A Gallop from the Train
Though I can't afford a hunter -more's the pity,
I love a rousing gallop like the rest!-
Every morning as I travel to the city
I have five and forty minutes of the best.
As we leave our country station there's a holloa
(If it's but the engine whistle, never mind!).
By the window I am sitting, and I follow
Where the horn of fancy tells me of a find.
Through the rattle of our going comes the chorus,
'Tis a south wind and a proper scenting day,
There's a topping piece of country spread before us,
And I'll jump it all in fancy on the grey.
How he dances as I edge him through the others;
He is fond of this finessing for a start,
Just a little bit more eager than his brothers
By a beat, or maybe two beats of his heart
There's a gap we know of leading from the stubble,
And we have it while the other people pass.
A crash behind us! Some one tasting trouble!
We are over, in the lead, and on the grass.
How he lays him down to revel in his freedom!
How he snatches at his snaffle as he goes!
The field will have to gallop when we lead 'em!
Hark, behind us! There's another on his nose!
Here's an oak rail with a trappy ditch behind it,
And I feel the little beggar-shortening stride.
It's a big one, but I know he wouldn't mind it
Were it twice as big and half again as wide!
So I catch him by the head a little shorter,
And his answer comes a-thrilling from the bit;
Then I loose him, and he flies it. What a snorter!
And he never made the shadow of a hit!
So we take those rasping fences -well, perhaps a wee bit faster
Than we'd take 'em if we were not on a train!
And there's not a soul before us but the huntsman and the Master
And a toiling field is squandered once again.
By a grey suburban station, to the sullen air-brake's grinding,
We kill our dog fox handsomely at last.
It was five and forty minutes to the finish from the finding-
And at fifty miles an hour 'twas pretty fast!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
It's A Hard Road
I jumped on the train
I left this old town
I escaped the rain
I'm no longer down
The wheels start to turn
My worries are gone
I have lots to learn
About the trail that I'm on
As I look around
I see my new friend
I know I am bound
To travel till the end
I'll travel south and I'll travel north
I'll travel east and I'll travel west
I just want to find the road that is best
The train it did slow
I'm in a new place
The moonlight does glow
On my tired face
It's time for me
To try and find a bed
It's time for me
To rest my weary head
Morning is here
There's sorting to do
I'll sound sincere
With my goodbye to you
I'll travel south and I'll travel north
I'll travel east and I'll travel west
I just want to find the road that is best
It's time to move away
I'm not satisfied
I've spent many a day
Finding a place to reside
There's a town on my mind
It's just down the track
No need to find
A way to get back
The train I will get
Sitting at the station
The future is set
I feel anticipation
I'll travel south and I'll travel north
I'll travel east and I'll travel west
I just want to find the road that is best
poem by Liam Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Man to Follow
Apart from the crowd with its banter and mirth,
Sitting loose on his mare with an eye to the whins,
He has looked to his curb, he has tightened his girth,
He has marked out a place where the big double thins.
Here's a good one to follow,
To follow, to follow-
A good one to follow when business begins.
'Mid the murmur of meeting, the laugh and the joke,
'Mid the trampling of horses, the cheer and the rate,
He has caught the low whimper when Challenger spoke
And has seen the raised hat of the man by the gate.
He's the right one to follow,
To follow, to follow,
The right one to follow and trust with your fate.
When they tumble from covert, each hound giving tongue,
When they carry it, confident, over the plough,
When the hurrying Field down the headland is strung,
Here's the man for your money! You follow him now!
He's the right one to follow,
To follow, to follow,
So bundle and after him! Never mind how!
Ere the gay coffee-housers are into their stride
He is over the hedge with a trifle to spare
And down in his saddle and ready to ride,
For whoever may miss it he means to be there!
This right one to follow,
To follow, to follow,
This lean lashing lad on the bonny blood mare.
If you're riding a horse that can gallop and jump,
That can creep through a cat-hole or spread at a ditch,
If you don't mind a thorn-scratch, a bruise, or a bump,
A drain or a double and Devil care which,
Here's the right one to follow,
To follow, to follow-
The man that's a wizard, the mare that's a witch!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Hunter’s Song
RISE! Sleep no more! ’T is a noble morn:
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn,
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound,
Under the steaming, steaming ground.
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by,
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky!
Our horses are ready and steady.—So, ho!
