Of the fine joy to which he makes pretence,
The English glorying in a fair-fought fight,
A well-run race, a show of speed or sleight,
As of the love that males of British breed
Moves in the presence of a gallant steed.
No Sportsman's fervour his; he never thrills
To the contagious sentiment that fills
The solid Saxon when, with thundering stride,
Ormonde and Minting struggle side by side;
When Cam and Isis prow to prow contend;