TROOP HORSES.
Through lingering long months idle
They have kept you ready and fit,
All shining from hock to bridle,
All burnished from hoof to bit;
The set of your silk coat's beauty,
The lie of its lightest hair,
Was an anxious trooper's duty
And a watchful captain's care.
Not the keenest eye could discover
The sign of the sloth on you,
From the last mane-lock laid over
To the last nail tight in the shoe;
A blast, and your ranks stood ready;
A shout, and your saddles filled;
A wave, and your troop was ready
To wheel where the leaders willed.
"Fine-drawn and fit to the buckle!"
Was your confident Colonel's pride,
And the faith of the lads—"Our luck'll
Come back when the Spring winds ride;"
And, dropping their quaint oaths drolly,
They dragged their spurs in the mire,
Till the Western Front woke slowly
And they won to their hearts' desire.
They loose you now to the labours
That the needs of the hour reveal,
And you carry the proud old sabres
To cross with a tarnished steel;
So, steady—and keep position—
And stout be your hearts to-day,
As you shoulder the old tradition
And charge in the ancient way!
W.H.O.