The Fieldboro’s dust with a clang and a cling;
It is three; and he gallops with slack rein where
The road winds down to the Delaware.
“Four; and he spurs into New Castle town,
From his panting steed he gets trim down—
‘A fresh one, quick! not a moment’s wait!’
And off speeds Rodney the delegate.
“It is five; and the beams of the western sun
Tinge the spires of Wilmington gold and dun;
Six; and the dust of Chester Street