Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350492" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Kitty McCrae - A Galloping Rhyme</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Western sun, ere he sought his lair, <br>  Skimm’d the treetops, and glancing thence, <br>Rested awhile on the curling hair <br>  Of Kitty McCrae, by the boundary fence; <br>Her eyes looked anxious, her cheeks were pale, <br>For father was two hours late with the mail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Never before had he been so late, <br>  And Kitty wondered and wished him back, <br>Leaning athwart the big swing gate <br>  That opens out on the bridle-track, <br>A tortuous path that sidled down <br>From the single street of a mining town. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">With her raven curls and her saucy smile, <br>  Brown eyes that glow with a changeful light, <br>Tenderly trembling all the while <br>  Like a brace of stars on the breast of night, <br>Where could you find in the light of day <br>A bonnier lassie than Kitty McCrae? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Born in the saddle, this girl could ride <br>  Like the fearless queen of the silver bow; <br>And nothing that ever was lapped in hide <br>  Could frighten Kitty McCrae, I trow. <br>She would wheel a mob in the hour of need <br>If the Devil himself were in the lead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now, in the shadows’ deepening <br>  When the last sun-spark had ceas’d to burn, <br>Afar she catches the sullen ring <br>  Of horse-hoofs swinging around the turn, <br>Then painfully down the narrow trail <br>Comes Alex McCrae with the Greytown mail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;The fever-and-ague, my girl,&quot; he said, <br>  &quot;'Twas all I got on that northern trip, <br>When it left me then I was well-nigh dead, <br>Has got me fast in its iron grip; <br>And I'd rather rot in the nearest gaol <br>Than ride to-night with the Greytown mail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;At Golden Gully they heard to-day - <br>  'Twas a common topic about the town - <br>That the Mulligan gang were around this way, <br>  So they wouldn't despatch the gold-dust down, <br>And Brown, the manager, said he thought <br>'Twere wise to wait for a strong escort. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;I rode the leaders, the other nags <br>  I left with the coach at the “Travellers' Rest”. <br>Kitty, my lass, you must take the bags - <br>  Postboy, I reckon's about the best; <br>'Tis dark, I know, but he'll never fail <br>To take you down with the Greytown mail.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It needed no further voice to urge <br>  This dutiful daughter to eager haste; <br>She donned the habit, of rough blue serge, <br>  That hung in folds from her slender waist, <br>And Postboy stood by the stockyard rail, <br>While she mounted behind the Greytown mail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dark points, the rest of him iron-grey, <br>  Boasting no strain of expensive blood, <br>Down steepest hill he could pick his way, <br>  And never was baulked by a winter flood - <br>Strong as a lion, hard as a nail, <br>Was the horse that carried the Greytown mail; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A nag that really seemed to be <br>  Fit for a hundred miles at a push, <br>With the old Manaro pedigree, <br>  By “Furious Rising,” out of “The Bush,” <br>Run in when a colt from a mountain mob <br>By Brian O'Flynn and Dusty Bob. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Postboy's bosom was filled with pride <br>  As he felt the form of his mistress sway, <br>In its easy grace, to his swinging stride <br>  As he dashed along down the narrow way. <br>No prettier Mercury, I'll go bail, <br>Than Kitty ere carried a Guv’nment mail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Leaving the edge of O'Connor's Hill, <br>  They merrily scattered the drops of dew <br>In the spanning of many a tiny rill, <br>  Whose bubbling waters were hid from view: <br>In quick-step time to the curlew's wail <br>Rode Kitty McCrae, with the Greytown mail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sidling the Range, by a narrow path <br>  Where towering mountain ash-trees grow, <br>And a slip meant more than an icy bath <br>  In the tumbling waters that foamed below; <br>Through the white fog, filling each silent vale, <br>Rode Kitty McCrae, with the Greytown mail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The forest shadows became less dense, <br>  They fairly flew down the river fall, <br>As out from the shade of an old brush-fence <br>  Stepped three armed men with a sudden call, <br>Sharp and stern came the well-known hail: <br>&quot;Stand! for we want the Greytown mail!&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Postboy swerved with a mighty bound, <br>  As an outlaw clung to his bridle rein, <br>A hoof-stroke flattened him on the ground <br>  With a curse that was half a cry of pain, <br>While Kitty, trembling and rather pale, <br>Rode for life and the Greytown mail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To save the bags was her only thought <br>  As she bent ‘fore the whistle of angry lead <br>That follow’d the flash and the sharp report; <br>  But,&quot;Oh, you cowards!&quot; was all she said. <br>Fast as fast as the leaden hail - <br>Kitty rode on with the Greytown mail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Safe? ah, no, for a tiny stream <br>  On Postboy's coat left its crimson mark. <br>Still she rode on, but t'was in a dream, <br>  Through lands where shadows fell drear and dark, <br>Like a wounded sea-bird before the gale <br>Fled Kitty McCrae with the Greytown mail. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And ever the crimson life-stream drips, <br>  For every hoof-stroke a drop of blood, <br>From feeble fingers the bridle slips <br>  As down the Warrigal Flat they scud, <br>And just where the Redbank workings lie, <br>She reels and falls with a feeble cry. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The old horse slacken’d his racing pace <br>  When he found the saddle his only load, <br>And nervously sniffed at the still, pure face <br>  That lay upturned in the dusty road; <br>Like a gathered rose in the heat of day, <br>She droop’d and faded, Kitty McCrae. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Did Postboy stay by the dead girl's side? <br>  Not he. Relieved of her feather-weight, <br>He woke the echoes with measured stride, <br>  Galloping up to the postal gate - <br>Blood, dust, and sweat from head to tail, <br>A riderless horse with the Greytown mail! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now a river-oak, drooping, weeps <br>  In ceaseless sorrow above the grave <br>On the lush-green flat where Kitty sleeps, <br>  Hush’d by the river's lapping wave - <br>That ever tells to the trees the tale <br>Of how she rode with the Greytown mail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Barcroft+Henry+Thomas+Boake">Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=350492" data-title="Kitty McCrae - A Galloping Rhyme de Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake" data-description="The Western sun, ere he sought his lair, 
  Skimm’d the treetops, and glancing thence, 
Rested awhile on the curling hair 
  Of Kitty McCrae, by the boundary fence; 
Her eyes looked anxious, her cheeks were pale, 
For father was two hours late w..."></div>
</div>
</div>