Riderless Thankful strode on at his side,
His bright stirrup-irons flew up at each stride,
Being free, in this gallop, had filled him with pride.
Charles thought, "What would come, if he ran out or shied?
I wish from my heart that the brute would keep wide."
Coranto drew up on Right Royal's near quarter,
Beyond lay a hurdle and ditch full of water.
And now as they neared it, Right Royal took heed
Of the distance to go and the steps he would need;
He cocked to the effort with eyes bright as gleed,
Then Coranto's wide wallow shot past him at speed:
His rider's "Hup, hup, now!" called out quick and cheerly,
Sent him over in style, but Right Royal jumped early.
Just a second too soon, and from some feet too far,
Charles learned the mistake as he struck the top bar;
Then the water flashed skywards, the earth gave a jar,
And the man on Coranto looked back with "Aha!
That'll teach you, my son." Then with straining of leather,
Grey Glory and Monkery landed together.
For a second the stunning kept Charles from his pain,
Then his sense flooded back, making everything plain.
He was down on the mud, but he still held the rein;
Right Royal was heaving his haunch from the drain.
The field was ahead of him, going like rain,
And though the plough held them, they went like the wind
To the eyes of a man left so badly behind.
Charles climbed to his feet as Right Royal crawled out,
He said, "That's extinction beyond any doubt."
On the plough, on and on, went the rush of the rout.
Charles mounted and rode, for his courage was stout,
And he would not give in till the end of the bout,
But plastered with poachings he rode on forsaken:
He had lost thirty lengths and his horse had been shaken.
Across the wet ploughland he took a good pull,
With the thought that the cup of his sorrow was full,
For the speed of a stag and the strength of a bull
Could hardly recover the ground he had lost.
Right Royal went dully, then snorted and tost,
Tost his head, with a whicker, went on, and went kind,
And the horse's great spirit touched Charles in the mind.
Though his bruise made him dizzy and tears made him blind,
He would try to the finish, and so they should find.
He was last, thirty lengths. Here he took in his sails,
For the field had come crash at the white post and rails.
Here Sir Francis ran out, scaring all who stood near,
Going crash through the rail like a runaway deer.
Then the riderless Thankful upset Mutineer,
Dakkanese, in refusing, wheeled round like a top
Into Culverin's shoulder which made them both stop.
They reeled from the shock, slithered sideways, and crashed,
Dakkanese on the guard-rail which gave, and then smashed.
As he rolled, the near shoes of the Culverin flashed
High in air for a moment, bright iron in strain:
Then he rose with no rider and tripped in his rein.