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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472438" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>How The Old Horse Won The Bet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">DEDICATED BY A CONTRIBUTOR TO THE COLLEGIAN,<br>1830, TO THE EDITORS OF THE HARVARD ADVOCATE, 1876.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'T WAS on the famous trotting-ground,<br>The betting men were gathered round<br>From far and near; the 'cracks' were there<br>Whose deeds the sporting prints declare<br>The swift g. m., Old Hiram's nag,<br>The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag,<br>With these a third--and who is he<br>That stands beside his fast b. g.?<br>Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name<br>So fills the nasal trump of fame.<br>There too stood many a noted steed<br>Of Messenger and Morgan breed;<br>Green horses also, not a few;<br>Unknown as yet what they could do;<br>And all the hacks that know so well<br>The scourgings of the Sunday swell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Blue are the skies of opening day;<br>The bordering turf is green with May;<br>The sunshine's golden gleam is thrown<br>On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan;<br>The horses paw and prance and neigh,<br>Fillies and colts like kittens play,<br>And dance and toss their rippled manes<br>Shining and soft as silken skeins;<br>Wagons and gigs are ranged about,<br>And fashion flaunts her gay turn-out;<br>Here stands--each youthful Jehu's dream<br>The jointed tandem, ticklish team!<br>And there in ampler breadth expand<br>The splendors of the four-in-hand;<br>On faultless ties and glossy tiles<br>The lovely bonnets beam their smiles;<br>(The style's the man, so books avow;<br>The style's the woman, anyhow);<br>From flounces frothed with creamy lace<br>Peeps out the pug-dog's smutty face,<br>Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye,<br>Or stares the wiry pet of Skye,--<br>O woman, in your hours of ease<br>So shy with us, so free with these!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Come on! I 'll bet you two to one<br>I 'll make him do it!' 'Will you? Done!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What was it who was bound to do?<br>I did not hear and can't tell you,--<br>Pray listen till my story's through.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Scarce noticed, back behind the rest,<br>By cart and wagon rudely prest,<br>The parson's lean and bony bay<br>Stood harnessed in his one-horse shay--<br>Lent to his sexton for the day;<br>(A funeral--so the sexton said;<br>His mother's uncle's wife was dead.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like Lazarus bid to Dives' feast,<br>So looked the poor forlorn old beast;<br>His coat was rough, his tail was bare,<br>The gray was sprinkled in his hair;<br>Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not,<br>And yet they say he once could trot<br>Among the fleetest of the town,<br>Till something cracked and broke him down,--<br>The steed's, the statesman's, common lot!<br>'And are we then so soon forgot?'<br>Ah me! I doubt if one of you<br>Has ever heard the name 'Old Blue,'<br>Whose fame through all this region rung<br>In those old days when I was young!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Bring forth the horse!' Alas! he showed<br>Not like the one Mazeppa rode;<br>Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and shaky-kneed,<br>The wreck of what was once a steed,<br>Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints;<br>Yet not without his knowing points.<br>The sexton laughing in his sleeve,<br>As if 't were all a make-believe,<br>Led forth the horse, and as he laughed<br>Unhitched the breeching from a shaft,<br>Unclasped the rusty belt beneath,<br>Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth,<br>Slipped off his head-stall, set him free<br>From strap and rein,--a sight to see!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So worn, so lean in every limb,<br>It can't be they are saddling him!<br>It is! his back the pig-skin strides<br>And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides;<br>With look of mingled scorn and mirth<br>They buckle round the saddle-girth;<br>With horsey wink and saucy toss<br>A youngster throws his leg across,<br>And so, his rider on his back,<br>They lead him, limping, to the track,<br>Far up behind the starting-point,<br>To limber out each stiffened joint.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As through the jeering crowd he past,<br>One pitying look Old Hiram cast;<br>'Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!'<br>Cried out unsentimental Dan;<br>'A Fast-Day dinner for the crows!'