I ’m gone, like a dart from the Tartar’s bow.
Hark, hark!—Who calleth the maiden Morn
From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn?
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter’s horn.
Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found,
And over the stream, at a mighty bound,
And over the high lands, and over the low,
O’er furrows, o’er meadows, the hunters go!
Away!—as a hawk flies full at its prey,
So flieth the hunter, away,—away!
From the burst at the cover till set of sun,
When the red fox dies, and—the day is done!
Hark, hark!—What sound on the wind is borne?
’T is the conquering voice of the hunter’s horn.
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, bold voice of the hunter’s horn.
Sound! Sound the horn! To the hunter good
What ’s the gulley deep or the roaring flood?
Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds,
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds.
O, what delight can a mortal lack,
When he once is firm on his horse’s back,
With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong,
And the blast of the horn for his morning song?
Hark, hark!—Now, home! and dream till morn
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter’s horn!
The horn,—the horn!
O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter’s horn!
poem by Barry Cornwall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
English Grass
Come, horsemen all, from every field
And taste this rare delight,
And see what English pastures yield
To those whose hearts beat right!
Come, haste and quaff the stirrup-cup!
Turn down the empty glass!
The horn is blown, the hunt is up,
And here's our English grass!
And here are foxes swift to find
And fences strong to break,
And here are doubles steep and blind
That try the best to take,
And dappled hounds to keep in sight
And rivals you must pass
Before the long December night
Enshrouds the English grass!
And think it not a lightsome thing
Or feat to wake your scorn
To follow where the Pytchley swing
Or lead them with the Quorn ;
For men have hacked the mulga trail
And packed the mountain pass,
Yet found the boldest heart may fail
To ride the English grass.
The meadows stretch from stream to stream,
Close-bitten, firm, and sound;
No stubble stands, no plough man's team
Rips up the ravaged ground;
But level far as eye can see
Like smooth green-tinted glass,
A battle-ground for bravery,
Is spread the English grass.
Though thorns be thick, though binders lace,
Though stout be stile and rail,
Though nought but blood can live the pace,
And nought but pluck prevail,
The call's to all, the field is fair
To every creed and class;
So draw your girths, all ye who dare,
And ride the English grass!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Get Miles
I love this island but this islands killing me
Sitting here in silence, man I dont get no peace
The waves upon my shore take me away piece by piece
Gonna leave everything I know gonna head out towards the sea
Jump off this island gonna head out towards the sea
I love this city man but this citys killing me
Sitting here in all this noise man I dont get no peace
The cars below my street take me away piece by piece
Gonna leave everything I know gonna head out towards the sea
Gonna leave this city man, gonna head out towards the sea
Get miles away, get miles away, get miles away
Get miles
I love this planet but this planets killin me
Sitting here in all this grass man I dont get no weed
The sweat comin from my pores take me away piece by piece
Gonna leave everything I know gonna head to the galaxy
Gonna leave this planet man, gonna head to the galaxy
Get miles away, get miles away, get miles away, get miles away, get miles away, get miles away, get miles away
Get miles
song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Meet Me At The Station
(brother williams memphis sanctified singers)
Well if I get to heaven before you do
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, mother dear, for you
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
Father, when the train comes along
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Well if my eyes see the glory, before yours do
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, father, for you
I will meet you at the station whe your train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Father, when the train
Father, when the train comes along
I will meet you at the station when your train comes along
Now if my feet touch the homeline before yours do
I will meet you at the station when the train comes along
Ill be watching and waiting, my brother, for you
I will meet you at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
When the train
When the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Now if you see gods country before I do
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
Will you be there watching, sister, for me
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
When my train
When my train
Meet me at the station when my train comes along
When my train
Sister, when my train comes along
Will you meet me at the station when my train comes along
When the train
When the train
Meet me at the station when my train comes along
When the train
Oh, when the train
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
Meet me at the station when the train comes along
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Our Heritage
This is our heritage; the far-flung grass,
The golden stubble and the dark-red moor;
Men pass and perish as the swift years pass,
But wide and wind-swept still the fields endure.
This is our heritage; the love of sport,
A fair ambition and a friendly strife,
The rivalry of farm and camp and court,
The keen endeavour of a clean, hard life.
The hoofs of horses on the trampled lea,
The crash and rattle of the broken rail
Where the first flight ride reckless, knee to knee,
And bold men face the dangers of the vale.
