English Roses :: :: University of Virginia Library

It was during the discipline ordered by Lent,
That they hunted the Thing called the fox
Which is tied to a brush, on which all are intent
Who are sportsmanlike and orthodox.
And it looked like a penance for some, with a seat
In the Parliament safer than this
On the saddle, with chances they hardly could cheat,
That inspired them with terrible bliss.
For the joy on the face was a ghastly grimace,
While at heart gnawed a dolorous care;
But the first at the meet for the Master to greet,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.

With the groom a respectable stage in the rear,

522

For propriety sake, and as smart
As they make them, she felt but one generous fear—
She herself might be late at the start.
But the Master was waiting for her, with a smile
And a bow only lavished on one;
When she cantered up fresh, after clearing the stile,
As no rider but she could have done.
Then by twos and by threes through the meadows and trees,
They came quick as their horses could fare;
But the first and most fit and with merriest wit,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.

There was Leary the lawyer, and Jeston the judge
With his hangings and sentiments free,
And a Parson the rollicking Reverend Pudge
Who could always find time for a spree—
And with Dixon the Doctor came patients a score
Who might ask for his services yet,
And with fractions of foolishness live to deplore
The bad steering that got them upset.
There were ladies in pride who were able to ride,
And were not—but quite willing to dare;
But the first on the move and her cunning to prove,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.

There was Toady who stuck to his Peer like a leech,
And the Earl who was horribly bored
Though at times just a little explosive in speech—
With strange words he had carefully stored.
There were Squires and their farmers in pink and in black,
Who had gathered to follow the fun;
And of boys a fair muster and dead in the track,
Who might rollick but would have the run.
There was Blarney the Kelt who in Blarneyville dwelt,
And of every good thing had a share;
But the first of the flight, in her glory and light,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.

523

O the hounds made a music that Patti might blush
At and own she was beaten at last,
As they raced in full cry with the jubilant rush
And the pace grew more reckless and fast.
With their sterns mounting high and their muzzles that kept
On the scent never losing the place,
White and tan, grim as destiny, onward they sweep
In the passion and joy of the chase.
The queer jumps were not few and would puzzle a Jew,
If not easy to stump or to scare;
But first over the ditch, without halting or hitch,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.

Then the Doctor, in spite of his skill was at fault,
Who found physic that led him a dance;
And drew nearer by far to the family vault,
Than he ever before had a chance.
With the “thirdly and lastly” still fresh on his mind
And the sermon for Sunday on hand,
Then the Parson (wiped off on a bramble behind)
Was bequeathed as a text to the land.
And the lawyer, you see, got himself up a tree,
With his precedents ready to spare;
But the first at the fence, without brag or pretence,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.

The poor groom was not in it, and pounding with pain
With his feelings decorously stirr'd
Through a fallow, perceived his best efforts were vain—
As his mistress flew on like a bird.
And the farmers tailed off with their nags here and there
When the hedges grew nasty and rough,
And remembered their duties were urgent elsewhere—
Though perhaps they had tasted enough.
And the Toady thought beer was as good as his Peer,

524

Meeting that and some uglier ware;
But first over the rail, without fear, without fail,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.

But the Earl did not stay for a cropper or two,
And went galloping pluckily on
In the face of the worst, often blundering through,
But more bright with his parasite gone.
And the ladies save one, tailor-coated and all,
Were discreetly conspicuous then
In the distance, and saddened by many a fall
Seemed discussing appearance and men.
Though no trouble or need now could slacken the speed,
And the Thing posted on like a hare;
But the first at the front, as was ever her wont,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.

There was one on a thorn and another impaled
On a bed of sweetbriars, and some
Who had ruined their purse and the person regaled
Themselves sorely on lectures to come;
And the rider who mounted with gallant intent
Was too often estranged from his horse,
As if both had performed the unhappy descent
And been through the dark gate of divorce.
Many finding their bones were improved not by stones,
Made a sight at which Bishops would stare;
But the first, without harms, uneclipsed in her charms,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.

As they gained on the Brush, which was drooping at last,
All the Squires except Blarney were blown;
And the Thing called a fox could no longer go fast,
While the hounds felt the victim their own.
But a terrible brook lay between with a bank
Of the stiffest and greasiest clay,
And that broke for a minute the following rank

525

As right through it they floundered their way.
Here the Irishman dropt in the struggle and stopt,
Just to pick up the pieces and sw——r;
But the first one across, and with never a loss,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.

Then the Master, the Earl, and a casual whip
Though quite out of repair and their breath,
And with foundering steeds that were ready to slip,
Yet were all somehow in at the death.
And a boy not at Eton because of bad health
Came up fresh and still asking for more,
Who had taken his father's best nag out by stealth
With a thirst for equestrian lore.
And a cavalry swell who had something to tell,
With a poacher caught in his own snare;
But the first at the end, without rival or friend,
Was the girl on the little gray mare.