O’er the day’s fair, gladsome e’e
Sound and safely may he sleep,
Sweetly blithe his waukenin’ be.
He will think on her he loves,
Fondly he’ll repeat her name,
For, where’er he distant roves,
Jockey’s heart is still at hame.’
If you listen right close you’ll hear the hiss of the kettle behind it, and you can see the glow of the firelight and smell the sap of green wood in the smoke.
Well, there were continuances; of course. It is never constitutional to throw a case of politics out of court too soon. We made that four hundred-mile round trip four times and, every time, Burns sat at night where Blackstone ruled by day. Never one word of the case from judge to accused, just continuances. But on the last night—the case was to be pressed next day—the judge said to Allison at the door, as he went off to bed:
“I think you will be before me in a case tomorrow. If the worst comes and you demand your right to address the jury, the court will sustain you. And I advise you give ’em ‘Jockey’s Ta’en the Parting Kiss’—and no more. I know the jury.”