Foam upon their snaffle-bars, forelocks flying free,
Busy little Shetlands battle up the ride ;
Cream below the crupper-straps, mud above the knee ;
Vieing with the hunters that pass them in a stride.
Rosy-cheeked and eager, firm as little rocks,
Down upon their saddles, keen and full of fire,
Ride the youth of England. One has seen the fox I
One has had a tumble, tripping over wire.
Every passing hoof-beat sends them to the whip ;
Every thrilling horn-blast drives an anxious heel;
Every 'Come on, Billy bo! 'starts a quivering lip;
What can man do more than give 'em whip and steel!
Now they 're in the open, reaching at the bit ;
Every furry neck is stretched racing on the grass ,
'Shake 'em up ' is now the word, old or fat or fit
While there is a pony in front of them to pass.
All the rush and rapture was not fashioned for the few
Sweeping at the big brook splendid in their speed ;
Youth is there behind you just as keen as you,
Fretting to be forward, longing for the lead.
Give them room for galloping; youth will find its
year.
Time will cap them forward and cheer them to a place;
Dappled hounds will run for them, horses jump like deer.
These will keep in England the glory of the Chase.