The cry of hounds, the holloa and the horn ;
The lean red shadows where the foxes run;
To these and all their challenge we were born,
And these we leave behind us, sire to son.
This is the heritage that none can take,
The gift we hold, the gift we give again,
And this the spirit that no Time can break,
So long as England and her fields remain.
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hope The Hornblower
'Hark ye, hark to the winding horn;
Sluggards, awake, and front the morn!
Hark ye, hark to the winding horn;
The sun's on meadow and mill.
Follow me, hearts that love the chase;
Follow me, feet that keep the pace:
Stirrup to stirrup we ride, we ride,
We ride by moor and hill.'
Huntsman, huntsman, whither away?
What is the quarry afoot to-day?
Huntsman, huntsman, whither away,
And what the game ye kill?
Is it the deer, that men may dine?
Is it the wolf that tears the kine?
What is the race ye ride, ye ride,
Ye ride by moor and hill?
'Ask not yet till the day be dead
What is the game that's forward fled,
Ask not yet till the day be dead
The game we follow still.
An echo it may be, floating past;
A shadow it may be, fading fast:
Shadow or echo, we ride, we ride,
We ride by moor and hill'
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Country Road
Saw you turnin down main street in your big, black fancy car
You were dressed up fit to kill, with a pretty girl on your arm
You spun around and you headed up town
Where the neon lights all shine
Left me choking in a cloud of dust
You never pay me no mind
Chorus:
Youre livin in the fast lane
I guess Im just too slow
I never wore silk or fancy furs
Just plain ole calico
Ill never be a fast lane lover
And theyre the only kind you take up town
I am just a country road
That you keep turnin down
If you ever hit a dead end street
If its love that youre looking for
You can always turn around
And beat a path right to my door
Do I have to draw you a map
You seem to know your way around
So when youre tired of spinnin your wheels
Baby, we can go to town
Repeat chorus
Ill never be a fast lane lover
And theyre the only kind you take up town
I am just a country road
That you keep turnin down
I am just a country road
That you keep turnin down
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Open Steeplechase
I had ridden over hurdles up the country once or twice,
By the side of Snowy River with a horse they called 'The Ace'.
And we brought him down to Sydney, and our rider, Jimmy Rice,
Got a fall and broke his shoulder, so they nabbed me in a trice,
Me, that never wore the colours, for the open Steeplechase.
'Make the running,' said the trainer, 'it's your only chance whatever,
Make it hot from start to finish, for the old black horse can stay,
And just think of how they'll take it, when they hear on Snowy River
That the country boy was plucky, and the country horse was clever.
You must ride for old Monaro and the mountain boys today.'
'Are you ready? said the starter, as we held the horses back.
All ablazing with impatience, with excitement all aglow;
Before us like a ribbon stretched the steeplechasing track,
And the sun-rays glistened brightly on the chestnut and the black
As the starter's words came slowly, 'Are, you, ready? Go!'
Well I scarcely knew we'd started, I was stupid-like with wonder
Till the field closed up beside me and a jump appeared ahead.
And we flew it like a hurdle, not a baulk and not a blunder,
As we charged it all together, and it fairly whistled under,
And then some were pulled behind me and a few shot out and led.
So we ran for half the distance, and I'm making no pretenses
When I tell you I was feeling very nervous-like and queer,
For those jockeys rode like demons; you would think they'd lost their senses
If you saw them rush their horses at those rasping five-foot fences,
And in place of making running I was falling to the rear.
Till a chap came racing past me on a horse the called 'The Quiver',
And said he, 'My country joker, are you going to give it best?
Are you frightened of the fences? does their stoutness make you shiver?
Have they come to breeding cowards by the side of Snowy River?
Are there riders in Monaro?, 'but I never heard the rest.
For I drove The Ace and sent him just as fast as he could pace it
At the big black line of timber stretching fair across the track,
And he shot beside The Quiver. 'Now,' said I, 'my boy, we'll race it.
You can come with Snowy River if you're only game to face it,
Let us mend the pace a little and we'll see who cries a crack.'
So we raced away together, and we left the others standing,
And the people cheered and shouted as we settled down to ride,
And we clung beside The Quiver. At his taking off and landing
I could see his scarlet nostril and his mighty ribs expanding,
And The Ace stretched out in earnest, and we held him stride for stride.
