| The gate was thrown open, I rode out alone, |
| More proud than a monarch, who sits on a throne. |
| I am but a jockey, but shout upon shout |
| Went up from the people who watched me ride out. |
| And the cheers that rang forth from that warm-hearted crowd |
| Were as earnest as those to which monarch e'er bowed. |
| My heart thrilled with pleasure so keen it was pain, |
| As I patted my Salvator's soft, silken mane; |
| And a sweet shiver shot from his hide to my hand |
| As we passed by the multitude down to the stand. |
| The great wave of cheering came billowing back |
| As the hoofs of brave Tenny ran swift down the track, |
| And he stood there beside us, all bone and all muscle, |
| Our noble opponent, well trained for the tussle |
| That waited us there on the smooth, shining course. |
| My Salvator, fair to the lovers of horse |
| As a beautiful woman is fair to man's sight— |
| Pure type of the thoroughbred, clean-limbed and bright— |
| Stood taking the plaudits as only his due |
| And nothing at all unexpected or new. |
| |
| And then there before us as the bright flag is spread, |
| There's a roar from the grand stand, and Tenny's ahead; |
| At the sound of the voices that shouted, "A go!" |
| He sprang like an arrow shot straight from the bow. |
| I tighten the reins on Prince Charlie's great son; |
| He is off like a rocket, the race is begun. |
| Half-way down the furlong their heads are together, |
| Scarce room 'twixt their noses to wedge in a feather; |
| Past grand stand, and judges, in neck-to-neck strife, |
| Ah, Salvator, boy, 'tis the race of your life! |
| I press my knees closer, I coax him, I urge, |
| I feel him go out with a leap and a surge; |
| I see him creep on, inch by inch, stride by stride, |
| While backward, still backward, falls Tenny beside. |
| We are nearing the turn, the first quarter is passed— |
| 'Twixt leader and chaser the daylight is cast; |
| The distance elongates; still Tenny sweeps on, |
| As graceful and free-limbed and swift as a fawn, |
| His awkwardness vanished, his muscles all strained— |
| A noble opponent well born and well trained. |
| |
| I glanced o'er my shoulder; ha! Tenny! the cost |
| Of that one second's flagging will be—the race lost; |
| One second's yielding of courage and strength, |
| And the daylight between us has doubled its length. |
| The first mile is covered, the race is mine—no! |
| For the blue blood of Tenny responds to a blow; |
| He shoots through the air like a ball from a gun, |
| And the two lengths between us are shortened to one. |
| My heart is contracted, my throat feels a lump, |
| For Tenny's long neck is at Salvator's rump; |
| And now with new courage grown bolder and bolder, |
| I see him once more running shoulder to shoulder. |
| With knees, hands and body I press my grand steed; |
| I urge him, I coax him, I pray him to heed! |
| O Salvator! Salvator! List to my calls, |
| For the blow of my whip will hurt both if it falls. |
| There's a roar from the crowd like the ocean in storm, |
| As close to the saddle leaps Tenny's great form; |
| One mighty plunge, and with knee, limb and hand, |
| I lift my horse first by a nose past the stand. |
| We are under the string now—the great race is done— |
| And Salvator, Salvator, Salvator won! |
| |
| Cheer, hoary-headed patriarchs; cheer loud, I say; |
| 'Tis the race of a century witnessed to-day! |
| Though ye live twice the space that's allotted to men |
| Ye never will see such a grand race again. |
| Let the shouts of the populace roar like the surf, |
| For Salvator, Salvator, king of the turf, |
| He has rivaled the record of thirteen long years; |
| He has won the first place in the vast line of peers. |
| 'Twas a neck-to-neck contest, a grand, honest race, |
| And even his enemies grant him his place. |
| Down into the dust let old records be hurled, |
| And hang out 2:05 to the gaze of the world! |
| |
| Ella Wheeler Wilcox. |
| I'd like to hunt the Injuns 't roam the boundless plain! |
| I'd like to be a pirate an' plow the ragin' main! |
| An' capture some big island, in lordly pomp to rule; |
| But I just can't be nothin' cause I got to go to school. |
| |
| 'Most all great men, so I have read, has been the ones 'at got |
| The least amount o' learnin' by a flickerin' pitch pine knot; |
| An' many a darin' boy like me grows up to be a fool, |
| An' never 'mounts to nothin' 'cause he's got to go to school. |
| |
| I'd like to be a cowboy an' rope the Texas steer! |
| I'd like to be a sleuth-houn' or a bloody buccaneer! |
| An' leave the foe to welter where their blood had made a pool; |
| But how can I git famous? 'cause I got to go to school. |
| |
| I don't see how my parents kin make the big mistake. |
| O' keepin' down a boy like me 'at's got a name to make! |
| It ain't no wonder boys is bad, an' balky as a mule; |
| Life ain't worth livin' if you've got to waste your time in school. |
| |
| I'd like to be regarded as "The Terror of the Plains"! |
| I'd like to hear my victims shriek an' clank their prison chains! |
| I'd like to face the enemy with gaze serene an' cool, |
| An' wipe 'em off the earth, but pshaw! I got to go to school. |
| |
| What good is 'rithmetic an' things, exceptin' jest for girls, |
| Er them there Fauntleroys 'at wears their hair in pretty curls? |
| An' if my name is never seen on hist'ry's page, why, you'll |
| Remember 'at it's all because I got to go to school. |
| |
| Nixon Waterman. |