place as he faces the hill, Breaks into a gallop and moves with a will. The broken-down hunter tied up in the rear Hears the sound of the horn at the race of the year. But now to the paddock, the crowd is select. Some come to be seen and some come to inspect Two sons of St. Simon, two sons of Ben d'Or, While Energy's offspring shows well to the fore; This Gouverneur fills us with feelings of fear. Sent over from France for the race of the year. THE RACE OF THE YEAR 129 There's something un-Common (forgive me the pun) In Alington's brown, good Isonomy's son; They've entered the horse in the baronet's name, But both have a share in his fall or his fame; The favourite was bred by the Dorsetshire peer. He looks like the nag for the race of the year. "They're off!" at the fall of the flag, with a speed That tries the condition of those in the lead. They're off, in the teeth of the wind and the rain That sweeps over Surrey's historical plain. In passing the furzes it seems to be clear The Deemster is out of the race of the year. And after the Corner the shouting is loud When Stirling's two grandsons came out of the crowd. And Common and Gouverneur stealing away Show the Birdcatcher line has a value to-day ; But Common comes up as the multitude cheer. And adds to his record the race of the year. V/e're proud of the Derby, we're proud of the breed Of horses that go with such wonderful speed; We're proud of the men who are honest and straight In riding and racing and try to create True sport, in the sense that is highest and dear To England, whose pride is this race of the year. W. Phillpotts Williams 130 SONGS OF HORSES TEN BROECK Ole man Harper *s gone to rest, Sleepin* whar' the bluegrass blows. On the upland's verdant crest, Whar' the merry daisy grows ; Ten Broeck's slab of marble white Glistens 'neath the golden sun, By the paddock, whar' the might And glory of his fame begun. Love that race hoss? Time o' day I Harper loved him like a child, And the first quick tremblin' neigh Ringin' from the woodland wild Fell upon ole Harper's ear Like a strain of music sweet. Were n't no music he could hear Like the tread of race-hoss feet. Yes, I saw that four-mile run Down at Louisville in July, Hot? — it seemed the briUn' sun Flamed the clouds along the sky. Ten Broeck, white with lathered foam, ' Like an eagle cut the air. Brought his colors safely home, Writ his name in history there. Ole Kentucky saw that day All her native pride retained. Could n't hold her joy in sway When they knowed the race was gained FAMOUS BALLAD OF JUBILEE CUP 131 Ole man Harper *s gone to rest, Sleepin' whar* the bluegrass blows, — Ten Broeck's slab is on the crest Whar' the merry daisy grows. James Tandy Ellis THE FAMOUS BALLAD OF THE JUBILEE CUP You may lift me up in your arms, lad, and turn my face to the sun, For a last look back at the dear old track where the Jubilee cup was won; And draw your chair to my side, lad — no, thank ye, I feel no pain — For I 'm going out with the tide, lad ; but I '11 tell you the tale again. I *m seventy-nine or nearly, and my head it has long turned gray, But it all comes back as clearly as though it was yesterday — The dust, and the bookies shouting around the clerk of the scales. And the clerk of the course, and the nobs in force, and 'Is 'Ighness the Prince o' Wales. 'T was a nine-hole thresh to wind'ard (but none of us cared for that). With a straight run home to the service tee, and a finish along the flat. 132 SONGS OF HORSES " Stiff?" ah, well you may say it! Spot barred, and at five stone ten ! But at two and a bisque I'd ha' run the risk; for I was a greenhorn then. So we stripped to the B. race signal, the old red swallowtail — There was young Ben Bolt and the Portland Colt, and Aston Villa, and Yale; And W. G., and Steinitz, Leander and The Saint, And the German Emperor's Meteor, a-looking as fresh as paint; John Roberts (scratch), and Safety Match, The Lascar, and Lorna Doone, Com Paul (a bye), and Romany Rye, and me upon Wooden Spoon; And some of us cut for partners, and some of us strung for baulk, And some of us tossed for stations — But there, what use to talk ! Three-quarter-back on the Kingsclere crack was station enough for me. With a fresh jackyarder blowing and the Vicarage goal a-lee ! And I leaned and patted her centre-bit and eased the quid in her cheek With a " Soh, my lass ! " and a '* Whoa, you brute ! " — for she could do all but speak. FAMOUS BALLAD OF JUBILEE CUP 133 She was geared a thought too high, perhaps; she was trained a trifle fine; But she had the grand reach forward ! I never saw such a line ! Smooth-bored, clean run, from her fiddle head with its dainty ear half-cock, Hard-bit, pur sang, from her overhang to the heel of her off hind sock. Sir Robert he walked beside me as I worked her dov/n to the mark; "There's money on this, my lad," said he, " and most of 'em's running dark; But ease the sheet if you're bunkered, and pack the scrimmages tight. And use your slide at the distance, and we'll drink to your health to-night ! " But I bent and tightened my stretcher. Said I to myself, said I — " John Jones, this here is the Jubilee cup, and you have to do or die." And the words were n't hardly spoken when the umpire shouted " Play!" And we all kicked off from the Gasworks End with a " Yoicks!" and a " Gone Away!" And at first I thought of nothing, as the clay flew by in lumps, But stuck to the old Ruy Lopez, and wondered who 'd call for trumps, 134 SONGS OF HORSES And luffed her close to the cushion, and watched each one as it broke, And in triple file up the Rowley Mile we went like a trail of smoke. The Lascar made the running, but he did n't amount to much. For old Oom Paul was quick on the ball, and headed it back to touch ; And the whole first flight led off with the right as The Saint took up the pace, And drove it clean to the putting green and trumped it there with an ace. John Roberts had given a miss in baulk, but Villa cleared with a punt; And keeping her service hard and low the Meteor forged to the front; With Romany Rye to windward at dormy and two to play, And Yale close up — but a Jubilee cup is n't run for every day. We laid our course for the Warner — I tell you the pace was hot ! And again off Tattenham Corner a blanket covered the lot. Check side! Check side! now steer her wide! and barely an inch of room. With The Lascar's tail over our lee rail and brush- ing Leander's boom. FAMOUS BALLAD OF JUBILEE CUP 135 We were running as strong as ever — eight knots — but it could n't last ; For the spray and the bails were flying, the whole field tailing fast; And the Portland Colt had shot his bolt, and Yale was bumped at Doves, And The Lascar resigned to Steinitz, stalemated in fifteen moves. It was " bellows to mend" with Roberts — starred three for a penalty kick: But he chalked his cue and gave 'em the butt, and Oom Paul marked the trick — " Offside — No Ball — and at fourteen all! Mark Cock! and two for his nob!" When W. G. ran clean through his lee and beat him twice with a lob. He yorked him twice on a crumbUng pitch and wiped his eye with a brace, But his guy-rope split with the strain of it and he dropped back out of the race ; And I drew a bead on the Meteor's lead, and chal- lenging none too soon, Bent over and patted her garboard strake, and called upon Wooden Spoon. She was all of a shiver forward, the spoondrift thick on her flanks. But I'd brought her an easy gambit, and nursed her over the banks ; 136 SONGS OF HORSES She answered her helm — the darling ! and woke up now with a rush, While the Meteor's jock, he sat like a rock — he knew we rode for his brush. There was no one else left in it. The Saint was using his whip. And Safety Match, with a lofting catch, was pock- eted deep at slip; And young Ben Bolt with his niblick took miss at Leander's lunge, But topped the net with the ricochet, and Steinitz threw up the sponge. But none of the lot could stop the rot — nay, don't ask me to stop ! The Villa had called for lemons, Oom Paul had taken his drop, And both were kicking the referee. Poor fellow ! he done his best; But, being in doubt, he'd ruled them out — which he always did when pressed. So inch by inch, I tightened the winch, and chucked the sand bags out — I heard the nursery cannons pop, I heard the book- ies shout: "The Meteor wins!" "No, Wooden Spoon!" " Check!" " Vantage!" " Leg Before!" "Last Lap!" "Pass Nap!" At his saddle-flap, I put up the helm and wore. FAMOUS BALLAD OF JUBILEE CUP 137 You may overlap at the saddle-flap and yet be looM on the tape, And it all depends upon changing ends, how a seven- year-old will shape; It was tack and tack to the Lepe and back, — a fair ding-dong to the Ridge, And he led by his forward canvas yet as we shot 'neath Hammersmith Bridge. He led by his forward canvas — he led from his strongest suit — But along we went on a roaring scent, and at Faw- ley I gained a foot. He fisted off with his jigger, and gave me his wash — too late ! Deuce — Vantage — Check ! By neck and neck we roimded into the straight. I could hear the " Conquering 'Ero" a-crashing on Godfrey's band, And my hopes fell sudden to zero, just there, with the race in hand — In sight of the Turf's Blue Ribbon, in sight of the umpire's tape, And I felt the tack of her spinnaker c-r-rack ! as I heard the steam escape ! Had I lost at that awful juncture my presence of mind? . . . but no ! I leaned and felt for the puncture, and plugged it there with my toe . . . 138 SONGS OF HORSES Hand over hand by the Members' Stand I lifted and eased her up, Shot — clean and fair — to the crossbar there, and landed the Jubilee cup ! " The odd by a head, and leg before," so the Judge he gave the word: And the umpire shouted " Over!" but I neither spoke not stirred. They crov/ded 'round : for there on the ground I lay in a dead-cold swoon Pitched neck and crop on the turf atop of my beauti- ful Wooden Spoon. Her dewlap tire was punctured, her bearings all red hot; She'd a lolling tongue, and her bowsprit sprung, and her running gear in a knot; And amid the sobs of her backers, Sir Robert loosened her girth And led her away to the knacker's. She had raced her last on earth ! But I mind me well of the tear that fell from the eye of our noble Prince, And the things he said as he tucked me in bed — and I've lain there ever since; Tho' it all gets mixed up queerly that happened before my spill, — But I drew a thousand yearly: it'll pay for the doc- tor's bill. THE TROTTING WONDERS OF 1889 I39 I'm going out with the tide, lad — you'll dig me a humble grave, And whiles you will bring your bride, lad, and your sons, if sons you have. And there when the dews are weeping, and the echoes murmur " Peace!" And the salt, salt tide comes creeping and covers the popping-crease ; In the hour when the ducks deposit their eggs with a boasted force. They '11 look and whisper, " How was it? " and you '11 take them over the course. And your voice will break as you try to speak of the glorious first of June, When the Jubilee cup, with John Jones up, was won upon Wooden Spoon. Arthur T. Quiller- Couch THE TROTTING WONDERS OF 1889 As o'er old '89 the veil was dropped That shut from view the past, tho' not forgot, Old veterans in the years to come will read Of '89, the year of wondrous speed. Maud S., the queen, stood