SEA SPRAY ^ SMOKE DRIFT 



In their own generation the wise may sneer, 



They hold our sports in derision ; 

 Perchance to sophist, or sage, or seer 



Were allotted a graver vision. 

 Yet if man, of all the Creator plann'd, 



His noblest work is reckoned, 

 Of the works of His hand, by sea or by 

 land, 



The horse may at least rank second. 



Did they quail, those steeds of the squadrons 

 light, 



Did they flinch from the battle's roar, 

 When they burst on the guns of the Muscovite, 



By the echoing Black Sea shore ? 

 On ! on ! to the cannon's mouth they stride, 



With never a swerve nor a shy, 

 Oh ! the minutes of yonder maddening ride 



Long years of pleasure outvie ! 



No slave, but a comrade staunch, in this, 

 Is the horse, for he takes his share. 



Not in peril alone, but in feverish bliss, 

 And in longing to do and dare. 



ii8 



