Part 2 (1/2)
Slowly, as when the walking-beam First feels the gathering head of steam, With warning cough and threatening wheeze The stiff old charger crooks his knees; At first with cautious step sedate, As if he dragged a coach of state; He's not a colt; he knows full well That time is weight and sure to tell; No horse so st.u.r.dy but he fears The handicap of twenty years.
As through the throng on either hand The old horse nears the judges' stand, Beneath his jockey's feather-weight He warms a little to his gait, And now and then a step is tried That hints of something like a stride.
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”Go!”--Through his ear the summons stung As if a battle-trump had rung; The slumbering instincts long unstirred Start at the old familiar word; It thrills like flame through every limb-- What mean his twenty years to him?
The savage blow his rider dealt Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt; The spur that p.r.i.c.ked his staring hide Unheeded tore his bleeding side; Alike to him are spur and rein,-- He steps a five-year-old again!
Before the quarter pole was past, Old Hiram said, ”He's going fast.”
Long ere the quarter was a half, The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh; Tighter his frightened jockey clung As in a mighty stride he swung, The gravel flying in his track, His neck stretched out, his ears laid back, His tail extended all the while Behind him like a rat-tail file!
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Off went a shoe,--away it spun, Shot like a bullet from a gun; The quaking jockey shapes a prayer From sc.r.a.ps of oaths he used to swear; He drops his whip, he drops his rein, He clutches fiercely for a mane;
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He'll lose his hold--he sways and reels-- He'll slide beneath those trampling heels!
The knees of many a horseman quake, The flowers on many a bonnet shake, And shouts arise from left and right, ”Stick on! Stick on!” ”Hould tight! Hould tight!”
”Cling round his neck and don't let go--”
”That pace can't hold,--there! steady! whoa!”
But like the sable steed that bore The spectral lover of Lenore, His nostrils snorting foam and fire, No stretch his bony limbs can tire; And now the stand he rushes by, And ”Stop him!--stop him!” is the cry.
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Stand back! he's only just begun,-- He's having out three heats in one!
”Don't rush in front! he'll smash your brains; But follow up and grab the reins!”
Old Hiram spoke. Dan Pfeiffer heard, And sprang impatient at the word; Budd Doble started on his bay, Old Hiram followed on his gray, And off they spring, and round they go, The fast ones doing ”all they know.”
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Look! twice they follow at his heels, As round the circling course he wheels, And whirls with him that clinging boy Like Hector round the walls of Troy; Still on, and on, the third time round!
They're tailing off! they're losing ground!
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Budd Doble's nag begins to fail!
Dan Pfeiffer's sorrel whisks his tail!
And see! in spite of whip and shout, Old Hiram's mare is giving out!
Now for the finis.h.!.+ at the turn, The old horse--all the rest astern,-- Comes swinging in, with easy trot; By Jove! he's distanced all the lot!