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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.
Concerning our Yorkshire Jen;
That ever she cared for a pin.
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 !”
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.
When they got to the two-mile post,
Poor Jenny was cast behind :
All for to take her wind.
When they got to the three-mile post,
The Mare look'd very pale-
AND BY THEM ALL DID SHE SAIL ;
“Come follow me, come follow me,
that run so neat;
I'll make you all to sweat.'
When she got to the winning-post,
The people all gave a shout;
And jumped like any buck.
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!”
How they brought the Good News from
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
'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near
At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, “Stay spur!
So we were left galloping, Joris and I,
“How they'll greet us !”—and all in a moment his roan
Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,
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
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.