We charge three at the fence, Yellow Jacket is hurled, Like a stone from a sling from his saddle he's whirled. With a thigh-bone all splintered, he crawls from the track ; We've no time to speak comfort, no time to look back. We charge three at the fence, the black mare's gone lame, With a thundering crash on the hurdle she came; Poor cripple! scarce fit for the bone-knacker's knife, She limps from the race-course-he's ruined for life. They tail off, and we two are sharp at it again, He's straining each sinew, and muscle, and vein. But I'll wait on him now, 'long the flat, up the hill; I pass him the beggar! he gains on me still. I can hear from the stand the glad thousands that cheer; Once over that fence, and the winning-post's near. "Here they come !" "Here they are!" and away they are gone; We fly over the fence, past the thick of the throng. Ply the whip, drive the spur, lean forward, my lad, With wild staring eye, like a fellow that's mad. Neck and neck-one stride further, hurrah! it is done: "He will win," he is winning "yes! Old Galloper's won." There is waving of hats, what a roar they give out. There is foam on his skin, on my spur there is blood, But his wind is as sure, and his mettle as good, And his eye is as bright, and his courage as stout, As when wing'd at the start by the burst of the shout. I AND THEE. As the wild flower to the wild bee, As the lark to the sunny cloud, As the wild bird to the wild sea, So am I to thee. Be not then so proud, Though with beauty's majesty Thou art rich endowed. The stream toils on to the sea, The rills to the river run Resting never a one, As I run to thee. Frown not then nor mock at me, As you have begun. WELLAWAY! Aн, wellaway! Slowly through the cold hard clay Doth the corn-blade make its way, Groping blindly for the day— Wellaway! Slowly, without song or sound, Through the frozen meadow ground, Do the flowers creep up to-day Wellaway! Slowly does the spring unfold Wellaway! Slowly, slowly, one by one, Do the wild birds greet the sun, Wellaway! Slowly does the winter pass; Wellaway! Long shall blow the winter blast, Long before its rage hath passed, Changing to the breeze of May— Wellaway! |