WE BEAT THE FAVOURITE 



She rose when The Clown did — our silks as 

 we bounded 

 Brushed lightly, our stirrups clash'd loud as 

 we lit. 



A rise steeply sloping, a fence with stone 

 coping — 

 The last — we diverged round the base of 

 the hill, 

 His path was the nearer, his leap was the 

 clearer, 

 I flogg'd up the straight and he led sitting 

 still. 



She came to his quarter, and on still I brought 

 her. 

 And up to his girth, to his breast-plate she 

 drew, 

 A short prayer from Neville just reached me, 

 *'The Devil," 

 He mutter'd — lock'd level the hurdles we 

 flew. 



A hum of hoarse cheering, a dense crowd 



careering. 



All sights seen obscurely, all shouts vaguely 



heard, 



213 



