The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley in ten volumes |
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 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
1153
VII
Shoulder to shoulder, and neck to neck—
And the hearts of the crowd spun round with them
As they dwindled away to the selfsame speck—
When sudden—a flash—like the flash of a gem
That had dropped in the dust, while onward came
But one wild rider, who homeward 'ed,
So mad with delight that he shrieked his name—
And it was not “Billy”—but all the same,
Though far behind, he was far ahead!—
As the one rode in on “his famous bay,”
His gray hair streaming beneath his hat,
And the wind-blown, upturned brim of that
Flat on his forehead—was no acclaim,—
The crowd was looking the other way!
Where, far in the distance, and through the mist
Of the dust, you saw where a hand was kissed
As in hasty adieu—nor was that all,
But, fairly and clearly and sharply defined,
You saw the black horse, with Billy astride,
With a sweet little witch of a woman behind,
Gaily waving a pink parasol,
And the crowd answered roundly with cheer upon cheer,
As the horse lightly wheeled with their manifold weight,
And dashed from your gaze through the big lower gate,
While back down the track, midst a tumult of jeers,
Was seen to rack out, on a “winded” bay,
An aged parent—amazed—irate—
On a race that might not end for years.—
But end it did. ... “‘Who WON the race!’”
Grandfather paused, with a graver face,—
“Well, Billy won—but the reason why,
Was the bay was ‘blowed’—and so was I!
And the hearts of the crowd spun round with them
As they dwindled away to the selfsame speck—
When sudden—a flash—like the flash of a gem
That had dropped in the dust, while onward came
But one wild rider, who homeward 'ed,
So mad with delight that he shrieked his name—
And it was not “Billy”—but all the same,
Though far behind, he was far ahead!—
As the one rode in on “his famous bay,”
His gray hair streaming beneath his hat,
And the wind-blown, upturned brim of that
Flat on his forehead—was no acclaim,—
The crowd was looking the other way!
Where, far in the distance, and through the mist
Of the dust, you saw where a hand was kissed
As in hasty adieu—nor was that all,
But, fairly and clearly and sharply defined,
You saw the black horse, with Billy astride,
With a sweet little witch of a woman behind,
Gaily waving a pink parasol,
And the crowd answered roundly with cheer upon cheer,
1154
And dashed from your gaze through the big lower gate,
While back down the track, midst a tumult of jeers,
Was seen to rack out, on a “winded” bay,
An aged parent—amazed—irate—
On a race that might not end for years.—
But end it did. ... “‘Who WON the race!’”
Grandfather paused, with a graver face,—
“Well, Billy won—but the reason why,
Was the bay was ‘blowed’—and so was I!
“Fizzles in everything else he's tried—
But O the way that Billy can ride!”
But O the way that Billy can ride!”
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |