"The Road to Ruin? Pooh! preacher trite!
'Tis a gallant race, and in glorious flight,
With the clinkety-clank of scabbard and spur,
O'er moor and meadow, by linden and fir,
With the wind of speed blowing brisk in one's face,
A Long-Distance Ride is a soul-stirring race!"
Verily yes,—for the riders gay,
Saddled softly, in armed array,
Hand on the bridle, heel at the flank,
And that martial music, clinkety-clank!