But ride like the wind from the Delaware.’
“‘Ho, saddle the black! I’ve but half a day,
And the Congress sits eighty miles away—
But I’ll be in time, if God grants me grace,
To shake my fist in King George’s face.’
“He is up: he is off! and the black horse flies
On the northward road ere the ‘God-speed’ dies;
It is a gallop and spur as the leagues they clear,
And the clustering mile-stones move a-rear.
“It is two of the clock! and the fleet hoofs fling