As Charles leaped the Turn, all the field was tailed out Like petals of roses that wind blows about, Like petals of colour blown back and brought near, Like poppies in wind-flaws when corn is in ear, Fate held them or sped them, the race was beginning.

Charles said, "I must ride, or I've no chance of winning."

So gently he quickened, yet making no call; Right Royal replied as though knowing it all, He pa.s.sed Kubbadar who was ready to fall, Then he strode up to Hadrian, up to his girth, They eyed the d.y.k.e's glitter and picked out a berth.

Now the race reached the water and over it flew In a sweep of great muscle strained taut and guyed true.

There Muscatel floundered and came to a halt, Muscatel, the bay chaser without any fault.

Right Royal's head lifted, Right Royal took charge, On the left near the railings, ears c.o.c.ked, going large, Leaving Hadrian behind as a yacht leaves a barge.

Though Hadrian's rider called something unheard, He was past him at speed like the albatross bird, Running up to Path Finder, they leaped, side by side, And the foam from Path Finder flecked white on his hide.

And on landing, he lifted, while Path Finder dwelt, And his n.o.ble eye brightened from the glory he felt, And the mud flung behind him flicked Path Finder's chest, As he left him behind and went on to the rest.

Charles cast a glance back, but he could not divine Why the man on Path Finder should make him a sign, Nor why Hadrian's rider should shout, and then point, With his head nodded forward and a jerked elbow joint.

But he looked as he pointed, both forward and down, And he saw that Right Royal was smeared like a clown, Smeared red and bespattered with flecks of bright blood, From a blood-vessel burst, as he well understood.

And just as he saw it, Right Royal went strange As one whom Death's finger has touched to a change; He went with a stagger that sickened the soul, As a force stricken feeble and out of control.

Charles thought, "He is dying, and this is the end, I am losing my Emmy and killing my friend; He was hurt when we fell, as I thought at the first, And I've forced him three miles with a blood-vessel burst.

And his game heart went on." Here a rush close behind Made him cast a glance back with despair in his mind.

It was Cimmeroon rushing, his lips twitcht apart, His eyes rolled back sightless, and death in his heart.

He reached to Right Royal, then fell, and was dead, Nevermore to stretch reins with his beautiful head.

A gush of bright blood filled his mouth as he sank, And he reached out his hoofs to the heave of his flank, And Charles, leaning forward, made certain, and cried, "This is Cimmeroon's blood, blown in pa.s.sing beside, And Roy's going strangely was just that he felt Death coming behind him, or blood that he smelt."

So Charles's heart lightened and Royal went steady As a water bound seaward set free from an eddy, As a water sucked downward to leap at a weir Sucked swifter and swifter till it shoot like a spear.

There, a mile on ahead, was the Stand like a cliff, Grey wood, packed with faces, under banners blown stiff, Where, in two minutes more, they would cheer for him--if-- If he came to those horses still twelve lengths ahead.

"O Royal, you do it, or kill me!" he said.

They went at the hurdle as though it weren't there, White splinters of hurdle flew up in the air, And down, like a rabbit, went Syringa the mare; Her man somersaulted right under Gavotte, And Syringa went on but her rider did not.

But the little Gavotte tucked her feet away clear, Just an inch to one side of the fallen man's ear, With a flash of horse wisdom as she went on the wing Not to tread on man's body, that marvellous thing.

As in mill-streams in summer the dark water drifts Petals mown in the hayfield skimmed over by swifts, Petals blue from the speedwell or sweet from the lime, And the fish rise to test them, as they float, for a time, Yet they all loiter sluicewards and are whirled, and then drowned, So the race swept the horses till they glimmered the ground.

Charles looked at those horses, and speedily guesst That the roan horse, Red Ember, was one of the best; He was level and easy, not turning a hair, But with power all ready when his rider should care, And he leaped like a lover and his coat still did shine.

Charles thought, "He's a wonder, and he's twelve lengths from mine."

There were others still in it, according to looks:-- Sir Lopez, and Soyland, and Peterkinooks, Counter Vair and Gavotte, all with plenty to spend; Then Monkery worn, and The Ghost at his end.

But the roan horse, Red Ember, seemed playing a game.

Charles thought, "He's the winner; he can run us all tame."

The wind brought a tune and a faint noise of cheers, Right Royal coquetted and c.o.c.ked up his ears.

Charles saw his horse gaining; the going increased; His touch on the mouth felt the soul of the beast, And the heave of each muscle and the look of his eye Said, "I'll come to those horses, and pa.s.s them, or die."

Like a thing in a dream the grey buildings drew nearer, The babble rose louder and the organ's whine clearer, The hurdle came closer, he rushed through its top Like a comet in heaven that nothing can stop.