But the pace was so terrific that they soon ran out their tether,
They were rolling in their gallop, they were fairly blown and beat,
But they both were game as pebbles, neither one would show the feather.
And we rushed them at the fences, and they cleared them both together,
Nearly every time they clouted, but they somehow kept their feet.
Then the last jump rose before us, and they faced it game as ever,
We were both at spur and whipcord, fetching blood at every bound,
And above the people's cheering and the cries of 'Ace' and 'Quiver',
I could hear the trainer shouting, 'One more run for Snowy River.'
Then we struck the jump together and came smashing to the ground.
Well, The Quiver ran to blazes, but The Ace stood still and waited,
Stood and waited like a statue while I scrambled on its back.
There was no one next or near me for the field was fairly slated,
So I cantered home a winner with my shoulder dislocated,
While the man who rode The Quiver followed limping down the track.
And he shook my hand and told me that in all his days he never
Met a man who rode more gamely, and our last set-to was prime.
Then we wired them on Monaro how we chanced to beat The Quiver,
And they sent us back an answer, 'Good old sort from Snowy River:
Send us word each race you start in and we'll back you every time.'
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Forty Hour Week
forty hour week (for a livin')
There are people in this country who work hard every day.
Not for fame or fortune do they strive.
But the fruits of their labor are worth more than their pay.
And it's time a few of them were recognized.
Hello detroit auto workers, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
Hello pittsburgh steel mill workers, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
This is for the one who swings the hammer, driving home the nail.
Or the one behind the counter, ringing up the sale.
Or the one who fights the fires, the one who brings the mail.
For everyone who works behind the scenes.
You can see them every morning in the factories and the fields.
In the city streets and the quiet country towns.
Working together like spokes inside a wheel.
They keep this country turning around.
Hello kansas wheat field farmer, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
Hello west virginia coal miner, let me thank you for your time.
You work a forty hour week for a livin', just to send it on down the line.
This one is for the one who drives the big rig, up and down the road.
Or the one out in the warehouse, bringing in the load.
Or the waitress, the mechanic, the policeman on patrol.
For everyone who works behind the scenes.
With a spirit you can't replace with no machine.
Hello, america,
Let me thank you for your time.
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Welcome my Grandchild
I got up that morning
with a beaming smile
for I could see my grandchild
jumping down from the Brindavan Express
at twenty five minutes past eight.
I was busy on that day
buying biscuits, chocolates, cherries and fried nuts
as she could have now a little firm teeth.
Toys, pipes, electronic cars
I bought in the evening.
My wife had been decorating the house
for a week as our kiddie was coming.
At Six I was at the Central Station,
exhausting reading of all the eveningers.
When there was half-an-hour
for the train to roll in with a satiating smile,
I went out to buy a pair of ‘idlies’,
for our little queen would be very hungry
after a travel of fifteen hours.
I ran back into the station
and gazed at the glimmering electronic board.
My God, the train had arrived!
I ploughed through the crowd
with a bird’s eye to view our little mother.
But I failed to see her carrying a small bag
to ease my daughter on the platform.
I rushed home to see her
as a man running after fortune.
When my two-wheeler entered my house,
my grandchild came out yelling, “ Thatha (Grandpa) ’.
The bad train had come five minutes earlier
to prevent me from hauling her up at the station..
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
40-40 Home
Think in time
Early evening light will start to fade
And well be called inside
To wait for chance to say
Can I stay out late or maybe just an hour
But when you call I know that all I have to say is...
Forty forty home
You never could catch me
With a stocking and a ball
Around the world a yo-yo spun
You would skip and I would run
Those long days are slipping away
Days will pass
Taking turns to hide and lose our way
And beats will change the rhythm of the year
A worn out gate will swingalongasister
And running out calling to a friendly teaser
Forty forty home
You never would catch me
My ball against the wall
But around the world a yo-yo spun
Dodge the conkers one by one
But yours always came my way
Cross my path was something
I could not expect again
From beast to beauty, beautiful remain
Slide this way
Dont leave your past in shadow
And paper plane will fly your way on golden wings of...
Forty forty home
So now you have caught me
Your stocking said it all
Played the game and won, two, three
Made your move and captured me
So never let me go
Counting the spots on the lino
It seemed such a waste of time
But cant you stick to your side of the garden?
And I to mine!
