Then the line reforms, and the tumult ceases. Each man sits tense though his racer dances; In a slow, jerked walk the line advances.

And then in a flash, more felt than seen, The flag shot down and the course showed green, And the line surged forwards and all that glory Of speed was sweeping to make a story.

One second before, Charles Cothill's mind Had been filled with fear to be left behind, But now with a rush, as when hounds leave cover, The line broke up and his fear was over. A glimmer of bay behind The Ghost Showed Dear Adonis still there at post. Out to the left, a joy to his backer, Kubbadar led the field a cracker, The thunder of horses, all fit and foaming, Made the blood not care whether death were coming. A glimmer of silks, blue, white, green, red, Flashed into his eye and went ahead; Then hoof-casts scattered, then rushing horses Passed at his side with all their forces. His blood leapt up but his mind said "No, Steady, my darling, slow, go slow. In the first time round this ride's a hunt."

The Turk's Grave Fence made a line in front.

Long years before, when the race began, That first of the jumps had maimed a man; His horse, the Turk, had been killed and buried There in the ditch by horse-hoofs herried; And over the poor Turk's bones at pace Now, every year, there goes the race, And many a man makes doctor's work At the thorn-bound ditch that hides the Turk, And every man as he rides that course Thinks, there, of the Turk, that good old horse.

The thick thorn-fence stands five feet high, With a ditch beyond unseen by eye, Which a horse must guess from his urgent rider Pressing him there to jump it wider.

And being so near both Stand and Post, Out of all the jumps men haunt it most, And there, with the crowd, and the undulled nerves, The old horse balks and the young horse swerves, And the good horse falls with the bad on top And beautiful boldness comes to stop.

Charles saw the rush of the leading black, And the forehands lift and the men sway back; He steadied his horse, then with crash and crying The top of the Turk's Grave Fence went flying. Round in a flash, refusing danger, Came the Lucky Shot right into Ranger; Ranger swerving knocked Bitter Dick, Who blundered at it and leaped too quick; Then crash went blackthorn as Bitter Dick fell, Meringue jumped on him and rolled as well. As Charles got over he splashed the dirt Of the poor Turk's grave on two men hurt.

Right Royal landed. With cheers and laughter Some horses passed him and some came after; A fine brown horse strode up beside him, It was Thankful running with none to ride him; Thankful's rider, dizzy and sick, Lay in the mud by Bitter Dick.

In front, was the curving street of Course, Barred black by the leaps unsmashed by horse. A cloud blew by and the sun shone bright, Showing the guard-rails gleaming white. Little red flags, that gusts blew tense, Streamed to the wind at each black fence.

And smiting the turf to clods that scattered Was the rush of the race, the thing that mattered, A tide of horses in fury flowing, Beauty of speed in glory going, Kubbadar pulling, romping first, Like a big black fox that had made his burst.

And away and away and away they went, A visible song of what life meant. Living in houses, sleeping in bed, Going to business, all seemed dead, Dead as death to that rush in strife Pulse for pulse with the heart of life.

"For to all," Charles thought, "when the blood beats high Comes the glimpse of that which may not die; When the world is stilled, when the wanting dwindles, When the mind takes light and the spirit kindles, One stands on a peak of this old earth."

Charles eyed his horses and sang with mirth. What of this world that spins through space? With red blood running lie rode a race, The beast's red spirit was one with his, Emulous and in ecstasies; Joy that from heart to wild heart passes In the wild things going through the grasses;

In the hares in the corn, in shy gazelles Running the sand where no man dwells; In horses scared at the prairie spring; In the dun deer noiseless, hurrying; In fish in the dimness scarcely seen, Save as shadows shooting in a shaking green; In birds in the air, neck-straining, swift, Wing touching wing while no wings shift, Seen by none, but when stars appear A reaper wandering home may hear A sigh aloft where the stars are dim, Then a great rush going over him: This was his; it had linked him close To the force by which the comet goes, With the rein none sees, with the lash none feels, But with fire-mane tossing and flashing heels.

The roar of the race-course died behind them, In front were their Fates, they rode to find them, With the wills of men, with the strengths of horses, They dared the minute with all their forces.

PART II

Still pulling double, black Kubbadar led, Pulling his rider half over his head; Soyland's cream jacket was spotted with red, Spotted with dirt from the rush of their tread.

Bright bay Sir Lopez, the loveliest there, Galloped at ease as though taking the air, Well in his compass with plenty to spare. Gavotte and The Ghost and the brown Counter Vair, Followed him close with Syringa the mare, And the roan horse Red Ember who went like a hare, And Forward-Ho bolting, though his rider did swear.

Keeping this order, they reached the next fence, Which was living plashed blackthorn with gorse-toppings dense; In the gloom of its darkness it loomed up immense. Forward-Ho's glory had conquered his sense And he rushed it, not rising, and never went thence.

And down in the ditch where the gorse-spikes were scattered, That bright chestnut's soul from his body was shattered, And his rider shed tears on the dear head all spattered.

King Tony came down, but got up with a stumble, His rider went sideways, but knew how to tumble, And got up and remounted, though the pain made him humble, And he rode fifty yards and then stopped in a fumble.

With a rush and a crashing Right Royal went over With the stride of a stalwart and the blood of a lover, He landed on stubble now pushing with clover.

And just as he landed, the March sun shone bright And the blue sky showed flamelike and the dun clouds turned white; The little larks panted aloft their delight, Trembling and singing as though one with the light.

And Charles, as he rode, felt the joy of their singing, While over the clover the horses went stringing, And up from Right Royal the message came winging, "It is my day to-day, though the pace may be stinging,

Though the jumps be all danger and the going all clinging." The white, square church-tower with its weather-cocks swinging, Rose up on the right above grass and dark plough Where the elm trees' black branches had bud on the bough.

Riderless Thankful strode on at his side, His bright stirrup-irons flew up at each stride, Being free, in this gallop, had filled him with pride. Charles thought, "What would come, if he ran out or shied? I wish from my heart that the brute would keep wide." Coranto drew up on Right Royal's near quarter, Beyond lay a hurdle and ditch full of water.

And now as they neared it, Right Royal took heed Of the distance to go and the steps he would need; He cocked to the effort with eyes bright as gleed, Then Coranto's wide wallow shot past him at speed: His rider's "Hup, hup, now!" called out quick and cheerly, Sent him over in style, but Right Royal jumped early.

Just a second too soon, and from some feet too far,