Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3821/A War-Horse of the King
I knew you in the first flight of the Quorn,
One who never turned his gallant head asido
From bank or ditch, from double rail or thorn,
Or from any brook however deep and wide;
I know the love your owner on you spent;
I know the price he put upon your speed;
And I know he gave you freely, well content,
When his country called upon him in her need.
I have seen you in the bondage of the camp
With a a heel-rope on a pastern raw and red,
Up and fighting at the stable-picket's tramp
With the courage of the way that you were bred;
I have seen you standing, broken, in the rain,
Lone and fretting for a yesterday's caress;
I have seen your valour spur you up again
From the sorrow that your patient eyes express.
Now in dreams I see your squadron at the Front,
You a war-horse with a hero on your back,
Taking bugles for the horn-blast of the hunt,
Taking musketry for music of the pack;
Made and mannered to the pattern of the rest,
Gathered foam—and maybe blood—upon your rein,
You'll be up among the foremost and the best,
Or we'll never trust in Leicestershire again!