trembling in her stall, In fear of baby three-year-old Simol ! ^3 And Bonner, still, to keep the magic crown. For safety thought, 't was better to come down And buy the wonder ere she snatched the prize That Maud still clutched before his welcome eyes. Tho' Simol is a marvel sure enough. There 're other youngsters, still within the rough, 140 SONGS OF HORSES Who yet may knock some seconds from the mark, And leave famed Bonner's stable in the dark; Axtell, the king, electrify the world — Stamboul or Palo Alto take a whirl ! These wonders stand a very likely show To stop the ticker just a notch below. Among the wonders, which, say you, is best? If you'll allow, I'll pick one from the nest — I'll lay my hand on Axtell's infant head, The greatest wonder yet aUve or dead ! Maud S., you say, with Queen stamped on her brow, And Axtell still to Sunol has to bow. Yes, that we grant; but look the trainers o'er — Was ever such a thing heard of before; A novice in the art, breed, raise and drive The fastest stallion that stands up alive. And only three years old, when like a ghost He tore the stallion record from the post? It takes an expert to get all the speed That's wrapped up in the fieety-going steed. Experience and skill in all things will excel, And that is why Sunol has beat Axtell. Time wins at last with all, no getting by it. Although we never give up till we try it. The trotting wonders seen in '89 Will brightly shine upon the page of time. Em. Pierce IN MEMORY OF NANCY HANKS Dead is the famous Nancy, One time Queen of the Trot, That went against all comers And got away with the lot. ^ m MEMORY OF NANCY HANKS 141 Lot of the swiftest speeders That ever hit the track, But Nancy showed them her paces, And set the whole bunch back. Back to the common figures Which mark the fastest stunt Of their very best performance, While Nancy went to the front. Front of the trotting record That turned all others down. And placed on the time of Nancy The Queen of the Trotters' crown. Crown that she wore with honor Through many a brilliant race, And passed it on to the next one Fitted to fill her place. Place in the glory record, Up there at the head. Lit by the blazing turf-light, Undimmed now she is dead. Dead out there in Kentucky, At rest in a bluegrass spot. Where the lovers of all good horses May lay a forget-me-not. Will J. Lampion 142 SONGS OF HORSES THE RINGERS Yes, I 've traveled with a ringer, Slept and drank and ate my dinner In a box car with a winner, Going forty miles an hour; And I *ve rubbed his quivering muscle In between heats, in a tussle. When he had to hump and hustle And show all his speed and power. But that ringer was a wonder. They could never knock him under, Unless some one made a blunder. Or he might be " Wrong," you know! But when in a " fit '* condition, Let him draw any old position. He just seemed to know his mission When the word was given, — " go ! " When I M take my seat behind him, I would know just where to find him, And I never used to mind him, If he scored a little rank; For I knew he soon would settle, Altho' full of game and mettle. He would never chafe or nettle. For he was no trotting crank ! Oh, the name he trotted under. Well, he sure had quite a number, And I often had to wonder THE RINGERS 143 What we 'd better call him next! Sometimes we would dub him Hard Oaks, Yes, some fellows thought him Small Hopes, Then, again we named him Tough Spokes, And he answered well the text. One day we M trot, then ship him. Three hundred miles we 'd shp him Before again we 'd strip him As a green one for the race ; It makes me blush to say it. It 's a dirty way to play it. But the tariff — we must pay it, And put on an honest face. But at last, out West we got it. When two Blue Bulls like a rocket Ran and paced us in the pocket. While the judges blandly smile ; To our claim of foul, they, winking, Say according to their thinking, I 'm a crank, or been a-drinking, Or I 'm playing Eastern " style ! " But away once more we 're going. And the gang I think I 'm showing That they '11 have a chance of blowing Ere they head me in the race ; But I see a Blue Bull coming. He 's not trotting, neither running. But with stride terrific, stunning. That side-wheeler takes my place. 144 SONGS OF HORSES But the crowd all swear he *s trotting, And my protest goes for nothing, All I get is hoots and scoffing, While I ask for justice there; But the judges with a glimmer. Say you pesky New York sinner. That Blue Bull has beat your ringer, And he trotted fair and square. Well, we thought we M do no squeaUng As our business, close to stealing, Kinder soothed us in our feeling, And we shipped for home that day; But that Indiana stinger. Was the first and last dust slinger. That played havoc with our ringer, — Which is all I have to say. Em. Pierce OUR HORSES This is our English stable lad, A curious mixture of good and bad — But a way with a horse that would make you glad — With his " thank you, sir ! " and his " very good," His sure light hand and a head like wood; , He sits as only a horseman could, In the saddle where he was bred. Royally bred and quick as a cat, A little light, but her bone is fiat. This Roman-nosed filly we 're looking at. OUR HORSES 145 She *s three year old and I beg to state You ^d open your eyes if you saw the rate That filly can step to a five-bar gate And clear it out of her stride. This chestnut mare is rising five ; I doubt if we ever will break her alive, To go under saddle or even to drive — It all depends on the way she feels. She 's mighty ticklish round the heels, I *d rather be on her than over the wheels When day-light shines on her shoes. There 's a big bay horse in the third loose box With a coat like satin and three white socks, Powerful stifle and clean-cut hocks — A bold bright eye and a heart of gold, A mouth as light as a child could hold — He never knew wrong since the day he was foaled ; A hunter of high degree. She can trot all day and be just the same; In the shov/ ring, too, she has made her name ; There 's not a hair in her hide but is game. The best of all till the last I save : So strong, so honest, so gentle and brave. She has paid us back every copper we gave — The big brown mare at the end. They are all sold now and I long in vain To feel the pull on the bridle rein Or hear the creak of a saddle again; 146 SONGS OF HORSES To handle a horse for his own sweet sake, As he frets for his head while you give and take, Till you see a jump you know you can make, Then loose him, and over he goes. F, M. W, THE FOXHUNTER'S DREAM I sit and close my eyelids and I dream I see them pass, I seem to smell the perfume of the bracken and the grass. The stirring cries of hunting ring again throughout my brain. The longing that it rouses there is worse than any pain. Above the roar of London I can hear the voice of hounds, The cracking of the huntsman's whip and other telling sounds. The din of locomotion in the teeming busy street Is changed into the patter of a fox's flying feet. I dream I watch his progress as he scuds along the ground, And seem to know his purpose and the goal to which he 's bound. And though his heart is bursting and his eyes are red with rage, He pushes on his journey, with defiance, stage by stage. THE FOXHUNTER'S DREAM 147 He glares about him — dares not rest — they 're hot upon the scent! They^re coming! Ah, they're closer, and his strength is nearly spent. I grip my armchair handles with the sweat upon my brow — My sympathy is with the fox; I want to save him now! But hounds are running, noses down, at a terrific rate. The first red-coated rider neatly tops the five- barred gate. The huntsman rams the rowels in and grips his saddle tight; Behind him streams the eager field — it is a thrill- ing sight! And far down yonder em'rald slope a little moving speck Holds ev'ry eye and ev'ry heart; they're gaining neck by neck. The thundering of hoofs rings out and hounds are screaming shrill, That little fox, he 's made of grit — he 's leading ! leading still ! Then with a start the vision 's gone ! Dull business claims the day. I '11 never know, but still I guess, that fox got right away. G. C. Scheu 148 SONGS OF HORSES THE ELKRIDGE HUNT CLUB The Elkridge pack went out one day, To hunt in Harford far away, The riders all were keen and gay, , Their hounds were fit and ready. In wooded covert soon they " found,'* Right on the trail was every hound, With stern in air and nose to ground, The pace was fast and steady. The course lay over hill and dale. The jumps were on a biggish scale, With ditches wide and post and rail. That took a ** lot of doing." But on the pack relentless pressed The field, in " pink" and mufti dressed, All riding hard, as if " possessed," Close on their heels pursuing. At length to give the pack a lurch. The wily fox made for a church. Where moss-grown tombs might stop the search. And give him time for breathing. And here he found a strong ally, For as the pack came in " full cry," Out stepped a black-frocked Dominie, With wrath and anger seething. The foremost rider came in sight, A picture she with color bright, Her dark blue habit fitting tight, THE MASTER OF THE HORSE 149 Her mount well-bred and mannered. She cleared the wall in gallant shape, And saw the parson stand a-gape. (Meanwhile the fox made his escape And down the hill meandered.) " Hold hard!" the parson called aloud, " What means this sacrilegious crowd? With shame my scanty locks are bowed To think of such misdoing. Consider well this pious thatch ! Don't ride upon my spinach patch ! My cat is scared — the eggs won't hatch ! The mischief is a-brewing ! "Get out! Vamoose! Shoo! Scat! Begone I Woe ! Woe ! Alas ! I 'm all undone ! Go right back home each, every one ! And hang your heads in sorrow ! But — if that lady on the bay Will jump that fence across the way, You all can come back every day. Beginning with to-morrow." D. S. G. THE MASTER OF THE HORSE Horses, like men, need a fair bit of schooling, Three things are certain, whatever they say ; Kindness and courage, and patience you must have — Breaking a horse is not done in a day. 150 SONGS OF HORSES No matter what is his age or his temper, One method only for all in the main, Not one way with one horse, and one with another — Seek to get nearer the animal's brain. Instead of applying the whip and the rowel, Feel him out firmly with finger and Imee, Speak to him coolly, coax him as kindly — Or maybe you'll fly on the first bit of lea. If you would master him, why not remember To first teach yourself how to work and obey? Are the lazy and insolent best in the saddle When effort and duty ne'er came in their way? See to the grazing, the stabUng and feeding. Consider the sort of condition they're in; You like some comfort and good food to work on — Then never break horses when hungry and thin. Give a young bolter the rein for a moment, Play with his nature and see what he'll do; Sure — if you bear on him, jag him and saw him, There may be a wide gap a-tween him and you. If he " takes hold" as you're going to covert. And you are not feeling as fit as you should, Give him three turns 'round a plough with its fur- row — It might tend to alter his fidgety mood. Some are for thrashing and " running 'em done," Those that have taken to bolt or to kick; Others, with Galvayne, would humor