Gavotte and The Ghost and the brown Counter Vair, Followed him close with Syringa the mare, And the roan horse Red Ember who went like a hare, And Forward-Ho bolting, though his rider did swear.

Keeping this order, they reached the next fence, Which was living plashed blackthorn with gorse-toppings dense; In the gloom of its darkness it loomed up immense.

Forward-Ho's glory had conquered his sense And he rushed it, not rising, and never went thence.

And down in the ditch where the gorse-spikes were scattered, That bright chestnut's soul from his body was shattered, And his rider shed tears on the dear head all spattered.

King Tony came down, but got up with a stumble, His rider went sideways, but knew how to tumble, And got up and remounted, though the pain made him humble, And he rode fifty yards and then stopped in a fumble.

With a rush and a crashing Right Royal went over With the stride of a stalwart and the blood of a lover, He landed on stubble now pushing with clover.

And just as he landed, the March sun shone bright And the blue sky showed flamelike and the dun clouds turned white; The little larks panted aloft their delight, Trembling and singing as though one with the light.

And Charles, as he rode, felt the joy of their singing, While over the clover the horses went stringing, And up from Right Royal the message came winging, "It is my day to-day, though the pace may be stinging,

Though the jumps be all danger and the going all clinging."

The white, square church-tower with its weather-c.o.c.ks swinging, Rose up on the right above gra.s.s and dark plough Where the elm trees' black branches had bud on the bough.

Riderless Thankful strode on at his side, His bright stirrup-irons flew up at each stride, Being free, in this gallop, had filled him with pride.

Charles thought, "What would come, if he ran out or shied?

I wish from my heart that the brute would keep wide."

Coranto drew up on Right Royal's near quarter, Beyond lay a hurdle and ditch full of water.

And now as they neared it, Right Royal took heed Of the distance to go and the steps he would need; He c.o.c.ked to the effort with eyes bright as gleed, Then Coranto's wide wallow shot past him at speed: His rider's "Hup, hup, now!" called out quick and cheerly, Sent him over in style, but Right Royal jumped early.

Just a second too soon, and from some feet too far, Charles learned the mistake as he struck the top bar; Then the water flashed skywards, the earth gave a jar, And the man on Coranto looked back with "Aha!

That'll teach you, my son." Then with straining of leather, Grey Glory and Monkery landed together.

For a second the stunning kept Charles from his pain, Then his sense flooded back, making everything plain.

He was down on the mud, but he still held the rein; Right Royal was heaving his haunch from the drain.

The field was ahead of him, going like rain, And though the plough held them, they went like the wind To the eyes of a man left so badly behind.

Charles climbed to his feet as Right Royal crawled out, He said, "That's extinction beyond any doubt."

On the plough, on and on, went the rush of the rout.

Charles mounted and rode, for his courage was stout, And he would not give in till the end of the bout, But plastered with poachings he rode on forsaken: He had lost thirty lengths and his horse had been shaken.

Across the wet ploughland he took a good pull, With the thought that the cup of his sorrow was full, For the speed of a stag and the strength of a bull Could hardly recover the ground he had lost.

Right Royal went dully, then snorted and tost,

Tost his head, with a whicker, went on, and went kind, And the horse's great spirit touched Charles in the mind.

Though his bruise made him dizzy and tears made him blind, He would try to the finish, and so they should find.

He was last, thirty lengths. Here he took in his sails, For the field had come crash at the white post and rails.

Here Sir Francis ran out, scaring all who stood near, Going crash through the rail like a runaway deer.

Then the riderless Thankful upset Mutineer, Dakkanese, in refusing, wheeled round like a top Into Culverin's shoulder which made them both stop.

They reeled from the shock, slithered sideways, and crashed, Dakkanese on the guard-rail which gave, and then smashed.

As he rolled, the near shoes of the Culverin flashed High in air for a moment, bright iron in strain: Then he rose with no rider and tripped in his rein.

Right Royal came up as the Dakkanese rose All trembling and cowed as though beaten with blows; The Culverin stumbled with the reins in his toes; On the far side the leap stood the Mutineer grazing, His man was a heap which some fellows were raising.

Right Royal strode on, through a second wet plough, With the field far ahead (Kubbadar in the bow).

Charles thought, "Kubbadar's got away from him now.

Well, it's little to me, for they're so far ahead That they'll never come back, though I ride myself dead."

Right Royal bored forward and leaned on his hand, "Good boy," said his master. "He must understand.

You're the one friend I'll have when I've sold all my land.

G.o.d pity my Em as we come past the Stand, Last of all, and all muddy; but now for Jim's Pitch."

Four feet of gorse fence, then a fifteen foot ditch.

And the fifteen foot ditch glittered bright to the brim With the brook that ran through it where the grayling did swim; In the shallows it sparkled, in the deeps it was dim, When the race was first run it had nearly drowned Jim, And now the bright irons of twenty-four horses Were to flicker its ripples with knockings of gorses.

From far in the rear Charles could watch them take hold Of their horses and push them across the light mould; How their ears all c.o.c.ked forward, how the drumming hoofs rolled!

Kubbadar, far ahead, flew across like a bird, Then Soyland, bad second, with Muscatel third.

Then Sir Lopez, and Path Finder, striding alone, Then the good horse, Red Ember, the flea-bitten roan.

Then the little Gavotte bearing less than ten stone.

Then a crowd of all colours with Peterkinooks Going strong as a whale goes, head up and out flukes.

And then as Charles watched, as the shoulders went back, The riderless Thankful swerved left off the track, Crossing just to the front of the Cimmeroon black.

Ere the rider could see what his horse was about, Cimmeroon swerved, like Thankful, and followed him out.

Across the great gra.s.s in the midst of the course Cimmeroon ran a match race with the riderless horse, Then the rider took charge, part by skill part by force; He turned Cimmeroon to re-enter the race Seven lengths behind Charles in the post of disgrace.

Beyond the next fence, at the top of a slope, Charles saw his field fading and gave up all hope.

Yet he said, "Any error will knot me my rope.

I wish that some power would help me to see What would give the best chance for Right Royal and me.

Shall I hurry downhill, to catch up when I can?

Being last is the devil for horse and for man, For it makes the horse slack and it makes the man sick.

Well, I've got to decide and I've got to be quick.

I had better catch up, for if I should be last, It would kill my poor Emmy to see me come past.

I cannot leave Emmy to suffer like that, So I'll hurry downhill and then pull on the flat."

So he thought, so he settled, but then, as he stirred, Right Royal's ears moved like a vicious man's word; So he thought, "If I try it, the horse will refuse."

So he gave up the project and shook in his shoes.

Then he thought, "Since the horse will not stand interference, I must even sit quiet and sink the appearance, Since his nerves have been touched, it's as well we're alone."

He turned down the hill with his heart like a stone.

"But," he cried, "they'll come back, for they've gone such a burst That they'll all soon be panting, in need to be nursed, They will surely come back, but to wait till they do, Lord, it's h.e.l.l to the waiter, it cuts a man through."

Then into his mind came the Avalon case, When a man, left at post, without hope of a place, First had suffered in patience, then had wormed his way up, Then had come with fine judgment, and just won the Cup.

Hoofs thundered behind him, the Cimmeroon caught him, His man cursing Thankful and the sire who wrought him.

"Did you see that brown devil?" he cried as he pa.s.sed; "He carried me out, but I'll never be last.

Just the wrong side the water the brute gave a swerve, And he carried me out, half across the course-curve.