We broke through the lane we had open'd before,
And as we went forward e'en so we came back.

Our numbers were few, and our loss far from small,
They could fight, and, besides, they were twenty to one;
We were clear of them all when we heard the recall,
And thus we returned, but my tale is not done.

For the hand of my rider felt strange on my bit,
He breathed once or twice like one partially choked,
And sway'd in his seat, then I knew he was hit;--
He must have bled fast, for my withers were soak'd,

And scarcely an inch of my housing was dry;
I slacken'd my speed, yet I never quite stopp'd,
Ere he patted my neck, said, "Old fellow, good-bye!"
And dropp'd off me gently, and lay where he dropp'd!

Ah, me! after all, they may call us dumb creatures--
I tried hard to neigh, but the sobs took my breath,
Yet I guess'd gazing down at those still, quiet features,
He was never more happy in life than in death.

* * * * *

Two years back, at Aldershot, Elrington mentioned
My name to our colonel one field-day. He said,
"'Count', 'Steeltrap', and 'Challenger' ought to be pension'd;"
"Count" died the same week, and now "Steeltrap" is dead.

That morning our colonel was riding "Theresa",
The filly by "Teddington" out of "Mistake";
His girls, pretty Alice and fair-haired Louisa,
Were there on the ponies he purchased from Blake.

I remember he pointed me out to his daughters,
Said he, "In this troop I may fairly take pride,
But I've none left like him in my officers' quarters,
Whose life-blood the mane of old 'Challenger' dyed."

Where are they? the war-steeds who shared in our glory,
The "Lanercost" colt, and the "Acrobat" mare,
And the Irish division, "Kate Kearney" and "Rory",
And rushing "Roscommon", and eager "Kildare",

And "Freeny", a favourite once with my master,
And "Warlock", a sluggard, but honest and true,
And "Tancred", as honest as "Warlock", but faster,
And "Blacklock", and "Birdlime", and "Molly Carew"?--

All vanish'd, what wonder! twelve summers have pass'd
Since then, and my comrade lies buried this day,--
Old "Steeltrap", the kicker,--and now I'm the last
Of the chargers who shared in that glorious fray.

* * * * *

Come, "Harlequin", keep your nose out of my manger,
You'll get your allowance, my boy,