20
YE WEARIE WAYFARER.
With the lean game head of the Blacklock breed,
And the resolute eye that loves the lead,
And the quarters massive and square—
A tower of strength, with a promise of speed
(There was Celtic blood in the pair.)
And the resolute eye that loves the lead,
And the quarters massive and square—
A tower of strength, with a promise of speed
(There was Celtic blood in the pair.)
I remember how merry a start we got,
When the red fox broke from the gorse,
In a country so deep, with a scent so hot,
That the hound could outpace the horse;
I remember how few in the front rank shew'd,
How endless appeared the tail,
On the brown hill side, where we cross'd the road,
And headed towards the vale.
The dark brown steed on the left was there,
On the right was a dappled grey,
And between the pair on a chesnut mare
The duffer who writes this lay.
What business had “this child” there to ride?
But little or none at all;
Yet I held my own for a while, in “the pride.
That goeth before a fall.”
Though rashness can hope for but one result
We are heedless when fate draws nigh us,
And the maxim holds good, “Quem perdere vult
Deus, dementat prius.”
When the red fox broke from the gorse,
In a country so deep, with a scent so hot,
That the hound could outpace the horse;
I remember how few in the front rank shew'd,
How endless appeared the tail,
On the brown hill side, where we cross'd the road,
And headed towards the vale.
The dark brown steed on the left was there,
On the right was a dappled grey,
And between the pair on a chesnut mare
The duffer who writes this lay.
What business had “this child” there to ride?
But little or none at all;
Yet I held my own for a while, in “the pride.
That goeth before a fall.”
Though rashness can hope for but one result
We are heedless when fate draws nigh us,
And the maxim holds good, “Quem perdere vult
Deus, dementat prius.”