their hearing; Many a good 'im is spoil'd with a stick. THE OLD GRAY MARE 151 When he's done well, he should know you com- mend him, This is his due as a matter of course ; The horse understands brains makes man the master, So break in yourself — and then break in the horse. George A. Father gill THE OLD GRAY MARE There's a line of rails on an up-land green With a good take-ofif and a landing sound. Six fences grim as were ever seen. And it's there I would be with fox and hound. Oh, that was a country free and fair For the raking stride of my old gray mare ! With her raking stride and her head borne high, And her ears a-prick, and her heart a-flame. And the steady look of her deep brown eye, I warrant the gray mare knew the game : It was " Up to it, lass!" and before I knew, We were up and off, and on we flew. The rooks from the grass got up, and so. With a caw and flap, away they went ; When the gray mare made up her mind to go At the tail of the hounds on a breast-high scent. The best of the startled rooks might fail To match her flight over post and rail. 152 SONGS OF HORSES While some of the thrusters grew unnerved, And looked and longed for an open gate, And one crashed down and another swerved. She went for it always true and straight : She pounded the lot, for she made it good With never a touch of splintered wood. Full many a year has come and gone Since last she gathered her spring for me, And lifted me up, and so fiew on Unchecked in a country fair and free. I've ridden a score since then, but ne'er Crossed one that could live with the old gray mare. R. C. Lehmann "NOTA BENE" Boys, to the hunting field! Though 't is November, The wind 's in the south — but a word ere we start ; However excited, you'll please to remember That hunting 's a science, and riding an art. The fox takes precedence of all from the cover; The hunter's an animal purposely bred, After the pack to be ridden, not over: Hoimds are not reared to be knocked on the head. Anonymous THE DEATH OF THE OLD SQUIRE 'T was a wild, mad kind of night, as black as the bottomless pit; The wind was howling away like a Bedlamite in a fit. THE DEATH OF THE OLD SQUIRE 153 Tearing the ash boughs off, and mowing the poplars down, In the meadows beyond the old flour mill, where you turn off to the town. And the rain (well it did rain) dashing against the window glass, And deluging on the roof, as the Devil were come to pass; The gutters were running in floods outside the stable door, And the spouts splashed from the tiles, as they would never give o'er. Lor', how the winders rattled! you'd almost ha' thought that thieves Were wrenching at the shutters, while a ceaseless '^ ' pelt of leaves Flew to the doors in gusts; and I could hear the beck Falling so loud I knew at once it was up to a tall man's neck. We was huddling in the harness-room, by a little scrap of fire, And Tom, the coachman, he was there, a-practising for the choir; But it sounded dismal, the anthem did, for Squire was dying fast. And the doctor said, do what he would, Squire's breaking up at last. 154 SONGS OF HORSES The death-watch, sure enough, ticked loud just over th' owd mare's head, Though he had never once been heard up there since master's boy lay dead; And the only sound, beside Tom's tune, was the stirring in the stalls, And the gnawing and the scratching of the rats in the owd walls. We couldn't hear Death's foot pass by, but we knew that he was near, And the chill rain, and the wind and cold, made us all shake with fear; We listened to the clock up-stairs, 't was breathing soft and low. For the nurse said, at the turn of night the old Squire's soul would go. Master had been a wildish man, and led a roughish life; Did n't he shoot the Bowton Squire, who dared write to his wife? He beat the Rads at Hindon Town, I heard, in twenty-nine, When every pail in the market place was brimmed with red port wine. And as for hunting, bless your soul, why, for forty years or more He'd kept the Marley hounds, man, as his fayther did afore; ^ THE DEATH OF THE OLD SQUIRE 155 And now to die, and in his bed — the season just begun — " It made him fret," the doctor said, " as it might do any one." And when the young sharp lawyer came to see him sign his will, Squire made me blow my horn outside as we were going to kill; And we turned the hounds out in the court — that seemed to do him good; For he swore, and sent us off to seek a fox in ThornhiU Wood. But then the fever it rose high, and he would go see the room Where mistress died ten years ago when Lammas- tide shall come; I mind the year, because our mare at Salisbury broke down; Moreover, the town-hall was burnt at Steeple Din- ton Town. It might be l-wo, or half-past two, the wind seemed quite asleep; Tom, he v^ras off, but I, awake, sat watch and ward to keep; The moon was up, quite glorious like, the rain no longer fell, When all at once out clashed and clanged the rusty turret bell 156 SONGS OF HORSES That had n't been heard for twenty year, not since the Luddite days. Tom he leaped up, and I leaped up, for all the house a-blaze Had sure not scared us half so much, and out we ran like mad, I, Tom and Joe, the whipper-in, and t* little stable lad. ** He's killed himself," that's the idea that came into my head ; I felt as sure as though I saw Squire Barrowly was dead; When all at once a door flew back, and he met us face to face; His scarlet coat was on his back, and he looked like the old race. The nurse was clinging to his knees, and crying like a child; The maids were sobbing on the stairs, for he looked fierce and wild; " Saddle me Lightning Bess, my men," that's what he said to me; " The moon is up, we 're sure to * find ' at Stop or Etterly. " Get out the dogs; I'm well to-night, and young , again and sound, I '11 have a run once more before they put me under ground ; THE DEATH OF THE OLD SQUIRE 157 They brought my father home feet first, and it never shall be said That his son Joe, who rode so straight, died quietly in his bed. " Brandy!" he cried; " a timibler full, you women howling there"; Then clapped the old black velvet cap upon his long gray hair. Thrust on his boots, snatched down his whip, though he was old and weak; There was a devil in his eye that would not let me speak. We loosed the dogs to humor him, and sounded on the horn; The moon was up above the woods, just east of Haggard Bourne; I buckled Lightning's throat-lash fast — the Squire was watching me ; He let the stirrups down himself so quick, yet care- fully. Then up he got and spurred the mare, and, ere I well could mount. He drove the yard gate open, man, and called to old Dick Blount, Our huntsman, dead five years ago — for the fever rose again, And was spreading like a flood of flame fast up into his brain. 158 SONGS OF HORSES Then off he flew before the dogs, yelling to call us on, While we stood there, all pale and dumb, scarce knowing he was gone ; We mounted, and below the hiJ^ we saw the fox break out. And down the covert side we heard the old Squire^s parting shout. And in the moonlit meadow mist we saw him fly the rail Beyond the hurdles by the beck, just half-way down the vale; I saw him breast fence after fence — nothing could turn him back; And in the moonlight after him streamed out the brave old pack. 'T was like a dream, Tom cried to me, as we rode free and fast, Hoping to turn him at the brook, that could not well be passed. For it was swollen with the rain : but ah ! 't was not to be; Nothing could stop old Lightning Bess but the broad breast of the sea. The hounds swept on, and well in front the mare had got her stride; She broke across the fallow land that rims by the down side; THE DEATH OF THE OLD SQUIPvE 159 We pulled up on Chalk Linton Hill, and, as we stood us there, Two fields beyond we saw the Squire fall stone dead from the mare. Then she swept on, and in full cry the hoimds went out of sight; A cloud came over the broad moon and something dimmed our sight. As Tom and I bore master home, both speaking un- der breath; And that's the way I saw th* owd Squire ride boldly to his death. Anonymous " HORSE-PLAY " THE LEGEND OF BOASTFUL BILL At a roundup on the Gily One sweet mornin' long ago, Ten of us was throw^ed right freely By a hawse from Idaho. And we thought he 'd go a-beggin' For a man to break his pride, Till, a-hitchin' up one leggin, Boastful Bill cut loose and cried — "/*m a on^ry proposition for to hurt; I fulfill my earthly mission with a quirt; I kin ride the highest liver ^Tween the Gulf and Powder River, And ril break this thing as easy as Pd flirt." So Bill climbed the Northern Fury And they mangled up the air Till a native of Missouri Would have owned his brag was fair. Though the plunges kep' him reelin* And the wind it flapped his shirt, Loud above the hawse's squealin' We could hear our friend assert: "/*m the one to take such takings as a Joke, Some one hand me up the makings of a smoke f If you think my fame needs brighVnin' W^y, Pll rope a streak of lightnin' And ril cinch Hm up and spur 'zm till he^s hrokeJ* i64 SONGS OF HORSES Then one caper of repiilsion Broke that hawse's back in two. Cinches snapped in the convulsion; Skyward man and saddle flew. Up he mounted, never lagging While we watched him through our tears, And his last thin bit of braggin* Came a-droppin' to our ears: " If you^d ever watched my habits very close You would know Pve broke such rabbits by the gross. I have kep^ my talent hidin'; Pm too good for earthly ridin^ And Pm off to bust the lightnin* — Adios.f' Years have gone since that ascension, Boastful Bill ain't never Ut; So we reckon that he 's wrenchin' Some celestial outlaw's bit. When the night rain beats our slickers And the wind is swift and stout, And the lightnin' flares and flickers, We kin sometimes hear him shout — • " Pm a bronco- twistin^ wonder on the fly; Pm the ridin^ son-of- thunder of the sky. Hi! you earthlin^s, shut your winders While we^re rippin^ clouds to flinders^ If this blue-eyed darlin* kicks at yoUy you die!" THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE 165 Stardust on his chaps and saddle, Scornful still of jar and jolt, He'll come back some day, a-straddle Of a bald-faced thunderbolt. And the thin-skinned generation Of that dim and distant day- Sure will stare with admiration When they hear old Boastful say: — " / was first, as old rawhiders all confessed. Now Pm last of all rough-riders, and the best. , Huh! you soft and dainty floaters, With your aeroplanes and motors — Huh! are you the great grandchildren of the Westr' Badger Clark THE UNDERTAKER'S HORSE The eldest son bestrides him. And the pretty daughter rides him. And I meet him oft o' mornings on the Course ; And there kindles in my bosom An emotion chill and gruesome As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse. Neither shies he nor is restive, But a hideously suggestive Trot, professional and placid, he affects; And the cadence of his hoof-beats To my mind this grim reproof beats; — " Mend your pace, my friend, I'm coming. Who's the next?" i66 SONGS OF HORSES Ah ! stud-bred of ill-omen, I have watched the strongest go — men Of pith and might and muscle — at your heels, Down the plantain-bordered highway, (Heaven send it ne'er by my way!) In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels. Answer, sombre beast and