Gentlemen Riders 



IN MEMORIAM. 



Major Roddy Owen 



Died of cholera at Ambigol Wells, July ii, 1896. 



Roddy ! Undefeated ! Cheery ! 



A public favourite born. 

 In cottage, mansion, lordly castle, 



Thy loss alike we mourn. 



Soldier ! Correspondent ! Jockey ! 



'Twas all the same to you. 

 You played the game for all 'twas worth 



Whate'er there was to do. 



In the early days of riding 

 'Twas Belmont brought thee fame. 



Then Bloodstone, Monkshood, and a host 

 Of winners starred thy name. 



Till Aintree placed upon thy brow 



The steeple-chasing crown. 

 Father O'Flynn in triumph set 



The seal on thy renown. 



Homeward then from Chitral floated 



Brave tales of daring dash, 

 Of stealing through the hill-men's forces. 



How like you, but . . . how rash ! 



Uganda next allurements held 



Of wild exciting life, 

 Of bearing Rule, and heading raids 



'Gainst intertribal strife. 



Until the Sirdar's plans were ripe 

 To crush the Dervish foe . • . 



Alas ! Alas ! Thy much-mourned end 

 We all too sadly know. 



May the date-palms' stately branches 



Above thee gently wave. 

 May the mimosa's scented wattles 



Bedeck with gold thy grave. 



R. F. Meysey-Thompson. 



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