Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads Jacobite Ballads, &c. &c. By George W. Thornbury ... with illustrations by H. S. Marks |
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THE JOCKEY'S SONG. |
 | Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads |  |
220
THE JOCKEY'S SONG.
“His eye, which scornfully glisteneth like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.”
Shakspere's Venus and Adonis.
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.”
Shakspere's Venus and Adonis.
There's the saddling-bell ringing—a death peal for some;
Bring old Galloper out, and come, jockey lad, come—
There's devil about him, there's fire in his eye;
Where there's blood in the “cretur” the courage runs high.
Bring old Galloper out, and come, jockey lad, come—
There's devil about him, there's fire in his eye;
Where there's blood in the “cretur” the courage runs high.
Draw his clothes gently off; 'gad, see the thing shine—
No rose leaf is softer, no satin so fine;
See the veins, how they branch on the dark, glossy skin—
Good signs of the pluck and the mettle within.
No rose leaf is softer, no satin so fine;
See the veins, how they branch on the dark, glossy skin—
Good signs of the pluck and the mettle within.
221
How the trainer and backer look on him the while,
As you would on a child, with a pat and a smile;
For the horse knows to-day he must prove himself best,
As well as I know the sun sets in the west.
As you would on a child, with a pat and a smile;
For the horse knows to-day he must prove himself best,
As well as I know the sun sets in the west.
Bring him on through the crowd, while the wrappers I doff;
Though sleek as a judge when his clothing's thrown off,
Ere an hour has gone past, in a ditch I may lie,
And this broken-backed jade by his rider may die.
Though sleek as a judge when his clothing's thrown off,
Ere an hour has gone past, in a ditch I may lie,
And this broken-backed jade by his rider may die.
They are clearing the course, give a leg, with a bound,
Pull that girth a bit tighter, I mustn't to ground;
We had need of firm seat when we fly through the air:
'Gad the people are thronging around like a fair.
Pull that girth a bit tighter, I mustn't to ground;
We had need of firm seat when we fly through the air:
'Gad the people are thronging around like a fair.
“More power to yer elbow.”—“Good luck t'ye Jack;
Success to yer name, and I wish you well back.”
The bell has done ringing, for a breathing I start;
There's time for a warming before the boys part.”
Success to yer name, and I wish you well back.”
The bell has done ringing, for a breathing I start;
There's time for a warming before the boys part.”
222
“Hurrah for Stripe Jacket!”—“My whip there, my spur;
'Tis as sharp as the spike of that wild prickled bur.”
They're coming—good fellows as ever strode horse;
Ah! there's mother and Bobby, and Susan, of course.
'Tis as sharp as the spike of that wild prickled bur.”
They're coming—good fellows as ever strode horse;
Ah! there's mother and Bobby, and Susan, of course.
“Hallo, Jack, boy!”—“Hey, Nat, there.”—Ah! Scott, man, there's fun
In hand for some three of us ere we have done.
We start altogether, but I'll bet thee a crown
Ere that swinger is past there'll be half of us down.
In hand for some three of us ere we have done.
We start altogether, but I'll bet thee a crown
Ere that swinger is past there'll be half of us down.
“I shall win in a canter,—I'll bet you a five
I'll be neck with the bay,” ay, but tush, man alive.
A drop of the flask ere we start, is the thing
To keep up the glow on the top of the skin.
I'll be neck with the bay,” ay, but tush, man alive.
A drop of the flask ere we start, is the thing
To keep up the glow on the top of the skin.
The starter, lads, comes with his flag—have a care;
How deep is his voice, with his, “All ready, there?”
Light hand on the bridle, bold eye, and foot steady,
Loud the chorus responsive, “We're ready—ay, ready.”
How deep is his voice, with his, “All ready, there?”
Light hand on the bridle, bold eye, and foot steady,
Loud the chorus responsive, “We're ready—ay, ready.”
223
There's a rasping good fence, and a slapping wide brook,
And a bullfinch, a leap that, I swear by the book,
Will take all the blood.—There's a start—clear the way!
They're—no!—God be with them!—they're off—they're away.
And a bullfinch, a leap that, I swear by the book,
Will take all the blood.—There's a start—clear the way!
They're—no!—God be with them!—they're off—they're away.
Bound, swift as the roe-deer, my brown one, my pride;
Put your feet down together, make sure of your stride.