dreary. Where is Brown, the young, the cheery, Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the Force? You were at that last dread dak We must cover at a walk. Bring them back to me, O Undertaker's Horse ! With your mane unhogged and flowing, And your curious way of going. And that businesshke black crimping of yoar tail. E'en with Beauty on your back, Sir, Pacing as a lady's hack. Sir, What wonder when I meet you I turn pale? It may be you wait your time, Beast, Till I write my last bad rhyme, Beast — Quit the sunUght, cut the rhyming, drop the glass — Follow after with the others. Where some dusky heathen smothers Us with marigolds in Heu of English grass. Or, perchance, in years to follow, I shall watch your plump sides hollow, THE COCHERO AND THE HORSE 167 See Carnifex (gone lame) become a corse — See old age at last o'erpower you, And the Station Pack devour you, I shall chuckle then, O Undertaker's Horse ! But to insult, jibe, and quest, I 've Still the hideously suggestive Trot that hammers out the unrelenting text, And I hear it hard behind me In what place soe'er I find me : — ** Sure to catch you sooner or later. Who's the next?" Rudyard Kipling THE COCHERO AND THE HORSE Every country has its troubles Which affect the human tribe; Over here they come in doubles. Like the donor and the bribe; Take the Philippine cochero With his Filipino horse. They're enough to drive a deacon To bad liquor and remorse. Did you ever see an hombre With a sad seraphic face On a one-hoss shay calesa. Ambling at a backward pace? Did you ever wave him from you — Did he ever stop? — Perhaps, If he's finished his siesta. Or incurred a mental lapse. i68 SONGS OF HORSES Did he sport a nether garment Of a weird chromatic hue, And a dinky old sombrero? And perhaps he did n't chew Betel-nut and plug tobacco? Ever see the mixture ooze From his classic coral liplets, Flavored by the rankest booze? Did you ever tell him, " Siggy! ^ Or I'll break your bloomin' head!" Did he ever swear by all the Saints, " My horse is almost dead"? Was the wicked old caballo Ever more than half alive? Did he ever take a sudden Think and make a fancy dive? Did you ever start for Greenland, And wind up at the South Pole? Did you ever take the bearings Of a new-made six-foot hole? Did you ever bump a street car? Did you ever stop a train? Did you ever test the soundness Of a cast-steel water main? Did you ever " bump the bumpers"? Ever ride a comet's tail? Ever go up in an airship? Have you ever raced a snail? 1 Hurry. THE COCHERO AND THE HORSE 169 If you have, you've got a notion, Only 'proximate, of course, Of the even, easy motion Of a FiUpino horse. And the dear old kind cochero I How he loves his little plug ! — How he strokes him with his whip-lash 'S if he were a dusty rug ! But the crafty old caballo With his horse-sense gone astray Wreaks his righteous, deep resentment, On the dash-board, day by day. Now the Philippine cochero May be human, — I don't know; And his horse may be a " critter," I have heard it stated so; But from all my first-hand knowledge, I am free to state, at least, It would take a modern Solon To distinguish man and beast. Oh, this world is full of grafters, Green-goods men and common crooks. Trouble-makers, nature-fakirs, Ananiases and Cooks; Take them one by one and roll them Into one Satanic whole. And you'll get the triple essence Of a brown cochero's soul. 170 SONGS OF HORSES Some day when I'm old and feeble, And the end is drawing nigh, Chances are I *11 have my scruples 'Bout the near Sweet Bye and Bye; Then I '11 call an old cochero On the street, and softly say, " Siggy! for the Lower Regions," — And, — he '11 head the other way, Norbert Lyons BOLTS I've a head like a violin-case; I've a jaw like a piece of steel; I've a mouth Uke india-rubber, and devil-a-bit I feel; But I 've had my fun with a biped thing that clam- bered upon my back. And I'm " in at the death," though I'm panting for breath, right bang in the midst of the pack. With a cockney sportsman mounted on top. That has hired me out for the day. It's a moment for me to be off for a spree In a new and original way, In my own most original way. Oats ! but my spirits were gay ! When I bet my bit that my rider would sit Somewhere else ere the close of the day. I started a gentle canter, I felt him bob about; His spurs went in, and the roots of sin, they whipped my hind legs out. BOLTS 171 He put his arms around my neck, 'twas kindly meant, I swear But he had no call to spoil it all by pulling out half my hair. He left his hat in a puddle, he left his whip on a gate, The briars know where, but I don't care, the bits of his tunic wait; He bade me stay, I raced away, to the sound of the huntsman's horn. And at last I laid him gently in the arms of a bold blackthorn. The whip waits safe in the harness-room, the groom in the stable yard. It's not that I mind a tanning — my hide's grown far too hard — But that tied to a fly I'm safe to die, and on chaff and straw abstain. For as sure as I snort, if they give me this sort, of course I shall do it again. With a cockney sportsman mounted on top, That has hired me out for the day. It's the moment for me to be off for a spree In a new and original way, In my own most original way. Oats ! but my spirits were gay ! When I bet my bit that my rider would sit Somewhere else ere the close of the day. Anonymous 172 SONGS OF HORSES THE PASSING OF THE HORSE Every little while they tell us that the horse has got to go; First the trolley was invented because he went so slow, And they told us that we'd better not keep raisin* colts no more. When the street-cars came to moting that the horses pulled before, I thought it was all over for old Fan and Doll and Kit, S'posed the horse was up and done for — but, he ain't went yit I When the bike craze first got started people told us right away, As you probably remember, that the horse had saw his day. People put away their buggies and went kitin' 'round on wheels; There were lots and lots of horses did n't even earn their meals. I used to stand and watch 'em with their bloom- ers as they'd flit, And I thought the horse was goin' — but, he ain't went yit ! Then they got the horseless carriage, and they said the horse was done. And the story's been repeated twenty times by Edison ; SUNDAY TALK IN THE HORSE SHEDS 173 Every time he gits another of his batteries to go He comes whoopin' out to tell us that the horse don't stand no show. And you'd think to see these chauffers, as they go a-chaufEn', it Was good-bye to Mr. Dobbin — but, he ain't went yit! When the people git to flying in the air I s'pose they'll say, As we long have been a-sayin' that the horse has had his day. And I s'pose that some old feller just about like me '11 stand Where it 's safe, and watch the horses haulin' stuff across the land; And he'll mebby think as I do, while the crows above him flit, " Oh, they say the horse is done for, — but, he ain't went yitl" S. E. Kiser SUNDAY TALK IN THE HORSE SHEDS (OLD GRAY COMMENTS ON THE SERVICE TO HIS MATE) My shoulders ache, and my knees are stiff, and it makes me want to fight When I hear 'em sing, " O Day of Rest ! O Day of Joy and Light!" For we started late, and to get there soon we had to trot our best; "^Welcome," — now hear 'em, — " delightful morn, sweet day of sacred rest!" 174 SONGS OF HORSES Now Parson's readin' the Scripture: " Remember the Sabbath day — In it thou shalt not do any work'* — " Amen," the people say; " Thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy cattle, thy ox, nor thy ass" — Don't seem to exempt the horses, eh? So we '11 let the lesson pass. Can't you step over a little? The sun comes in this side — And it don't say a word about the wife, I reckon that's why they decide That Sunday's a day of rest on the farm from the labors of every-day life For everything that the Lord hath made — except the horses and wife. " A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast" — I'd smile At the parson's text, but if I did they 'd hear me for a mile ; For I trotted the last ten minutes lame — I 'd picked up a hard, sharp stone. An' could hear the old man growlin' because his seat was ** hard as a bone." " Could I but climb where Moses stood" — but the half of them would n't climb ; They'd pile in the wagon full's 'twould hold an' ride up every time ; SUNDAY TALK IN THE HORSE SHEDS 175 If they had to walk they 'd do 's they did when your pastern joint was sprained — They'd say 'twas too fur, an' stay at home, like they did the times it rained. I'm goin' to write a hymn some day, an' we'll sing it out in the sheds — " Welcome, deUghtful morn that pours the rain upon our heads ; Welcome the slush, the snow that drifts, the mud that irritates. The storms that bring a Sabbath rest to the cattle within the gates." Hip voice was hushed, for the notes of song rose on the hallowed air — "Praise God from whom all blessings flow" — thanksgiving, praise and prayer; "Praise him all creatures here below" — man, beast, and bird and thing — With the possible exception of the farmer's wife who, having remained at home to prepare a dinner of chicken soup, roast beef, beets, onions, roasting ears, salad, pudding, two kinds of pie, and fruit for her husband, three sons, four daughters, the pastor, his wife and two children, the district secretary of the Home Mission Society, a distant relative from the city come out to spend the day, and two hired men — had very little time, and not much breath, and possibly not an ever- lasting, superabundant inclination to sing. Robert J. Burdette 176 SONGS OF HORSES HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET 'T was on the famous trotting-ground, The betting men were gathered 'round From far and near; the " cracks" were there Whose deeds the sporting prints declare: The swift g. m., Old Hiram's nag, The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag, With these a third — and who is he That stands beside his fast b. g.? Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name So fills the nasal trimip of fame. There too stood many a noted steed Of Messenger and Morgan breed; Green horses also, not a few; Unknown as yet what they could do; And all the hacks that know so well The scourgings of the Sunday swell. Blue are the skies of opening day; The bordering turf is green with May; The sunshine's golden gleam is thrown On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan; The horses paw and prance and neigh; Fillies and colts like kittens play. And dance and toss their rippled manes Shining and soft as silken skeins; Wagons and gigs are ranged about. And fashion flaunts her gay turnout: Here stands — each youthful Jehu's dream — The jointed tandem, ticklish team ! And there in ampler breadth expand The splendors of the four-in-hand ; HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET 177 On faultless ties and glossy tiles The lovely bonnets beam their smiles; (The style's the man, so books avow; The style's the woman, anyhow); From flounces frothed with creamy lace Peeps out the pug-dog's smutty face, Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye. Or stares the wiry pet of Skye, — woman, in your hours of ease So shy with us, so free with these ! " Come on! I'll bet you two to one I'll make him do it!" " Will you? Done!" What was it who was bound to do? 1 did not hear, and can't tell you, — Pray Usten till my story's through. Scarce noticed, back behind the rest. By cart and wagon rudely prest, The parson's lean and bony bay Stood harnessed in his one-horse shay — Lent to his sexton for the day; (A funeral — so the sexton said ; His mother's uncle's wife was dead). Like Lazarus bid to Dives' feast. So looked the poor forlorn old beast; His coat was rough, his tail was bare, The gray was sprinkled in his hair; Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not; And yet they say he once could trot Among the fleetest of the town. Till something cracked and broke him down, — 178 SONGS OF HORSES The steed's, the statesman's, common lot! " And are we then so soon forgot?" Ah me ! I doubt if one of you Has ever heard the name " Old Blue," Whose fame through all this region rung In those old days when I was young ! " Bring forth the horse ! " Alas ! he showed Not like the one Mazeppa rode; Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and shaky-kneed, The wreck of what was once a steed, Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints; Yet not without his knowing points. The sexton, laughing in his sleeve, As if 't were all a make-believe, Led forth the horse, and as he laughed Unhitched the breeching from a shaft. Unclasped the rusty belt beneath, Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth. Slipped off his head-stall, set him free From strap and rein — a sight to see ! So worn, so lean in every limb, It can't be they are saddling him ! It is ! His back the pig-skin strides And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides; With look of mingled scorn and mirth They buckle round the saddle-girth; With horsey wink and saucy toss A yoimgster throws his leg across. And so, his rider on his back, They lead liim, Umping, to the track. Far up behind the starting-point, To limber out each stiffened joint. HOW THE OLD HORSE WON THE BET 179 As through the jeering crowd he past, One pitying look old Hiram cast; " Go it, ye cripple, while ye can ! " Cried out unsentimental Dan; ** A Fast-Day dinner for the crows!" Budd Doble's scoffing shout arose. Slowly, as when the walking-beam First feels the gathering head of steam. With warning cough and threatening wheeze The stiff old charger crooks his knees; At first with cautious step sedate. As if he dragged a coach of state ; He's not a colt; he knows full well That time is weight and sure to tell; No horse so sturdy but he fears The handicap of twenty years. As through the throng on either hand The old horse nears the judges' stand, Beneath his jockey's feather-weight He warms a little to his gait. And now and then a step is tried That hints of something like a stride. " Go!" — Through his ear the summons stung As if a battle-trump had rung; The slumbering instincts long unstirred Start at the old familiar word ; It thrills like flame through every limb, — What mean his twenty years to him? The savage blow his rider dealt Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt; i8o SONGS OF HORSES The spur that pricked his staring hide Unheeded tore his bleeding side; Alike to him are spur and rein, — He steps a five-year-old again ! » Before the quarter pole was past, Old Hiram said, " He's going fast. Long ere the quarter was a half, The chuckUng crowd had ceased to laugh; Tighter his frightened jockey clung As in a mighty stride he swung, The gravel flying in his track. His neck stretched out, his ears laid back, His tail extended all the while Behind him Uke a rat- tail file! / Off went a shoe, — away it spun, Shot like a bullet from a gun; The quaking jockey shapes a prayer From scraps of oaths he used to swear; He drops his whip, he drops his rein. He clutches fiercely for a mane; He'll lose his hold — he sways and reels — • He'll slide beneath those trampUng heels! The knees of many a horseman quake, The flowers of many a bonnet shake, And shouts arise from left and right, " Stick on! stick on!" " Hould tight! hould tight!" *' Cling round his neck and don't let go — That pace can't hold — there! steady! whoa!" But like the sable steed that bore The spectral lover of Lenore, His nostrils snorting foam and fire. No stretch his bony limbs can tire ; I HOW THE OLD HORSE V/ON THE BET i8i And now the stand he rushes by, And " Stop him! — stop him!" is the cry. Stand back! he's only just begun — • He's having out three heats in one! " Don't rush in front ! he'll smash your brains; But follow up and grab the reins!" Old Hiram spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard, And sprang, impatient, at the word ; Budd Doble started on his bay. Old Hiram followed on his gray. And off they spring, and round they go, The fast ones doing " all they know." Look ! twice they follow at his heels. As round the circling course he wheels, And whirls with him that cUnging boy Like Hector round the walls of Troy; Still on, and on, the third time round ! They're tailing off! they're losing ground! Budd Doble's nag begins to fail! Dan Pf eiff er's sorrel whisks his tail ! And see ! in spite of whip and shout, Old Hiram's mare is giving out ! Now for the finish ! at the turn. The old horse — all the rest astern — Comes swinging in, with easy trot; By Jove! he's distanced all the lot! That trot no mortal could explain ; Some said, " Old Dutchman come again!" Some took his time, — at least they tried, But what it was could none decide ; One said he could n't understand What happened to his second-hand; i82 SONGS OF HORSES One said 2:10; that could n't be — More like two twenty-two or three; Old Hiram settled it at last; " The time was two — too dee-vel-ish fast!" The parson's horse had won the bet; It cost him something of a sweat; Back in the one-horse shay he went. The parson wondered what it meant, And murmured, with a mild surprise And pleasant twinkle of the eyes, " That funeral must have been a trick, Or corpses drive at double-quick; I should n't wonder, I declare, If Brother — Jehu — made the prayer ! '* And this is all I have to say About that tough old trotting bay, Huddup! Huddup! G'lang! Good day! Moral for which this tale is told: A horse can trot, for all he 's old. Oliver Wendell Holmes THE LAY OF THE HOSPITAL RACE The ambulance stood near the paddock gate, The stretcher was close at hand. And murmurs and squeals of hysterical dames Came down from the crowded stand. And Dr. Squibbs said to Dr. Squabbs: " There'll be practice enough for two — THE LAY OF THE HOSPITAL RACE 183 I'll take the legs and the busted skulls, The collar-bones go for you." The gamesters down in the slaughtering-pen Looked leery and woebegone, And some of the penciilers turned their slates, For the hospital race was on. The program called it a steeplechase — That is the conventional name — But we can call it whatever we please — The odor is just the same. This one was rehearsed the night before, In a small back room somewhere. And 'twas settled that Smiley should wait on BUnk And that Peeler go out for the air. *T was also agreed that The Bat go wide Of the flags on the far-off bend; That Bourbon should balk at the water jump. And that Guzzle turn end for end. * * * There was one who was n't extended a bid When the caucus was held that night — • An unfortunate fellow called Famishing Flynn, The owner of Mike-the-Bite. Now, Mike-the-Bite was a maiden coy. Though he'd raced three years on the fiat; " I'll put him to jumping," said Flynn one day; " Perhaps he'll be good at that. i84 SONGS OF HORSES ** He 's jumped the barrier once or twice — Just look it up in the guide — And as for jumping a feedman's bill — Why, he takes that in his stride !'' Mike was the champion no-account In everyone's eyes but Flynn's, But he was " consistent," and that in a horse Atones for a heap of sins. Flynn coddled him through all manner of ills Of liver and lungs and limb ; When equine diseases were flying about, Mike got what was coming to him: Quarter-cracks, spavins and splints and botts And several more he'd had; Then he caught lung fever, which left his pipes Some more than a bit to the bad. He was nerved behind, he was fired in front From his pastern-joints, to his knees; No wonder the " talent" regarded him As a putrefied piece of cheese. * * * A scullion called Mose was given the mount j On the horse with the gangrened legs. I Mose was n't a lot at the horseback act, But an artist at frying eggs. It took four fingers of kill-me-quick To put him on proper edge; With that in his hold, a five-bar gate Was the same as a two-foot hedge. { THE LAY OF THE HOSPITAL RACE 185 While the horses walked in the paddock yard, Awaiting the saddling call, Flynn hooked his flipper in Mose's arm And led him within the stall. " Mose, there is something doing here," He said in his softest tones; " The thing is framed up for BUnk to win — I 'm feeling it in my bones. " Opening up at eight to one, They have backed her clean out of sight. And everything looks Uke a corpse to her But Slasher and Mike-the-Bite. " I saw them setting it in in chunks — She's backed to a fare-you-well. And there was n't a cent in the ring for her Last Saturday when she fell ! " And never a word did they say to me — Oh, no ! to the dump with Flynn ! For they did n't figure Old Mike a chance — They did n't have him to skin. ** Mike-the-Bite was a joke to them, And Slasher was only a lob. Oh, I'd give three fingers from my right hand If we could upset the job ! " Now, listen, Mose: We can do it, too — The question is up to you. You can run it out on that crooked bunch, If you do what I tell you to do. i86 SONGS OF HORSES *' As a jumping jock you are rotten, Mose — In putting you up Pm a jay ; For you could n't ride in a Burton car, Strapped down to a bale of hay. " The horse is good. For once I think I've got him in perfect trim; He will run every inch if his nigh foreleg Does n't get too hot for him. " Moreover, Mose, I have slipped him a charge That would blow up a national bank, And when it gets working for all it's worth You may find him a trifle rank. " Just take a good tight hold of his head, And keep him within the flags. And draw your skillet and bust his slats If you find that he loafs or lags. '* When the pill goes off, which I think it will 'Bout the second turn of the course. You take a good hold with your hands and teeth, For then he'll be Hawkins' horse. *' He's as good as one hundred to one to win. (A funny guy making a book Says that means twenty to one, the horse And eighty to one, the cook.) " I've made an agent from up the pike Dig down in his moldy hoard And bet six hundred straight, place and show ^ Two hundred across the board. THE LAY OF THE HOSPITAL RACE 187 ** There goes the bugle! Remember, Mose! The ticket is in your boot. You keep him standing and keep him straight — I'll get on the fence and root." The cavalcade filed through the paddock gate And steered for the lower turn, With a ragged collection of silks aloft And the odor of drugs astern. Never, I ween, was a tougher lot, Surmounted by coons and turks, Stopped on the straight and narrow path That leads to the glucose works. A ribald shout or a mocking cheer Saluted each equine vag And each boy thereon as the bunch went by On the way to the man with the flag. * * * ** Line up now, line up now ! " the starter cried, " Or I'll