<br>Budd Doble's scoffing shout arose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Slowly, as when the walking-beam<br>First feels the gathering head of steam,<br>With warning cough and threatening wheeze<br>The stiff old charger crooks his knees;<br>At first with cautious step sedate,<br>As if he dragged a coach of state<br>He's not a colt; he knows full well<br>That time is weight and sure to tell;<br>No horse so sturdy but he fears<br>The handicap of twenty years.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As through the throng on either hand<br>The old horse nears the judges' stand,<br>Beneath his jockey's feather-weight<br>He warms a little to his gait,<br>And now and then a step is tried<br>That hints of something like a stride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Go!'--Through his ear the summons stung<br>As if a battle-trump had rung;<br>The slumbering instincts long unstirred<br>Start at the old familiar word;<br>It thrills like flame through every limb,--<br>What mean his twenty years to him?<br>The savage blow his rider dealt<br>Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt;<br>The spur that pricked his staring hide<br>Unheeded tore his bleeding side;<br>Alike to him are spur and rein,--<br>He steps a five-year-old again!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Before the quarter pole was past,<br>Old Hiram said, 'He's going fast.'<br>Long ere the quarter was a half,<br>The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh;<br>Tighter his frightened jockey clung<br>As in a mighty stride he swung,<br>The gravel flying in his track,<br>His neck stretched out, his ears laid back,<br>His tail extended all the while<br>Behind him like a rat-tail file!<br>Off went a shoe,--away it spun,<br>Shot like a bullet from a gun;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The quaking jockey shapes a prayer<br>From scraps of oaths he used to swear;<br>He drops his whip, he drops his rein,<br>He clutches fiercely for a mane;<br>He'll lose his hold--he sways and reels--<br>He'll slide beneath those trampling heels!<br>The knees of many a horseman quake,<br>The flowers on many a bonnet shake,<br>And shouts arise from left and right,<br>'Stick on! Stick on!' 'Hould tight! Hould tight!'<br>'Cling round his neck and don't let go--'<br>'That pace can't hold--there! steady! whoa!'<br>But like the sable steed that bore<br>The spectral lover of Lenore,<br>His nostrils snorting foam and fire,<br>No stretch his bony limbs can tire;<br>And now the stand he rushes by,<br>And 'Stop him!--stop him!' is the cry.<br>Stand back! he 's only just begun--<br>He's having out three heats in one!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Don't rush in front! he'll smash your brains;<br>But follow up and grab the reins!'<br>Old Hiram spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard,<br>And sprang impatient at the word;<br>Budd Doble started on his bay,<br>Old Hiram followed on his gray,<br>And off they spring, and round they go,<br>The fast ones doing 'all they know.'<br>Look! twice they follow at his heels,<br>As round the circling course he wheels,<br>And whirls with him that clinging boy<br>Like Hector round the walls of Troy;<br>Still on, and on, the third time round<br>They're tailing off! they're losing ground!<br>Budd Doble's nag begins to fail!<br>Dan Pfeiffer's sorrel whisks his tail!<br>And see! in spite of whip and shout,<br>Old Hiram's mare is giving out!<br>Now for the finish! at the turn,<br>The old horse--all the rest astern--<br>Comes swinging in, with easy trot;<br>By Jove! he's distanced all the lot!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That trot no mortal could explain;<br>Some said, 'Old Dutchman come again!'<br>Some took his time,--at least they tried,<br>But what it was could none decide;<br>One said he couldn't understand<br>What happened to his second hand;<br>One said 2.10; that could n't be--<br>More like two twenty-two or three;<br>Old Hiram settled it at last;<br>'The time was two--too dee-vel-ish fast!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The parson's horse had won the bet;<br>It cost him something of a sweat;<br>Back in the one-horse shay he went;<br>The parson wondered what it meant,<br>And murmured, with a mild surprise<br>And pleasant twinkle of the eyes,<br>That funeral must have been a trick,<br>Or corpses drive at double-quick;<br>I should n't wonder, I declare,<br>If brother--Jehu--made the prayer!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this is all I have to say<br>About that tough old trotting bay,<br>Huddup! Huddup! G'lang! Good day!<br>Moral for which this tale is told<br>A horse can trot, for all he 's old.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Wendell+Holmes">Oliver Wendell Holmes</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=472438" data-title="How The Old Horse Won The Bet de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="DEDICATED BY A CONTRIBUTOR TO THE COLLEGIAN,
1830, TO THE EDITORS OF THE HARVARD ADVOCATE, 1876.

'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 ..."></div>
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