130

Tell him here's a soldier bleeding, and he'll come and dress his wound !' Ah, we knew not till the morrow told its tale of death and sorrow, How the starlight found him stiffened on the dark and bloody ground.

Who the youth was, what his name was, where the place from which he came

was, Who had brought him from the battle, and had left him at our door,

He could not speak to tell us; but 't was one of our brave fellows,

As the homespun plainly showed us which the dying soldier wore.

For they all thought he was dying, as they gathered round him crying,

DEDICATED BY A CONTRIBUTOR TO THE

COLLEGIAN, 1830, TO THE EDITORS OF
THE HARVARD ADVOCATE, 18761

"T WAS 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:
The swift g. m., Old Hiram's nag,
The fleet s. h., Dan Pfeiffer's brag,
With these a third - and who is he
That stands beside his fast b. g. ?
Budd Doble, whose catarrhal name
So fills the nasal trump of fame.
There too stood many a noted steed
Of Messenger and Morgan breed;
Green horses also, not a few;
Unknown as yet what they could do;
And all the hacks that know so well
The scourgings of the Sunday swell.

Blue are the skies of opening day;
The bordering turf is green with May;

10

1 The poem was read at a dinner of the editors of the Harvard Advocate, a literary magazine published by undergraduates.

The jointed tandem, ticklish team!
And there in ampler breadth expand
The splendors of the four-in-hand;
On faultless ties and glossy tiles
The lovely bonnets beam their smiles;
(The style's the man, so books avow;
The style 's the woman, anyhow);
From flounces frothed with 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!

'Come on! I'll bet you two to one I'll make him do it!'

Done !'

30

40

'Will you?

Bring forth the horse!' Alas! he showed
Not like the one Mazeppa rode;
Scant-maned, sharp-backed, and shaky-
kneed,

The wreck of what was once a steed,
Lips thin, eyes hollow, stiff in joints;
Yet not without his knowing points.
The sexton laughing in his sleeve,
As if 't were all a make-believe,
Led forth the horse, and as he laughed
Unhitched the breeching from a shaft,
Unclasped the rusty belt beneath,
Drew forth the snaffle from his teeth,
Slipped off his head-stall, set him free
From strap and rein, a sight to see!

So worn, so lean in every limb,
It can't be they are saddling him!
It is! his back the pig-skin strides
And flaps his lank, rheumatic sides;
With look of mingled scorn and mirth
They buckle round the saddle-girth;
With horsy wink and saucy toss
A youngster throws his leg across,
And so, his rider on his back,
They lead him, limping, to the track,
Far up behind the starting-point,
To limber out each stiffened joint.

As through the jeering crowd he past,
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 Doble's scoffing shout arose.

Slowly, as when the walking-beam

70

80

90

First feels the gathering head of steam, 100 With warning cough and threatening

wheeze

'Go!'-Through his ear the summons stung
As if a battle-trump had rung;
The slumbering instincts long unstirred
Start at the old familiar word;

It thrills like flame through every limb,
What mean his twenty years to him?
The savage blow his rider dealt
Fell on his hollow flanks unfelt;
The spur that pricked his staring hide
Unheeded tore his bleeding side;
Alike to him are spur and rein,
He steps a five-year-old again!

Before the quarter pole was past,
Old Hiram said, 'He's going fast.'
Long ere the quarter was a half,

120

The chuckling crowd had ceased to laugh;
Tighter his frightened jockey clung
As in a mighty stride he swung,

The gravel flying in his track,

131

His neck stretched out, his ears laid back,
His tail extended all the while
Behind him like a rat-tail file!

Off went a shoe, away it

spun,

Shot like a bullet from a gun;
The quaking jockey shapes a prayer
From scraps of oaths he used to swear; 140
He drops his whip, he drops his rein,
He clutches fiercely for a mane;
He'll lose his hold - he sways and reels
He'll slide beneath those trampling heels!
The knees of many a horseman quake,
The flowers on many a bonnet shake,
And shouts arise from left and right,
'Stick on! Stick

on ! !' 'Hould tight!

Cling round his neck and don't let goThat pace can't hold - there! steady!

whoa!'

150

And Stop him!-stop him!' is the cry.
Stand back! he's only just begun
He's having out three heats in one!

And off they spring, and round they go,
The fast ones doing all they know.'
Look! twice they follow at his heels,
As round the circling course he wheels,
And whirls with him that clinging boy
Like Hector round the walls of Troy;
Still on, and on, the third time round!
They're tailing off! they're losing ground!
Budd Doble's nag begins to fail!

Dan Pfeiffer's sorrel whisks his tail!
And see! in spite of whip and shout,
Old 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!

170

That trot no mortal could explain;
Some said, Old Dutchman come again!'
Some took his time, at least they tried,
But what it was could none decide;
One said he could n't understand
What happened to his second hand;
One said 2.10; that could n't be —
More like two twenty-two or three;
Old Hiram settled it at last;

180

FOR WHITTIER'S SEVENTIETH

I BELIEVE that the copies of verses I've

Like Scheherezade's tales, are a thousand

and one;

'BRING me my broken harp,' he said; We both are wrecks, but as ye will,

Though all its ringing tones have fled,

Their echoes linger round it still;
It had some golden strings, I know,
But that was long- how long!— ago.

1 The original motto on the seal of Harvard College, adopted in 1643. In a letter enclosing this sonnet and another entitled 'Christo et Ecclesiae,' to be read at a meeting of the New York Harvard Club, Holmes says: At the first meeting of the Governors of the College under the Charter of 1642, held in the year 1643, it was "ordered that there shall be a College seale in forme following," namely, a shield with three open books bearing the word Veritas. This motto was soon exchanged for In Christi gloriam; and this again shortly superseded by the one so long used, Christo et Ecclesiae.

Holmes's sonnet was meant as a plea that the older and broadler motto, Veritas, be restored. (See Morse's Life of Holmes, vol. i, pp. 236-240. This has now been done, but without displacing the other motto, Christo et Ecclesiae.