'A Quick- Thirty Minutes from Raivksboro Gorse." 433 



Do I dream ? all around me I see the dead riding, 



And voices long silent re-echo with glee ; 

 I can hear the far wail of the Master's vain chiding, 



As vain as the Norseman's reproof to the sea. 



IV. 

 Vain indeed ! for the bitches are racing before us — 



Not a nose to the earth — not a stern in the air ; 

 And we know by the notes of that modified chorus 



How straight we must ride if we wish to be there! 

 With a crash o'er the turnpike, and onward I'm sailing. 



Released from the throes of the blundering mass. 

 Which dispersed right and left as I topped the high railing, 



And shape my own course o'er the billowy grass. 



V. 

 Oh, gently, my young one ; the fence we are nearing 



Is leaning towards us — 'tis hairy and black, 

 The binders are strong, and necessitate clearing, 



Or the wide ditch beyond will find room for your back. 

 Well saved ! we are over ! now far down the pastures 



Of Ashwell the willows betoken the line 

 Of the dull-flowing stream of historic disasters ; 



We must face, my bold young one, the dread Whissendmc. 



VI. 



Mo shallow-dug pan with a hurdle to screen it, 



That cock-tail imposture the steeplechase brook ; 

 Hut the steep broken banks tell us plain, if wc mean it. 



The less we shall like it the longer we look. 

 Then steady, my young one, my place I've selected. 



Above the dwarf willow 'tis sound I'll be bail, 

 With your muscular quarters beneath you collected, 



Prepare for a rush like the ' limited mail.' 



VII. 



Oh ! now let me know the full worth of your breeding. 



Brave son of Belzoni, be true to your sires. 

 Sustain old traditions — remember you're leading 



The cream of the cream in the shire of the shires! 

 With a quick shortened stride as the distance you measurt. 



With a crack of the nostril and cock of the ear. 

 And a rocketing bound, and we're over, my treasure, 



Twice nine feet of water, and landed all clear ! 



VIII. 

 What ! four of us only ? are these the survivors 



Of all that rode gaily from Ranksboro' ridge ? 

 I hear the faint splash of a few hardy divers, 



The rest are in hopeless research of a bridge ; 

 VcE victis ! the way of the world and the winners ! 



Do we ne'er ride away from a friend in distress ? 

 Alas ! we are anti-Samaritan sinners, 



And streaming past Stapleford, onward we press. 



D D D 