Then they strode the green gra.s.s for the Lost Lady's grave, And Charles felt Right Royal rise up like a wave, Like a wave far to seaward that lifts in a line And advances to sh.o.r.eward in a slipping incline,

And climbs, and comes toppling, and advances in glory, Mounting inwards, marching onwards, with his shoulders all h.o.a.ry, Sweeping sh.o.r.ewards with a shouting to burst on the sand, So Right Royal sent meaning through the rein in each hand.

Charles felt like a captain whose ship has long chased Some ship better handled, better manned, better placed, And has all day beheld her, that ship of his dream, Bowing swanlike beyond him up a blue hill of gleam, Yet, at dark, the wind rising makes his rival strike sail While his own ship crowds canvas and comes within hail; Till he see her, his rival, snouting into the grey, Like a sea-rock in winter that stands and breaks spray, And by lamplight goes past her in a roaring of song Shouting, "Let fall your royals: stretch the halliards along!"

Now The Ghost dropped behind him, now his horses drew close.

Charles watched them, in praying, while his hopes rose and rose, "O G.o.d, give me patience, give me luck, give me skill, For he's going so grandly I think that he will."

They went at Lost Lady's like Severn at flood, With an urging of horses and a squelching of mud; By the hot flanks of horses the toppings were bruised, And Syringa the manless swerved right and refused.

Swerved right on a sudden, as none could expect, Straight into Right Royal, who slithered and pecked, Though Charles held him up and got safely across, He was round his nag's neck within touch of a toss.

He gat to his saddle, he never knew how; What hope he had had was knocked out of him now, But his courage came back as his terror declined, He spoke to Right Royal and made up his mind.

He judged the lengths lost and the chance that remained, And he followed his field, and he gained, and he gained.

He watched them, those horses, so splendid, so swift, Whirled down the green roadway like leaves in the lift: Now he measured their mettle, and said with a moan, "They can beat me, Lord help me, though they give me a stone.

Red Ember's a wonder, and Soyland's the same, And Gavotte there's a beauty, and she goes like a flame; But Peterkinooks, that I used to despise, Is the horse that must win if his looks are not lies."

Their bright colours flitted as at dusk in Brazil Bright birds reach the tree-tops when the land wind falls still, When the sky is all scarlet on the tops of the treen Comes a whirl of birds flying, blue and orange and green.

As a whirl of notes running in a fugue that men play, And the thundering follows as the pipe flits away, And the laughter comes after and the hautboys begin, So they ran at the hurdle and scattered the whin.

As they leaped to the race-course the sun burst from cloud And like tumult in dream came the roar of the crowd.

For to right and to left, now, were crowded men yelling, And a great cry boomed backward like m.u.f.fled bells knelling, And a surge of men running seemed to follow the race, The horses all trembled and quickened their pace.

As the porpoise, grown weary of his rush through the dim Of the unlitten silence where the swiftnesses swim, Learns at sudden the tumult of a clipper bound home And exults with this playmate and leaps in her foam,

Or as nightingales coming into England in May, Coming songless at sunset, being worn with the way, Settle spent in the twilight, drooping head under wing, Yet are glad when the dark comes, while at moonrise they sing;

Or as fire on a hillside, by happy boys kindled, That has burnt black a heath-tuft, scorcht a bramble, and dwindled, Blown by wind yet arises in a wave of flogged flame, So the souls of those horses to the testing time came.

Now they closed on their leaders, and the running increased, They rushed down the arc curving round to the east; All the air rang with roaring, all the peopled loud stands Roared aloud from tense faces, shook with hats and waved hands.

So they cleared the green gorse-bush by bursting it through, There was no time for thinking, there was scarce time to do.

Charles gritted his spirit as he charged through the gorse: "You must just grin and suffer: sit still on your horse."

There in front was a hurdle and the Distance Post white, And the long, green, broad Straight washed with wind and blown bright; Now the roaring had screaming, bringing names to their ears: "Come, Soyland!" "Sir Lopez!" Then catcalls; then cheers.

"Sir Lopez! Sir Lopez!" then the jigging bra.s.s laughter From the yellow tost swing-boats swooping rafter to rafter.

Then the blare of all organs, then the roar of all throats, And they shot past the side shows, the horses and boats.

Now the Wants of the Watchers whirled into the race Like flames in their fury, like men in the face, Mad-red from the Wanting that made them alive, They fought with those horses or helped them to strive.

Like leaves blown on Hudson when maples turn gold, They whirled in their colour, they clutched to catch hold, They sang to the riders, they smote at their hearts Like flakes of live fire, like castings of darts.

As a snow in Wisconsin when the darkness comes down, Running white on the prairie, making all the air brown, Blinding men with the hurry of its millions of feet, So the Wants pelted on them, so they blinded and beat.

And like spirits calm shining upon horses of flame, Came the Friends of those riders to shield them from shame, White as fire white-burning, rushing each by his friend, Singing songs of the glory of the world without end;