They appealed to him, reproached him, gave him sugar, cut his feed,
But in vain; for almost daily that inexorable steed,
When he heard his master coming, looked insultingly around,
And with cool deliberation laid him down upon the ground.
But they fought it out between them, till the undefeated brute
Made a humorous obeisance at the General Salute!
Then his owner kicked him wildly in the stomach for his pranks,
Said he'd stand the beast no longer, and returned him to the ranks.
(An interval of about three years.)
Time has dulled our hero's anguish; time has raised our man of weight
To an even higher office in the service of the State;
And we find him at his yearly tour, inspecting at his ease
A distinguished corps of cavalry, the Someone's Own D. G.'s.
And our fat but famous man of war, accoutred to the nines,
Was engaged in making rude remarks, and going round the lines,
When he suddenly beheld across an intervening space
A Leviathan of horseflesh, the Behemoth of his race.
'Colonel Robinson,' he shouted, with enthusiastic force,
'A remarkably fine horse, sir!' The remarkably fine horse
Gave a reminiscent shudder, looked insultingly around,
And with cold deliberation laid him down upon the ground!
ODE TO THE TIME-GUN OF
GURRUMBAD
[Time-guns are of invariable pattern and extreme antiquity. Other species come and go; their ancestor remains always. One is to be found in each cantonment: he generally occupies a position of unsheltered and pathetic loneliness in a corner of the local parade-ground. The writer has never seen one herded in the Gun-park with his kind.]