Forty forty home
You never would catch me
My ball against the wall
But around the world a yo-yo spun
Dodge the conkers one by one
But yours always came my way
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Here Come The People In Grey
I got a letter this morning with serious news thats gone and ruined my day,
The borough surveyors used compulsory purchase to acquire my domaine,
Theyre gonna pull up the floors, theyre gonna knock down the walls,
Theyre gonna dig up the drains.
Here come the people in grey theyre gonna take me away to lord knows where,
But Im so unprepared I got no time to pack and I got nothing to wear,
Here come the people in grey,
To take me away.
Me and my babys gonna get on a train thats gonna take us away,
Im gonna live in a tent, were gonna pay no more rent were gonna pay no more rates,
Were gonna live in a field, were gonna buy me gun, to keep the policemen away.
Im gonna pass me a brand new resolution,
Im gonna fight me a one man revolution, someway,
Gonna beat those people in grey,
But here come the people in grey,
To take me away.
The people in grey have gone and taken away my right to voice my complaint,
Her majestys government have sent me a form I must complete it today.
But its making me blue, dont wanna tell all my secrets to
The people in grey.
Im gonna pass me a brand new resolution,
Im gonna fight me a one man revolution, someway,
Gonna start my rebellion today.
But here come the people in grey,
To take me away.
Oh, lord, those people in grey,
I gotta get back at those people in grey,
Here come the people in grey,
To take me away.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Love Field
You lie so unfolded
In a love field
With your contempt for any modesty
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
You yield with your lips still sealed
In a love field
Lost in a sea of imaginary women
Everything youd want
From the dawn to the dimming
Breath comes sharp and heart beats faster
In a love field
Cold ground for a pillow
Under a blanket of stars
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Headlights that startled
This embrace of hours
In a love field
In a crooked house
Where things can be arranged
You think youre different from the rest
But you dont see how youve changed
Under an archway
On a road of white linen
In a love field
Feel the anxious rhythm of a functional stranger
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Shes so tense but its never mentioned
In a love field
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Huntsman's Horse
The galloping seasons have slackened his pace,
And stone wall and timber have battered his knees
It is many a year since he gave up his place
To live out his life in comparative ease.
No more does he stand with his scarlet and white
Like a statue of marble girth deep in the gorse;
No more does he carry the Horn of Delight
That called us to follow the huntsman's old horse.
How many will pass him and not understand,
As he trots down the road going cramped in his stride,
That he once set the pace to the best in the land
Ere they tightened his curb for a lady to ride!
When the music begins and a right one's away,
When hoof-strokes are thudding like drums on the ground,
The old spirit wakes in the worn-looking grey
And the pride of his youth comes to life at a bound.
He leans on the bit and he lays to his speed,
To the winds of the open his stiffness he throws,
And if spirit were all he'd be up with the lead
Where the horse that supplants him so easily goes.
No double can daunt him, no ditch can deceive,
No bank can beguile him to set a foot wrong,
But the years that have passed him no power can retrieve-
To the swift is their swiftness, their strength to the strong!
To the best of us all comes a day and a day
When the pace of the leaders shall leave us forlorn,
So we'll give him a cheer - the old galloping grey -
As he labours along to the lure of the Horn.
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cook Hornet Football
Standing above it all,
down looking onto the field,
there goes one number to next,
we in the lead knocking you out the park,
touch down-touch down we yelling,
makes noise with our feet,
running across the field to beat you,
never die we progress,
last year double A,
this year triple,
you all ain't stopping our style,
cause we hill topers,
big dreamers in cook county,
go out to field bi smiles,
it can't be that we,
don't know we are leaders,
leaders of a band,
hearing cheerleaders cheer,
rocking with marching band,
score from ten to forty-in minutes,
so party cook hornet football.
poem by Tommy Laster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where You Lead
(Carole King/Toni Stern)
Wanting you the way I do
I only want to be with you
And I would go
To the ends of the earth
Cause, darling
To me thats what
Youre worth
Where you lead, I will follow
Anywhere that you tell me to
If you need, you need me to be with you
I will follow where you lead
If youre out on the road
Feeling lonely, and so cold
All you have to do is call my name
And Ill be there on the next train
Where you lead, I will follow
Anywhere that you tell me to
If you need, you need me to be with you
I will follow where you lead
I always wanted a real home
With flowers in the window sill
But if you want to live in New York City
Honey, you know I will
I never thought I could get satisfaction
From just one man
If anyone can keep me happy
Youre the one who can
Where you lead, I will follow
Anywhere that you tell me to
If you need, you need to be with you
I will follow
Where you lead, I will follow
Anywhere that you tell me to
If you need, you need to be with you
I will follow where you lead
Oh, yes I will
Oh, Im gonna follow where you lead
Im gonna follow where you lead
Oh, Im gonna follow where you lead
I will follow
I will follow
Oh, yes I will
song performed by by Faith Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Amateur Rider
Him goin' to ride for us! Him -- with the pants and the eyeglass and all.
