FROM THE WRECK 



That through thickest of scrub he could steer 

 like a shot, 

 And the black horse was counted the best 

 on the coast. 

 The mare had been awkward enough in the 

 dark, 

 She was eager and headstrong, and barely- 

 half broke ; 

 She had had me too close to a big stringybark, 

 And had made a near thing of a crooked 

 she-oak ; 

 But now on the open, lit up by the morn, 

 She flung the white foam-flakes from nostril 

 to neck, 

 And chased him — I hatless, with shirtsleeves 

 all torn 

 (For he may ride ragged who rides from a 

 wreck) — 

 And faster and faster across the wide heath 

 We rode till we raced. Then I gave her her 

 head, 

 And she — stretching out with the bit in her 

 teeth — 

 She caught him, outpaced him, and passed 



him, and led. 



189 



