I
Full weight they had given the gallant big Black--a hundred
and sixty he carried;
And the run for the “Hunt Cup” was over three miles, with
mud-wall and water-jump studded.
The best racing days of the old horse were past--there'd
never been better nor braver
But now once again he must carry the silk I was needing the
help of Crusader.
Could he win at the weight, I whisperingly asked, as I
cinched up the saddle girt' tight;
He snuggled my hand as I gathered the rein, and I laughed
when they talked of defeat.
To the call of the bugle I swung to his back--like a rock was
the strength of his quarters.
At sight of the people he arched his lean neck, and they,
cheered for my King of all Hunters.