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Did Postboy stay by the dead girl’s side?
Not he! relieved of her feather-weight,
He woke the echoes with measured stride,
Galloping up to the postal gate—
Blood, dust, and sweat from head to tail,
A riderless horse with the Greytown mail!
And now a river-oak, drooping, weeps
In ceaseless sorrow above the grave
Down on the flat where Kitty sleeps,
Hushed by the river’s lapping wave—
That ever tells to the trees the tale
Of how she rode with the Greytown mail.
