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Who said that I had given thee up? who said that thou

wert sold ? 'Tis false !—'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling them back

their gold ! Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant

plains ! Away! who overtakes us now may claim thee for his pains !

Hon. Mrs. Norton.

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I'LL
’LL sing you a song, and a merry, merry song,

Concerning our Yorkshire Jen;
Who never yet ran with horse or mare,

That ever she cared for a pin.

II

When first she came to Newmarket town,

The sportsmen all view'd her around; All the cry was, “ Alas, poor wench,

Thou never can run this ground !”

III

When they came to the starting-post,

The Mare look'd very smart ; And let them all say what they will,

She never lost her start.

IV

When they got to the two-mile post,

Poor Jenny was cast behind :
She was cast behind, she was cast behind,

All for to take her wind.

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When they got to the three-mile post,

The Mare look'd very pale-
SHE LAID DOWN HER EARS ON HER BONNY NECK,

AND BY THEM ALL DID SHE SAIL ;

VI

“Come follow me, come follow me,
All
you

that run so neat;
And ere that you catch me again,

I'll make you all to sweat.'

VII

When she got to the winning-post,

The people all gave a shout;
And Jenny click'd up her lily-white foot,

And jumped like any buck.

VIII

The Jockey said to her, “This race you have run,

This race for me you have got ; You could gallop it all over again, When the rest could hardly trot!”

From "Euphranor."

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How they brought the Good News from
Ghent to Aix

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I

SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; “Good speed !” cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; "Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

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'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;
At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be;
And from Mecheln church - steeple we heard the half-

chime,
So, Joris broke silence with, “Yet there is time !"

At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray,

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye's black intelligence,-ever that glance
O’er its white edge at me, his own master, askance !
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which age and anon
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

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By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, “Stay spur!
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,
We'll remember at Aix”—for one heard the quick wheeze
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,
As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I,
Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,
'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,
And "Gallop,” gasped Joris, " for Aix is in sight!”

“How they'll greet us !”—and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,
Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;

Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or

good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is—friends flocking round
As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
Was no more than his due who brought good news from
Ghent.

Robert Browning

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HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,

Nor swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,

Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo,

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,

Who, nurs'd with tender care, And to domestic bounds confin'd,

Was still a wild Jack-hare.

Though duly from my hand he took

His pittance ev'ry night, He did it with a jealous look,

And, when he could, would bite.

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