The Boar of the Year
And the rest of the field followed after. They were old and wiser, perhaps—
For we flew over tats at the nullahs,[1] but they scrambled through by the gaps.
Away like a bird went the Arab—head and tail in the air, which is wrong:
For a pig-sticker worthy his salt looks down as he gallops along;
And the Arab was new to the business. What wonder that Cheltenham fell
In the grip of a buffalo-wallow, and sat down to rest him a spell?
Then Rugby shot forward the first of us three, for to reason it stands
That a coachy Artillery charger has the legs of a mere fourteen-hands.
But he jinked, and the Waler went wide; but the country-breds wheeled and we flew
O'er the treacherous black-cotton furrows—spears up, riding all that we knew.
Now, a beast with a mouth like a brickbat can't turn to a turn of the wrist—
And the Waler took furlongs to turn in; and the rest of the run Rugby missed.
So we shed him and spread him and left him, after manifold jinkings and chouses,
And the issue was narrowed to this: "Ride, boys, for the love of your Houses!"
- ↑ Ravines.
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