Part 17 (1/2)

We neared the new fence, we were wide of the track; I look'd right and left--she had never been tried At a stiff leap; 'twas little he cared on the black.

”You're more than a mile from the gateway,” he cried.

I hung to her head, touched her flank with the spurs (In the red streak of rail not the ghost of a gap); She shortened her long stroke, she p.r.i.c.ked her sharp ears, She flung it behind her with hardly a rap-- I saw the post quiver where Bolingbroke struck, And guessed that the pace we had come the last mile Had blown him a bit (he could jump like a buck).

We galloped more steadily then for a while.

The heath was soon pa.s.s'd, in the dim distance lay The mountain. The sun was just clearing the tips Of the ranges to eastward. The mare--could she stay?

She was bred very nearly as clean as Eclipse; She led, and as oft as he came to her side, She took the bit free and untiring as yet; Her neck was arched double, her nostrils were wide, And the tips of her tapering ears nearly met-- ”You're lighter than I am,” said Alec at last; ”The horse is dead beat and the mare isn't blown.

She must be a good one--ride on and ride fast, You know your way now.” So I rode on alone.

Still galloping forward we pa.s.s'd the two flocks At M'Intyre's hut and M'Allister's hill-- She was galloping strong at the Warrigal Rocks-- On the Wallaby Range she was galloping still-- And over the wasteland and under the wood, By down and by dale, and by fell and by flat, She gallop'd, and here in the stirrups I stood To ease her, and there in the saddle I sat To steer her. We suddenly struck the red loam Of the track near the troughs--then she reeled on the rise-- From her crest to her croup covered over with foam, And blood-red her nostrils, and bloodshot her eyes, A dip in the dell where the wattle fire bloomed-- A bend round a bank that had shut out the view-- Large framed in the mild light the mountain had loomed, With a tall, purple peak bursting out from the blue.

I pull'd her together, I press'd her, and she Shot down the decline to the Company's yard, And on by the paddocks, yet under my knee I could feel her heart thumping the saddle-flaps hard.

Yet a mile and another, and now we were near The goal, and the fields and the farms flitted past; And 'twixt the two fences I turned with a cheer, For a green gra.s.s-fed mare 'twas a far thing and fast; And labourers, roused by her galloping hoofs, Saw bare-headed rider and foam-sheeted steed; And shone the white walls and the slate-coloured roofs Of the towns.h.i.+p. I steadied her then--I had need-- Where stood the old chapel (where stands the new church-- Since chapels to churches have changed in that town).

A short, sidelong stagger, a long, forward lurch, A slight, choking sob, and the mare had gone down.

I slipp'd off the bridle, I slacken'd the girth, I ran on and left her and told them my news; I saw her soon afterwards. What was she worth?

How much for her hide? She had never worn shoes.

No Name

”A stone upon her heart and head, But no name written on that stone; Sweet neighbours whisper low instead, This sinner was a loving one.”--Mrs. Browning.

'Tis a nameless stone that stands at your head-- The gusts in the gloomy gorges whirl Brown leaves and red till they cover your bed-- Now I trust that your sleep is a sound one, girl!

I said in my wrath, when his shadow cross'd From your garden gate to your cottage door, ”What does it matter for one soul lost?

Millions of souls have been lost before.”

Yet I warn'd you--ah! but my words came true-- ”Perhaps some day you will find him out.”

He who was not worthy to loosen your shoe, Does his conscience therefore p.r.i.c.k him? I doubt.

You laughed and were deaf to my warning voice-- Blush'd and were blind to his cloven hoof-- You have had your chance, you have taken your choice How could I help you, standing aloof?

He has prosper'd well with the world--he says I am mad--if so, and if he be sane, I, at least, give G.o.d thanksgiving and praise That there lies between us one difference plain.

You in your beauty above me bent In the pause of a wild west country ball-- Spoke to me--touched me without intent-- Made me your servant for once and all.

Light laughter rippled your rose-red lip, And you swept my cheek with a s.h.i.+ning curl, That stray'd from your shoulder's snowy tip-- Now I pray that your sleep is a sound one, girl!

From a long way off to look at your charms Made my blood run redder in every vein, And he--he has held you long in his arms, And has kiss'd you over and over again.

Is it well that he keeps well out of my way?

If we met, he and I--we alone--we two-- Would I give him one moment's grace to pray?

Not I, for the sake of the soul he slew.

A life like a shuttlec.o.c.k may be toss'd With the hand of fate for a battledore; But it matters much for your sweet soul lost, As much as a million souls and more.