Amateur! don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall.
Boss must be gone off his head to be sending out steeplechase crack
Out over fences like these with an object like that on his back.
Ride! Don't tell me he can ride. With his pants just as loose as balloons,
How can he sit on a horse? and his spurs like a pair of harpoons;
Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course.
Fall! why, he'd fall off a cart, let alone off a steeplechase horse.
* *
Yessir! the 'orse is all ready -- I wish you'd have rode him before;
Nothing like knowing your 'orse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore;
Battleaxe always could pull, and he rushes his fences like fun --
Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun.
Oh, he can jump 'em all right, sir, you make no mistake, 'e's a toff --
Clouts 'em in earnest, too, sometimes; you mind that he don't clout you off --
Don't seem to mind how he hits 'em, his shins is as hard as a nail,
Sometimes you'll see the fence shake and the splinters fly up from the rail.
All you can do is to hold him and just let him jump as he likes,
Give him his head at the fences, and hang on like death if he strikes;
Don't let him run himself out -- you can lie third or fourth in the race --
Until you clear the stone wall, and from that you can put on the pace.
Fell at that wall once, he did, and it gave him a regular spread,
Ever since that time he flies it -- he'll stop if you pull at his head,
Just let him race -- you can trust him -- he'll take first-class care he don't fall,
And I think that's the lot -- but remember, he must have his head at the wall.
* *
Well, he's down safe as far as the start, and he seems to sit on pretty neat,
Only his baggified breeches would ruinate anyone's seat --
They're away -- here they come -- the first fence, and he's head over heels for a crown!
Good for the new chum! he's over, and two of the others are down!
Now for the treble, my hearty -- By Jove, he can ride, after all;
Whoop, that's your sort -- let him fly them! He hasn't much fear of a fall.
Who in the world would have thought it? And aren't they just going a pace?
Little Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly-run race.
Lord! but they're racing in earnest -- and down goes Recruit on his head,
Rolling clean over his boy -- it's a miracle if he ain't dead.
Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! By the Lord, he's got most of 'em beat --
Ho! did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat?
Second time round, and, by Jingo! he's holding his lead of 'em well;
Hark to him clouting the timber! It don't seem to trouble the swell.
Now for the wall -- let him rush it. A thirty-foot leap, I declare --
Never a shift in his seat, and he's racing for home like a hare.
What's that that's chasing him -- Rataplan -- regular demon to stay!
Sit down and ride for your life now! Oh, good, that's the style -- come away!
Rataplan's certain to beat you, unless you can give him the slip,
Sit down and rub in the whalebone -- now give him the spurs and the whip!
Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet -- and it's Battleaxe wins for a crown;
Look at him rushing the fences, he wants to bring t'other chap down.
Rataplan never will catch him if only he keeps on his pins;
Now! the last fence, and he's over it! Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins!
* *
Well, sir, you rode him just perfect -- I knew from the fust you could ride.
Some of the chaps said you couldn't, an' I says just like this a' one side:
Mark me, I says, that's a tradesman -- the saddle is where he was bred.
Weight! you're all right, sir, and thank you; and them was the words that I said.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A life of standing and waiting
Standing in the bus queue
it's twenty minutes late again
when you get on the bus is full
public transport what a pain.
Standing in the post office
fifteen minutes just for a stamp
stood in a long line of people
now my back hurts it must be cramp.
Standing at the railway station
waiting for a train that's been delayed
and when it finally bothers to arrive
we're told there's an engine fault I'm afraid.
Standing in a queue outside the cinema
been looking forward to this film all day
but after waiting patiently for half an hour
I'm told it's now full so I have to go away.
Standing about and queueing is what we do
I wonder if it's like this in Heaven when you pass away?
knowing my luck I'll be in a long line of people
only to be told your in the wrong place so go away!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!