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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342193" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Ride Of Rody Burke</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The heat haze veiled the distant hills, the white clouds floated high,<br>Drifting in slow content across the blue Australian sky;<br>And down in Clancy’s paddock there were mirth and laughter gay,<br>Where the She-Oak Jockey Club were met upon St. Patrick’s day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There were carts and cars and buggies ranged beneath the spreading trees,<br>Where country folk for miles around were clustered thick as bees,<br>Watching the prancing horses pass with keen appraising eyes,<br>All out to win the Squatters’ Cup, the hundred-guinea prize.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Jim Daintry on The Digger rose; hopes for his mount were high,<br>A gallant roan with swinging pace, game head and fiery eye,<br>And Jim’s horse was the favourite, the betting there was keen,<br>But some were backing Rody Burke upon Dark Rosaleen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A thing of velvet, fire and steel-a little dark brown mare,<br>With dainty legs and shoulders slant, lean head and high-bred air,<br>But knowing backers simply scoffed her chances of the race,<br>“She’ll never see his heels when once The Digger sets the pace.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Twas just before the starting time that Rody reached the course,<br>And little Nora Shanahan watched for the dark brown horse,<br>And sighed to mark the rider’s face was white as if with pain,<br>Could Rody after all her prayers, be ‘going wild’ again?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How could she know that very morn as Rody cross the yard<br>The old white draught-horse lumbering by, had lashed out good and hard.<br>The broken ribs, the searing pain that caught his breath away—<br>Ah! Naught but Irish pluck and grit brought Rody there that day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As he and Jim rose side by side, each cast a wistful eye<br>Where little Nora Shanahan looked on aloof and shy;<br>And each man thrilled at sight of her, the simple girlish grace,<br>The little kind brown hands of her, the apple-blossom face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rivals were they in sport and love, and yet good friends withal,<br>Whose true Australian mateship held no feeling mean or small,<br>And Nora, long her maiden heart had done an angels’ work,<br>With tears and prayers to save the soul of reckless Rody Burke.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Jim Daintry, manly, straight and true, had spreading acres wide,<br>And any girl in she-Oak might be proud to be his bride,<br>But who shall read a woman’s heart, or pierce its hidden screen,<br>Sweet Nora’s hopes were on the track with Rod and Rosaleen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They’re off! A rush of flying hoofs, a blur of colours bright – <br>Tim Clancy’s Skylark in the lead, The Digger well in sight,<br>Dark Rosaleen leads the bunch behind, nor falters in her stride,<br>While Rody bears with sobbing breath the torture in his side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And nearer, nearer still she draws, light as the summer wind,<br>She’s with The Digger neck and neck – the Skylark’s left behind,<br>Jim Daintry had his whale-bone out, before they reached the creek.<br>But Rosaleen’s dark shining coat showed neither spot nor streak.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Rody whispered homely words, his tortured lips between,<br>“Hang to it now for Nora’s sake – ah! Stick it, Rosaleen!”<br>And as a swallow skimming low, swift as a streak of flame,<br>She passed The Digger’s mighty stride, as down the straight they came.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And flew between the winning posts a half a length before,<br>As “Rosaleen!' 'Dark Rosaleen!” rose in a mighty roar;<br>For thews and muscle, training e’en, are little more than dust,<br>When weighed against the spirit’s fire, that wins because it must.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Rody all unconscious lay, nor heard the cheering cry,<br>With Jim’s strong arms around him clasped, all thought of self put by,<br>And Nora, trembling, joined the group that gazed upon the scene,<br>And raise her quivering girlish lips and kissed Dark Rosaleen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A night of moonlight, dew-drenched flowers, and bending, whispering trees,<br>The music from the township ball came faintly on the breeze,<br>As Rody, bandaged here, gazed at Nora’s eyes of blue,<br>Telling the old, old story o’er to one who found it new.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And far across the moonlit plain, The Digger’s mighty stride,<br>Carried the aching heart of one who nursed his grief and pride.<br>Ah! the dear griefs of headstrong youth – half pleasure and half pain.<br>The gallant, hot, young broken hearts, so quick to heal again!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alice+Guerin+Crist">Alice Guerin Crist</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342193" data-title="The Ride Of Rody Burke de Alice Guerin Crist" data-description="The heat haze veiled the distant hills, the white clouds floated high,
Drifting in slow content across the blue Australian sky;
And down in Clancy’s paddock there were mirth and laughter gay,
Where the She-Oak Jockey Club were met upon St. Patri..."></div>
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