put you all on the ground! Jones, what are you doing with Peeler, there? Why don't you turn him around? _" Now, look at that guinea on Thompson's mare, And that lobster aboard of The Rat ! Say, Hogan, get straight with that goat of yours. Or it's you and me to the mat! " Could n't help it, eh? Oh, you come off — Don't give me that old bull con! i88 SONGS OF HORSES Now, steady, there, steady ! Whoa up, whoa up ! Come on there, come on! Go on! " * * * 'Way back in the dope of a day long dead, Which haply you have forgot. You'll find the tale of this steeplechase In figures and notes — and rot. The record shows that a horse " ran out," And that others " refused" or " fell." The dope nails down all the callous facts, But it does n't record the smell. It does n't show when the pill went off In the carcass of Mike-the-Bite, And it does n't bring Chef Mose out strong In the glare of heroic light. It does n't record the shudders and thrills That swept through the frenzied mob, Nor gives it a hint of the deep chagrin Of the fellows who framed the job. However, it shows that Old Mike came down Like the White Ghost on a tear, And caught Blink tired at the water jimip And passed her out in the air. It says in a note: "The cook shook loose. But himg till the line was passed," And leaves me to tell you that Famishing Flynn Was square with the world at last. Hugh Edmund Keough — '' Hek'\ THE HORSE OF PETE LAREAU 189 THE HORSE OF PETE LAREAU Sacre ! you laugh ma ol' Paree? You t'ink she's sick to kill! Dees hoss make leetle sad, may be — • But sick? — no more as Bill! I tell you 'bout dees horse, ma boy: I feed him twenty year; She be ma frien', ma Ufe, ma joy! I kill him now? — Dat's queer! I tak' Paree to circus t'ing 'Bout fifteen year ago; Dare be free acre in de ring, An' plenty hoss to show. I heech him in de sulky dere An' pat him on de head — " Dey's plenty competition here; Now show you don't be dead!" I tak' de rein an' hoi' him tight, An' wait de signal gun; De "pistol shoot! Ma hoss step light! Sacre ! but how she run ! Den all de hoss spread out dere nose, De spark fiy from de stone! No odair hoss go fast like dose — 'Cept dees, ma. jolie roan! igo SONGS OF HORSES Ma boss he keep de inside track, An* make dat cirkees short; In just free mineet she be back, An' Paree hoi' de fort ! An' den I'm have one odair try. I speak to him some more — " If you be beat, mon cher, I cry; It make my spirit sore." I rub hees leg down wid de sponge, An' tak' de rein ma ban' ; She hear de gun, she make one lunge I You t'ink she understan'. She go I She go ! wid hundaird feet ! Hees mane whip lak de flag ! She mak' dat cirkees — two mineet ! — Behin' one odair nag. She feel dam sorry, dat Paree ! He hoi' hees head in shame, An' shet hees eye so he don't see Dat Jail go 'gainst hees name. Den I say, " Don't you mind, Paree — You don't be all to blame; You win de nex' one, sure, for me — • An' dere we have de game!" An' den I see dat horse wake up. An' know she say " I will!" I geeve him drink, I take one cup — To show we be frien' still; THE HORSE OF PETE LAREAU 191 I sponge his leg; I smood his hair; I tak' ma seat behin'. She tremble lak de leaf, wid fear! An' I be 'fraid dat sign! I hoP de line; I wait de shot; I say, " Be brave, ma boy!" But dees dam horse ! I guess I got One bass-wood duck decoy ! But dere's de gun! an* here's de gale! Dees boss come out his grave ! She tak' de air! he's mad! he sail, Lak sea-gull on de wave ! No frog be scare can jump lak dat ! No fish can cut de sea. So fas' she go! I lose ma hat; But I say, " Go! Paree!" She go lak blin' ! She hear no soun' Aftair she hear dat gun. She make free acre — all way 'roim — Gee Cry! — jus' half past one! Now what you t'ink 'bout dat, ma men? T'rough all dese twenty year She be ma pal, ma pride, ma frien' ! I keel heem now? Dat's queer! Ivan Swift THE HORSE IN WAR SUNLIGHT Sunlight, a colt from the ranges, glossy and gentle and strong, Dazed by the multiple thunder of wheels and the thrust of the sea, Fretted and chafed at the changes — ah, but the journey was long ! Officer's charger — a wonder — pick of the stables was he. Flutter of flags in the harbor ; rumble of guns in the street; England ! and rhythm of marcliing ; mist and the swing of the tide ; France and an Orifiamme arbor of lilies that drooped in the heat; Sunlight, with mighty neck arching, flecked with the foam of his pride ! Out from the trenches retreating, weary and grimy and worn, Lean Uttle men paused to cheer him, turning to pass to their rest; Shrilled him a pitiful greeting, mocking the promise of morn With hope and wild laughter to hear him answer with challenging zest. Victory! That was the spirit! Once they had an- swered the thrill; Toiled at the guns while incessant sang that in- visible, dread 196 SONGS OF HORSES Burden of death. Ah, to hear it, merciless, animate, shrill, Whining aloft in a crescent, shattering Uving and dead I And Sunlight? What knew he of battle? Strange was this turmoil and haste. Why should he flinch at the firing ; swerve at the mangled and slain? Where was the range and the cattle? Here was but carnage and waste; Yet with a patience untiring he answered to spur and to rein. Answered, when, out of disorder, rout, and the chaos of night, Came the command to his master, " Cover the Seventh's retreat!'* On, toward the fiame of the border, into the brxmt of the fight, Swept that wild wind of disaster, on with the tide of defeat. Softly the dawn-wind awaking fluttered a pennant that fell Over the semblance of Sunlight, stark in the pitiless day; Riddled and slashed by the bullets sped from the pit of that hell . . . Groaning, his master beside him, patted his neck where he lay. TROOP HORSES 197 ** Sunlight, it was n't for glory . . . England . . . or France ... or the fame Of victory . . . No . . . not the glowing tribute of history's pen. Good-bye, old chap, for I'm going . . . earned it . . . your death is the shame . . . We fought for the world, not an Island. . . . We fought for the honor of men. . . . " So we have sold them our horses. What shall we do with the gold? Lay it on Charity's altar, purchasing columns of praise? Noble indeed are our courses ; running the race as of old ; But why should we Mammonites falter? Noble indeed are our ways. Henry Herbert Knibbs TROOP HORSES Through lingering long months idle They have kept you ready and fit, All shining from hock to bridle. All burnished from hoof to bit; The set of your silk coat's beauty, The light of its lightest hair, Was an anxious trooper's duty And a watchfxU captain's care. Not the keenest eye could discover The sign of the sloth on you. From the last mane-lock laid over To the nail tight in the shoe ; 198 SONGS OF HORSES A blast, and your ranks stood ready ; A shout, and your saddles filled ; A wave, and your troop was ready To wheel where the leaders willed. " Fine drawn and fit to the buckle ! '* Was your confident Colonel's pride. And the faith of the lads — " Our luck '11 Come back when the Spring winds ride"; And, dropping their quaint oaths drolly, They dragged their spurs in the mire, Till the Western Front woke slowly And they won to their hearts' desire. They loose you now to the labours That the needs of the hour reveal, And you carry the proud old sabres To cross with a tarnished steel; So, steady — and keep your position — And stout be your hearts to-day, As you shoulder the old tradition And charge in the ancient way ! Will H. Ogilvie THE HORSE The man who goes into the fight, With the heart of a volunteer, Has the high ideal of doing right. To conquer his pain and fear. And the man who is forced to go, Has his pride, and his will, and his faith. To help him over the road of woe To the goal of a crutch, or death. THE HORSE 199 But the steed that is dragged from his stall, To be plunged in the hell of war ^ Why, v/hat does he know of the country^s call, Or the cause he is suffering for? And I tliink when he lies in his pain, Tortured and torn by the fray, lie must long for the touch of a hand on his mane And the fields where he used to play. The world as we see it now Is only half man-made; As the horse recedes with a parting bow, We know the part he has played. For the wonderful brain of man, Hov/ever mighty its force, Had never achieved its lordly plan Without the aid of the horse. The forests felled by hand, By the horse were carried away; And furrow and field were made to yield By his willing toil each day. He helped bring true in this age The visions our forebears saw; And oft v/as given a grudging wage. Scant fare and a bunch of straw. The horse has no passion to kill. Like man and the tiger and bear; Yet slave of a murderous will. To the front of the fight he must fare. 200 SONGS OF HORSES Now the heart of a horse has love For the master and home it knew; And the mind of a horse can prove That memory dwells there, too. Ohy I think on the blood red sod Each wounded man prays to God; And I think from the heart of a steed There must rise in his hour of need A cry for his master whOy seems A god in his equine dreams. Ella Wheeler Wilcox ON ACTIVE SERVICE Where's glossy Bess, the carmen's mare? Where's gentle Prince, the children's friend? Where's Starlight, fast beyond compare? And Tiny Tim of fiery blend? Gone to fight their country's battles, Gone to face the shot and shell, Days of toil and nights of hunger. Can we help, who loved them well? Where 's soft-nosed Jessie, sugar lover? Where's handsome Bobs, my lady's hack? Where's Punch, the Squire rides to cover And Misses' trapper Lively Jack? Gone to fight their country's battles, Gone to face the shot and shell Weary waiting, hours of torture. Can we help, who loved them well? A DUMB APPEAL 201 Where *s sturdy Joe, who hauls the coal? Where 's ginger Nell, who brings the bread? Where 's Tommy, petted from a foal? And Noma of the Fitful Head? Gone, all gone on Active Service, Faithful Servants, friends of man. We in sheltered homes of England, Let us send the help we can. Anonymous A DUMB APPEAL She was a pretty, nicely-mannered mare The children's pet, the master's pride and care, Until a man in khaki came one day Looked at her teeth, and hurried her away. With other horses packed into a train She hungered for her master's voice in vain; And later, led 'twixt planks that scare and slip They slung her, terrified, on board a ship. Next came, where thumps and throbbing filled the air. Her first experience of mal de mer; And when that oscillating trip was done They hitched her up in traces to a gun. She worked and pulled and sweated with the best; A stranger now her glossy coat caressed; Till flashing thunderstorms came bursting round And spitting leaden hail bestrewed the groimd. 