The right-hand man to the left-hand said, 



As down in the vale we went, 

 " Harden your heart like a millstone, Ned, 



And set your face as flint : 

 Solid and tall is the rasping wall 



That stretches before us yonder ; 

 Vou must have it at speed or not at all, 



'Twere better to halt than to ponder, 

 For the stream runs wide on the take-off side 

 And washes the clay bank under ; 



Here goes for a pull, 'tis a madman's ride, 

 And a broken neck if you blunder." 



I remember one thrust he gave to his hat. 



And two to the flanks of the brown. 

 And still as a statue of old he sat. 



And he shot to the front, hands down ; 

 I remember the snort and the stag-like bound 



Of the steed six lengths to the fore. 

 And the laugh of the rider while, landing sound. 



He turned in his saddle and glanced around ; 

 I remember — but little more. 



Save a bird's-eye gleam of the dashing stream, 

 A jarring thud on the wall, 



A shock, and the blank of a nightmare's dream- 

 I was down with a stunning fall. 



Adam Lindsay Gordon. 



