Behind him like a rat-tail file!
Off went a shoe,—away it spun,
Shot like a bullet from a gun;
The quaking jockey shapes a prayer
From scraps of oaths he used to swear;
He drops his whip, he drops his rein,
He clutches fiercely for the mane;
He’ll lose his hold,—he sways and reels,—
He’ll slide beneath those trampling heels!
The knees of many a horseman quake,