I'll stick to your back as the rattler you clear;—
Hurrah! here it comes, and not one jockey near.
Put your feet down together, make sure of your stride.
I'll stick to your back as the rattler you clear;—
Hurrah! here it comes, and not one jockey near.
Well done! without clipping, no wild deer could fly
So sure, nor so swift, nor so true, nor so high.
No wild deer, though winged by the cry of the hound,
Such a rasper as that could have cleared at a bound.
So sure, nor so swift, nor so true, nor so high.
No wild deer, though winged by the cry of the hound,
Such a rasper as that could have cleared at a bound.
There are hoofs sounding hollow not far from my back;
Blue cap and the chestnut are fast on our track.
He is up—there's another, and one far behind,—
To catch us, he need borrow speed from the wind.
Blue cap and the chestnut are fast on our track.
224
To catch us, he need borrow speed from the wind.
There's the burst that leads on to the rail and the brook;
Drive fast, without thought, without word, without look.
One bound and we're over, I hear the hurrah
Grow faint, with a sound that comes borne from afar.
Drive fast, without thought, without word, without look.
One bound and we're over, I hear the hurrah
Grow faint, with a sound that comes borne from afar.
One's down, and the jock a good spinner is thrown;
'Tis Nat, and the fellow is not left alone;
The third scrambles through on the bright chestnut horse;
But the fourth has turned tail, and has swerved from the course.
'Tis Nat, and the fellow is not left alone;
The third scrambles through on the bright chestnut horse;
But the fourth has turned tail, and has swerved from the course.
He has passed me—confusion!—upon him I gain,
Drive the spur, ply the whip fast, and slacken the rein.
Old Galloper's come of good kith and good kin,
But the foam from his mouth falls like snow on his skin.
Drive the spur, ply the whip fast, and slacken the rein.
Old Galloper's come of good kith and good kin,
But the foam from his mouth falls like snow on his skin.
225
We charge three at the fence, Yellow Jacket is hurled,—
Like a stone from a sling from his saddle he's whirled.
With a thigh-bone all splintered, he crawls from the track;
We've no time to speak comfort, no time to look back.
Like a stone from a sling from his saddle he's whirled.
With a thigh-bone all splintered, he crawls from the track;
We've no time to speak comfort, no time to look back.
We charge three at the fence, the black mare's gone lame,
With a thundering crash on the hurdle she came;
Poor cripple! scarce fit for the bone-knacker's knife,
She limps from the race-course—he's ruined for life.
With a thundering crash on the hurdle she came;
Poor cripple! scarce fit for the bone-knacker's knife,
She limps from the race-course—he's ruined for life.
They tail off, and we two are sharp at it again,
He's straining each sinew, and muscle, and vein.
But I'll wait on him now, 'long the flat, up the hill;
I pass him—the beggar! he gains on me still.
He's straining each sinew, and muscle, and vein.
But I'll wait on him now, 'long the flat, up the hill;
I pass him—the beggar! he gains on me still.
I can hear from the stand the glad thousands that cheer;
Once over that fence, and the winning-post's near.
“Here they come!” “Here they are!” and away they are gone;
We fly over the fence, past the thick of the throng.
Once over that fence, and the winning-post's near.
226
We fly over the fence, past the thick of the throng.
Ply the whip, drive the spur, lean forward, my lad,
With wild staring eye, like a fellow that's mad.
Neck and neck—one stride further, hurrah! it is done:
“He will win,” he is winning—“yes! Old Galloper's won.”
With wild staring eye, like a fellow that's mad.
Neck and neck—one stride further, hurrah! it is done:
“He will win,” he is winning—“yes! Old Galloper's won.”
There is waving of hats, what a roar they give out.
As they rise to a man, with a heart-thrilling shout;
I patted Old Galloper leaping to the ground,
I felt giddy with joy at the echo around.
As they rise to a man, with a heart-thrilling shout;
I patted Old Galloper leaping to the ground,
I felt giddy with joy at the echo around.
There is foam on his skin, on my spur there is blood,
But his wind is as sure, and his mettle as good,
And his eye is as bright, and his courage as stout,
As when wing'd at the start by the burst of the shout.
But his wind is as sure, and his mettle as good,
And his eye is as bright, and his courage as stout,
As when wing'd at the start by the burst of the shout.
| Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads | |