She was iron-sinew'd and satin-skinn'd.
Ribb'd like a drum and limb'd like a deer,
Fierce as the fire and fleet as the wind--
There was nothing she couldn't climb or clear. Adam Lindsay Gordon
My Beautiful! My beautiful! that standest meekly by
With thy proudly-arch'd and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye,
Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy winged speed;
I may not mount on thee again--thou'rt sold, my Arab steed! Caroline Norton
That hoss wasn't built to tread the earth,
he took natural to the air,
and every time he went aloft,
he tried to leave me there. Unknown
Weave for the mighty chestnut
A tributary crown
Of autumn flowers, the brightest then
When autumn leaves are brown
Hang up his bridle on the wall,
His saddle on the tree,
Till time shall bring some racing king
Worthy to wear as he! William Nack
Somewhere...Somewhere in time's Own Space
There must be some sweet pastured place
Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow
Some Paradise where horses go,
For by the love that guides my pen
I know great horses live again. Stanley Harrison
The old mare watched the tractor work
A thing of rubber and steel,
Ready to follow the slightest wish
Of the man who held the wheel.
She said to herself as it passed by,
You gave me an awful jolt
But there's still one thing you cannot do,
You cannot raise a colt. Unknown
How the Old Horse Won the Bet
Twas on the famous trotting ground,
The betting men were gathered round
From far and near; the "cracks" were there,
Whose deeds the sporting prints declare.
Blue are the skies of opening day;
The bordering turf is green with May;
The sunshine's golden gleam is thrown
On sorrel, chestnut, bay, and roan.
Wagons and gigs are ranged about,
And fashion flaunts her gay turnout;
Here stands each youthful Jrhu's dream -
The jointed tandem, ticklish team!
And there is ampler breath expand,
The splendours of the four-in-hand.
On faultless ties and glossy tiles,
The lovely bonnets beam their smiles;
(The styles the man, so books avow;
The styles the woman anyhow;)
From flaunces frothed in creamy lace,
Peeps out the pug dog's smutty face,
Or spaniel rolls his liquid eye,
Or stares the wiry pet of Skye -
O woman, in your hours of ease,
So shy with us, so free with these!
So worn, so lean, in every limb,
It can't be that they're saddling him!
And so, his rider on his back,
They lead him, limping, to the track.
One pitying look, old Hiram cast;
"Go it, ye cripple, while ye can!"
Cried out unsentimental Dan;
"A fast-day dinner for the crows!"
Budd Dobles scoffing shout arose.
"Go" - through his earth the summons rung;
The slumbering instincts long unstirred,
Start at the old familiar word.
Tighter his frightened jockey clung,
As in mighty stride he swung,
The gravel flying in his track,
His neck stretched out, his ears laid back,
His tail extended all the while,
Behind him in a rat-tail file!
And off they spring, and round they go,
The fast ones doing "all they know!"
They're tailing off! They're losing ground!
Budd Dobles nag begins to fail!
Dan Pfeiffer's sorrel whisks his tail!
And see! In spite of whip and shout,
Hiram's mare is giving out!
Now for the finish! At the turn,
The old horse - all the rest astern -
Comes swinging in, with easy trot;
By Jove! He's distanced all the lot!
Moral for which this tail is told;
A horse can trot for all he's old.
Pegasus in Pound
Once into a quiet village,
Without haste and without heed,
In the golden prime of morning,
Strayed the poet's winged steed.
It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the apples
Burned among the withering leaves.
Loud the clamorous bell was ringing
From its belfry gaunt and grim;
'T was the daily call to labor,
Not a triumph meant for him.
Not the less he saw the landscape,
In its gleaming vapor veiled;
Not the less he breathed the odors
That the dying leaves exhaled.
Thus, upon the village common,
By the school-boys he was found;
And the wise men, in their wisdom,
Put him straitaway into pound.
Then the somber village crier,
Ringing loud his brazen bell,
Wandering down the street proclaiming,
There was an estray to sell.
And the curious country people,
Rich and poor, and young and old,
Came in haste to see this wondrous
Winged steed, with mane of gold.
Thus the day passed, and the evening
Fell, with vapors cold and dim;
But it brought no food or shelter,
Brought no stall or straw for him.
Patiently, and still expectant,
Looked he through the wooden bars,
Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape,
Saw the tranquil, patient stars.
Till at length the bell at midnight
Sounded from its dark abode,
And, from out a neighboring farmyard,
Loud the cock Alectryon crowed.
Then, with nostrils wide distended,
Breaking from his iron chain,
And unfolding far his pinions,
To those stars he soared again.
On the morrow when the village
Woke to all its toil and care,
Lo! The strange steed had departed,
And they knew not when or where.
But they found, upon the greensward
Where his struggling hooves had trod,
Pure and bright, a fountain flowing
From the hoof-marks in the sod.
From that hour, the fount unfailing
Gladdens the whole region round,
Strengthening all who drink its waters,
While it soothes them with its sound.
Twas the night before Christmas, but my manger was bare
My coat is still matted, the spots that aren't bare.
My thirst shows no mercy on this day of the lord.
My stall is still filthy, manure covering the floor.
Outside the stars are brilliant, in the clear sky they shine.
Peace and love fill the world, except the corner that's mine.
Here it is cold and hunger that are more the rule.
The seasons joys and blessings aren't shared by the cruel.
My owner is comfortable, all snug in his bed.
He doesn't care that I haven't been fed.
When out in the pasture, what should I hear?
But the sound of a sleigh and the hoofs of reindeer!
I peered out of the stall for there rose quite a clatter,
as Santa strode in to see what was the matter.
"I heard your poor suffering, even from afar.
Your owner doesn't deserve you, the good horse you are!"
The scowl on his face didn't fit the jolly old elf.
His anger had gotten him quite beside himself.
He threw open the stall door and in a flash,
Had my rack filled with hay and feeder with a mash!
"You enjoy this," he said as he strode to the house,
"I'm going to stir up much more than a little old mouse!"
As I munched I looked to see what would occur.
Santa entered the house and he caused quite a stir!
He grabbed my owner by the back of his shirt.
And pulled him to the barn, where he stopped with a jerk.
"This horse is Gods creature, placed in your care!"
Santa fairly shouted his wrath filling the air.
"You have used and abused him, for far to long.
And worse, you don't even think it is wrong!"
'I have your Christmas list." Santa brought it forth from his coat.
"You want toys and gizmos, a new car and a boat!"
Santa said with a grin "Your gift this year is much better by far,
Then any shiny new toys, or even a car!"
My owner's eyes grew wide and filled with fear,
Not sure what it was that next he would hear!
Santa took a deep breath,, then said with a sigh.
"You shall switch lives with this little guy!"
Then laying his finger beside of his nose,
He winked at me and switched our roles.
I was no longer a horse, all battered and thin,
But stood on two feet, wearing a grin!
The horse in the stall neighed loudly in protest.
Santa just smiled and shook his head as he left.
I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
I watered my horse, and cleaned out his stall.
Amazed that there are some seasons blessings after all! By Beverly Whittington [Page 2]