202 SONGS OF HORSES With quivering limbs, and silky ears laid back, She feels a shock succeed a sharper crack, And whinnying her pitiful surprise. Staggers and falls, and tries in vain to rise. Alone, forsaken, on a foreign field — What moral does this little record yield? Who tends the wounded horses in the war? Well — that is what the Blue Cross League is for. Jessie Pope A PRAYER Thine are the cattle on a thousand hills, So saith the Word Divine ; And all the beasts that every forest fills, Each one is Thine. But Thou hast given to men the power To capture them and tame. To use them for their service hour by hour, Call them by name. Some of Thy creatures, in tliis time of strife, Fight side by side v/ith man; And many a horse and dog gives up his life. Does all he can. O Thou who lovest all that Thou hast made, Who madest great and small, Hear us Thy servants, who are not afraid To pray for all. THE WAR-HORSE BUYERS 203 For men who fight we pray in our distress, 'T is all that we can do : And kneeling down, we ask: " O Father, bless The dumb beasts too!" C. S. Purves THE WAR-HORSE BUYERS Twenty of us ridin* bronks, headed for the war; Twenty top-hand saddlemen, up in bustin' lore; Off the ranges fast they come, bosses black and gray, Hosses roan and calico, bosses brown and bay; Saddle, bridle, cinch and ride — buck, you big boss, buck ! You will be the captain's choice — 'bye, old nag — good luck I * Tiller y and cavalry^ Uillery and cavalry^ That's the way they pick 'em when the judges are at work; ^ Tiller y and cavalry ^ ^ tiller y and cavalry ^ Farewell^ Western mountain hosSy and donU you ever shirk; Steel and lead and powder smoke, there acrost the way — If it was n^t Pm neutral Vd he off with you to-day. All the range is bein' combed of the strong and fit; Bring more in, you wrangler men — let 'em taste the bit; Let the busters show each pace, 'neath the cap- tain's eyes; Good-bye, all of you to-day, to these Western skies ; 204 SONGS OF HORSES Twice around the ring you go — saddle off and stand While the captain tallies you for the fightin* band. * Tiller y and cavalry^ Cillery and cavalry y That's the way they pick and choose for the game of war; * Tiller y and cavalry y * tiller y and cavalry y Little difference where you go — fightin^ is in store; Little difference where you show — most of you must die; Western hosses, do your best — good luck, and good-bye! Arthur Chapman CONSCRIPTS On a smooth, white road in a neutral land, With peaceful homes on either hand, A column of conscripts, a patient flock, Tread slowly down, down to the dock. With halters new, of twisted rope, Bound five abreast, no choice, no hope — One needs a heart of flint-Uke rock. To watch them pass — down to the dock. May the " coming events" of this gruesome war. Not dare to " cast their shadows before"; May their innocent minds have key and lock, To shut out, why? — they go down to the dock. Forward they go, the gang-plank o'er. On tossing ship, to war-bound shore ; A CALL TO THE COW PONIES 205 In the crowded hold, they pitch and rock, Their quivering forms, humanity mock. And after, — may Fate's great over-lord, Ordain they meet some just reward For bearing the battle's horrible shock And ship them to a celestial dock. Anna M. Fielding A CALL TO THE COW PONIES They sent us from Coorong and Cooper The pick of the Wallaby Track To serve us as gunner and trooper, To serve us as charger and hack; From Budgeribar to Blanchewater They rifled the guns of the West, That whatever his fate in the slaughter, A man might ride home on the best. We dealt with the distant Dominion, We bought in the far Argentine ; The worth of our buyers' opinion Is proved to the hilt in the line ; The Clydes from the edge of the heather. The Shires from the heart of the grass. And the Punches are pulling together The gims where the conquerors pass. So come with us, buckskin and sorrel. And come with us, skewbald and bay; Your country 's girth-deep in the quarrel, Your honour is roped to the fray; 2o6 SONGS OF HORSES Where flanks of your comrades are foaming 'Neath saddle and trace-chain and band, We look for the kings of Wj^oming To speak for the sage-brush and sand. Will H, Ogilvie "NUMBER 7" Behold me, bound betvi^een the shafts, A polo mount am I, Bold, bold, to run, and swift to wheel When the white ball whirls by. The whistling ball that shoots across The purple shadowed grass. Ten times the joy that the marksman thrills, We surge with as we pass. We gallop here, we gallop there, We wheel and dart and run. Put all our strength in every length Until the goal is won I My mates still foot the flying ball White winged across the green, On their hot flanks the lowering sim Strikes with a crimson sheen. They go before me down the lane (Ah! but the shafts are sore!) Ready and dressed to face the test — I follow, mate, no more. NUMBER 7 207 I draw dried hay and sea-weed brown All day through mist and sun, At night I lie on salt sea grass And dream of old fields won. They say I'm lucky to be here, Not bound to pedlar's cart — What matters it, if I 'm not there — Game dearest to my heart? Yet ev'n the riders that ride so brave Some day will ride no more, The quick'ning mist will take them all Deep in its shrouded shore. The watery creatures of the marsh, The just tide's ebb and flow. The cawing crows and the calling quail — These are my comrades now. The cawing crows and the yellow-legs Flaxmt freedom 'round my head. Till a sniper's rifle brings them down, A clump of feathers — dead. Man by his craft has taken me And bound me to his state; What he cannot bind to do his will, That must he imitate. There's a giant bird that flies above And dips into the main; As the long-necked sea-fowl scream and rise, So does the hydroplane. 2o8 SONGS OF HORSES I see these things and toss my mane, Grown long, a shaggy veil; ) The Gray Shape calls from the curling mist — But that's another tale. Edith Musgrave SIR GILES' WAR-SONG Ho! is there any will ride with me, Sir GileSy le bon des barrieres? The clink of arms is good to hear, The flap of pennons fair to see; Ho! is there any will ride with me, Sir GileSy le bon des barrieres? The leopards and lilies are fair to see, " St. George Guienne" right good to hear; Ho! is there any will ride with me. Sir Giles f le bon des barrieres? 1 stood by the barrier, My coat being blazon'd fair to see; Ho! is there any will ride with me, Sir Giles f le bon des barrieres? Clisson put out his head to see, And lifted his basnet up to hear; I puU'd him through the bars to ME, Sir GileSy le bon des barrieres. William Morris SONG OF THE CAVALIER 209 SONG OF THE CAVALIER A steed ! a steed ! of matchless speed I A sword of metal keen ! All else to noble hearts is dross — All else on earth is mean. The neighing of the war-horse proud, The rolling of the drum, The clangor of the trumpet loud Be sounds from heaven that come. And oh ! the thundering press of knights When as their war-cries swell, May toll from heaven an angel bright And rouse a fiend from hell. Then mount ! then moimt, brave gallants all, And don your helms amain ; Death's couriers, Fame and Honour, call Us to the field again. No shrewish tears shall fill our eye When the sword-hilt 's in our hand. — Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sigh For the fairest of the land ; Let piping swain and craven wight Thus weep and puling cry, Our business is like men to fight, And hero-like to die I William Motherwell 210 SONGS OF HORSES "BAY BILLY" *T was the last fight at Fredericksburg — Perhaps the day you reck — Our boys, the Twenty-second Maine, Kept Early's men in check. Just where Wade Hampton boomed away The fight went neck and neck. All day we held the weaker v/ing, And held it with a w^ill; Five several stubborn times we charged The battery on the hill. And five times beaten back, re-formed, And kept our columns still. At last from out the center fight Spurred up a general's aid. " That battery must silenced be!". He cried, as past he sped. Oiu: colonel simply touched his cap, And then, with measured tread, To lead the crouching line once more The grand old fellow came. No wounded man but raised his head And strove to gasp his name. And those who could not speak nor stir " God blessed him" just the same. For he was all the world to us, That hero gray and grim; Right well he knew that fearful slope We'd climb with none but him, BAY BILLY 211 Though while his white head led the way We 'd charge KelPs portals in. This time we were not half-way up, When, 'midst the storm of shell. Our leader, with his sword upraised, Beneath our bay'nets fell; And, as we bore him back, the foe Set up a joyous yell. Our hearts went v/ith him. Back we swept And when the bugle said, " Up, charge, again!" no man was there But hung his dogged head. " We've no one left to lead us now," The sullen soldiers said. Just then, before the laggard line. The colonel's horse we spied — Bay Billy, with his trappings on. His nostril swelHng wide. As though still on his gallant back The master sat astride. Right royally he took the place That w^as of old his wont, And with a neigh, that seemed to say. Above the battle's brunt, " How can the Twenty-second charge If I am not in front?" Like statues we stood rooted there. And gazed a little space; 212 SONGS OF HORSES Above that floating mane we missed The dear familiar face; But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire, And it gave us heart of grace. No bugle-call could rouse us all As that brave sight had done ; Down all the battered line we felt A lightning impulse run; Up, up the hill we followed Bill, And captured every gun! And when upon the conquered height Died out the battle's hum, Vainly 'mid living and the dead We sought our leader dumb ; It seemed as if a specter steed To win that day had come. At last the morning broke. The lark Sang in the merry skies, As if to e'en the sleepers there It bade awake! arise! — Though naught but that last trump of all Could ope their heavy eyes. And then once more, with banners gay, Stretched out the long brigade ; Trimly upon the furrowed field The troops stood on parade, And bravely 'mid the ranks were closed The gaps the fight had made. Not half the Twenty-second's men Were in their place that morn, BAY BILLY 213 And Corp'ral Dick, who yester-morn Stood six brave fellows on, Now touched my elbow in the ranks, For all between were gone. Ah ! v/ho forgets that dreary hour When, as with misty eyes, To call the old familiar roll The solemn sergeant tries — One feels that thumping of the heart As no prompt voice replies. And as in falt'ring tone and slow The last few names were said. Across the field some missing horse Toiled up with weary tread. It caught the sergeant's eye, and quick Bay Billy's name was read. Yes I there the old bay hero stood, All safe from battle's harms. And ere an order could be heard, Or the bugle's quick alarms, Down all the front, from end to end, The troops presented arms! Not all the shoulder-straps on earth Could still our mighty cheer. And ever from that famous day, "When rang the roll-call clear. Bay Billy's name was read, and then The whole line answered " Here!" F, H. Gassawcy 214 SONGS OF HORSES SHERIDAN'S RIDE Up from the South at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, Telling the battle was on once more. And Sheridan twenty miles away. And wider still those billows of war, Thundered along the horizon's bar; And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold, As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, And Sheridan twenty miles away. But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down ; And there, through the flush of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight. As if he knew the terrible need ; He stretched away with his utmost speed; Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away. Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thund ering south, The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth; Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster. Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed and the heart of the master SHERIDAN'S RIDE 215 Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battle-field calls; Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away. Under his spurning feet, the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind, And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire; He is snufiing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away. The first that the General saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; What was done? what to do? a glance told him both. Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzahs. And the wave of retreat checked its course there because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray ; By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, He seemed to the whole great army to say: " I have brought you, Sheridan, all the way From Winchester, down to save the day.'* Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! And when their statues are placed on high Under the dome of the Union sky. 2i6 SONGS OF HORSES The American soldiers' Temple of Fame, There with the glorious General's name Be it said in letters both bold and bright, " Here is the steed that saved the day By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester — twenty miles away!" Thomas Buchanan Read MILES KEOGH'S HORSE On the bluff of the Little Big-Horn, At the close of a woful day, Custer and his Three Hundred In death and silence lay. Three hundred to three thousand ! They had bravely fought and bled ; For such is the will of Congress When the White man meets the Red. The White men are ten millions, The thriftiest under the sun; The Reds are fifty thousand. And warriors every one. So Custer and all his fighting men Lay under the evening skies, Staring up at the tranquil heaven With wide, accusing eyes. And of all that stood at noonday In that fiery scorpion ring, Miles Keogh's horse at evening Was the only living thing. MILES KEOGH'S HORSE 217 Alone from that field of slaughter, Where lay the three hundred slain, The horse Comanche wandered, With Keogh's blood on his mane. And Sturgis issued this order, Which future times shall read. While the love and honor of comrades Are the soul of the comrade's creed. He said: Let the horse Comanche^ Henceforth till he shall die^ Be kindly cherished and cared for By the Seventh Cavalry. He shall do no labor; he never shall know The touch of spur or rein; Nor shall his hack he ever crossed By living rider again. And at regimental formation Of the Seventh Cavalry y Comanche, draped in mourning, and led By a trooper of Company /, Shall parade with the regiment! Thus it wa Commanded, and thus done, By order of General Sturgis, signed By Adjutant Garlington. Even as the sword of Custer, In his disastrous fall. Flashed out a blaze that charmed the world* And glorified his pall. 2i8 SONGS OF HORSES This order, issued amid the gloom That shrouds our army's name, When all foul beasts are free to rend And tear its honest fame, Shall prove to a callous people That the sense of a soldier's worth. That the love of comrades, the honor of arms, Have not perished from earth. John Hay ON THE FIELDS OF FRANCE God speed the horse on the fields of France, As he fights in Freedom's name; God save the horse from the sword and lance When he bravely halts the foe's advance. As cannon roar and the shrapnel dance Let his stout heart know no shame. God guard the horse on that fateful day, When he hears the battle's song As trumpet sounds in the morning gray. And charging hosts through the bloody fray, Shall see the light of a victor's day. When the right shall conquer wrong. God help the horse when the earth and sky. Is choked with poison'd breath. Though his martial soul knows how to die. His great heart breaks as they pass him by. No grief, no tear, no pitying eye. Though he wins the cross of death. REMOUNTS 219 The sigh of his soul as swift as light, That speeds through the ether blue, Unceasing calls in its onward flight: ** We fought as only the dumb beasts fight, We fought not knowing the wrong from right, Yet we fought and died for you." Thomas H. Herndon REMOUNTS In the rosy red of the dawning your hoofs on the roadway ring You that shall carry our heroes, you that shall fight for the King. You that shall lead the triumph in a last long tramp- ling line When the swords have saved us Europe and slashed their way to the Rhine 1 Called from an Irish farmland, called from an Eng- lish fen. Called from a prairie pasture to measure the lives of men. What courage that laughs at danger, what spirit that scoffs at Death, But, born to our Empire, freedom ye have drunk with your every breath ! Bred in her conquering kingdoms, you, too, are the Empire's sons. You that shall tug at the wagons, you that shall gal- lop the gims. 220 SONGS OF HORSES You that are part of our glory, whose help has the years bestowed Whenever our grandsires gathered, wherever our fathers rode ! And, faith, ye shall never fail us when the whimper- ing bullets fiy. When the lances shiver and splinter and Death in his spurs goes by : When the stricken reels in his saddle and the chill hand drops the rein, And bloody out of the battle ye wheel to the tents again! Hail to the hero that waits you, gunner, hussar or dragoon! Hail to day of your glory — and the War-God send it soon! Luck to your prancing squadron, whose hoofs on the roadway ring Proud ye shall carry the victors who carry the swords of the King ! Will H. Ogilvie CAVALRY CHARGE After the tanks and gun machines And the heavy artillery's through; After the barrage and after the gas And after the hullabaloo; After the minor and lesser arms Of the service have had their fling — CAVALRY CHARGE 221 It's boot and saddle and sword and spur, And the cavalry charge's the thing! Cavalry — all in a sudden rush, A clang and a mighty shout ; The foemen struck with a frightened hush, And then with a panic rout ! Give each his number in war and life And each his labor to do; The infantryman in his special place And the big gun batteries, too; But when there 's an army to sweep and flay And a field of carnage to clear. The cavalry charge is the only way — God! It's the bugles, hear! To horse and away ! And all is well — And that is enough of the Hun ; The riders of death from the mouth of hell Are goin* to teach him to run ! The color-sergeant can tell a lot And the corporal knows his men; And most of the things the Captain's forgot The Lieutenant is larnin' again. There's troops and troops, divisions and corps, But the cleanup gang of the fight Is the cavalry — Ho ! for the trumpeter " Forward! Platoons by right! " Then thunder away with your heavy guns. And lead the infantry in ; For after yer through with the dirty Huns The cavalry's work '11 bep:in! 222 SONGS OF HORSES Clean 'em up is the Major's word, And clean 'em up it shall be. Ah, he sits well on his leaping horse Who is fit for the rider's glee. And the ranks shall waver before our stride And the faces all blanched and white Shall turn to look at the other side When we get into the fight. The cavalry! Charge, and spring away, Rout 'em and clean up here. And even the nags neath the saddles know - The hoss has a wondrous ear. Heavy battalion and maybe the light, Grenadier, hussar and all — Follow the cannonade into the fight, It's a duty to answer the call; But layin' low for the moment sweet And tuggin' with bridles to go. The cavalry jumps to its bloomin' feet The moment the bugles blow: Boot, spur, to horse and off, And there 's never a battle that 's done Till the cavalry 's swept the battle floor Of the last derned, brutal Hun. Polger McKinsey FINIS INDEXES irTDEX OF TITLES Alexander taming Bucephalus 73 Arab's Farewell to his Steed, The 83 Ballad of East and West, The 47 Ballad of Hadji and the Boar, The 100 Bavieca 86 ^Bay Billy" 210 Bolts 170 Burro 14 Call to the Cow Ponies, A 205 Cavalry Charge 220 Chiquita 8 Cochero and the Horse, The 167 Conroy's Gap 68 Conscripts 204 Consul Romanus 65 Death of the Old Squire, The 152 Dumb Appeal, A 201 Early Morning Ride, The 67 El-Azrek 78 El Hijo del Mar 42 Elkridge Hunt Club, The 148 Famous Ballad of the Jubilee Cup, The . . . .131 Foxhunter's Dream, The 146 From the Wreck 90 Glory of the Horse, The 88 226 INDEX OF TITLES Hijo del Mar, El 42 Horse, The 198 Horse of Pete Lareau, The 189 Horse's Epitaph, A 89 How Salvator Won 124 How the Old Horse won the Bet 176 How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix 96 How we beat the Favourite 119 In Memory of Nancy Hanks 140 Kentucky Thoroughbred, The 67 King of Denmark's Ride, The 76 Largo 3 Lasca 16 Lay of the Hospital Race, The 182 Leap of Roushan Beg, The 108 Legend of Boastful Bill, The 163 Lorraine 99 Marta of Milrone 31 Master of the Horse, The 149 Meeting, The 37 Miles Keogh's Horse 216 Muleykeh 57 No Rest for the Horse 8i " Nota Bene " 152 " Number 7 "... * 206 OP Cow Hawse, The 24 Old Gray Mare, The 151 Old-Timer, The . . o 7 On Active Service 200 On the Fields of France 218 Our Horses I44 INDEX OF TITLES 227 Pardners 36 Passing of the Horse, The 172 Paul Revere's Ride iii Pedigrees 127 Picture, A 89 Pony -Express, The 19 Prayer, A 202 Race of the Year, The 128 Range Rider, The 13 Remounts 219 Riders of the Stars 10 Ridin» 5 Riding Camel, The 53 Riding Song 43 Ringers, The 142 Roan Cayuse, The 25 Saddle-Song, A 30 Sheridan's Ride 214 Sir Giles' War-Song 208 Song of the Cavalier 209 Song of the Leather, The 22 Sunday Talk in the Horse Sheds 173 Sunlight 195 Ten Broeck 130 Trail of Death, The 20 Troop Horses 197 Trotting Wonders of 1889, The 139 Two-Bits 38 Undertaker's Horse, The 165 War-Horse Buyers, The 203 When you 're Throwed 28 INDEX OF AUTHORS Benjamin, Park 73 Braley, Berton 36 Brinninstool, E. A 24 Browning, Robert 57» 96 Burdette, Robert J 173 Chapman, Arthur 7» i9> 37> 203 Clark, Badger 5, 22, 163 D. S. G 148 Desprez, Frank 16 Ellis, James Tandy 130 F. M. W 144 Fielding, Anna M 204 Fothergill, George A 149 G., D. S 148 Gassaway, F. H 210 Gilroy, Dorothea 67 Gordon, Adam Lindsay 9o» "9 Hall, Sharlot M I3i 20, 30, 38 Hamilton, Ian 100 Harte, Bret 8 Hay, John 216 Hemdon, Thomas H 218 Holmes, Oliver Wendell 176 Job, The Book of 88 230 INDEX OF AUTHORS Keough, Hugh Edmund 182 Kingsley, Charles 99 Kipling, Rudyard 47, 165 Kiser, S. E 172 Knibbs, Henry Herbert 3i 10, 25, 195 Lampton, Will J 140 Lehmann, R. C 151 Lockhart, John Gibson 86 Longfellow, Henry W 108, iii Lyons, Norbert 167 McKinsey, Folger 220 Morris, William 208 Motherwell, William 209 Musgrave, Edith 206 Norton, Caroline 76, 83 O. R 14 Ogilvie, Will H 53, I97, 205, 219 Paterson, A. B 68 Pierce, Em 127, 139, 142 Pope, Jessie 201 Purves, C. S 202 Quiller-Couch, Arthur T 131 R., 14 Read, Thomas Buchanan 214 Riley, James Whitcomb 67 Scheffauer, Herman G 31 Scheu, G. C 146 Shadwell, Bertrand 65 Shakespeare 89 INDEX OF AUTHORS 231 Sherbrooke, Lord 89 Shinn, Charles Howard 42 Swift, Ivan 189 Taylor, Bayard 78 W., F. M 144 Wilcox, Ella Wheeler 124, 198 Williams, W. Phillpotts 128 CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A ^•ijfe^isier Fam«y LfofBffy or \fetertnfiiy »^^ Cumminp': School of Veterinary MedtelB©# iiks Unh/erstty nyo