Page:Poems Cook.djvu/254

The loosen'd nags are panting hard,
Seeking the well-known stable-yard;
Forth come the wheelers—glossy black—
With bit in mouth, and cloth on back:
Quick bring the leaders-two bright roans
As ever spurn'd the wayside stones;
Each buckle tight—'tis done, "All right!"
The steeds are ready for their flight;
And old bluff Jehu once again
Swings up to rule the whip and rein.
Onward we hie, like shooting star
That runs all dazzling-feet and far;
And worthy sight for king to see,
Are four bold coursers, fast and free.

O England! many an olden tale
Shall yet be told o'er Christmas ale,
By lips unborn, and they shall say
What rare works graced their fathers' day.
Young boys shall chatter in the sun,
And tell what English steeds have done;
Records shall note the bygone age,
And vaunt the matchless, English stage.

Ah, well-a-day! the glory's o'er;
Soon steed and stage shall be no more:
The roads that break our fertile earth
Seem lonely in their human dearth.
Ah! grieve I will, and grieve I must,
To miss the mail-coach cloud of dust;
To think that I shall never see
The blood-like team, so fast and free;
And find old Time, with scowling brow,
Changing all things but horses, now.

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