VERMONT MORGANS by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY

I NOTICE in my car, when nearing
A road that tips up towards the sky,
The chauffeur opens up his gearing
And spurts like thunder on the high;
It's quite a thrilling engine-feature,
Although I'm half-disposed to swear
It's copied from that nervy creature,
An up-and-coming Morgan mare.

Few petrol charioteers are giving
The "go-by" to the Morgan blood,
Nor is the yoke of oxen living
That's towed a Morgan through the mud;
In Summer's heat or Winter's rigor,
The Morgan "spurt" is always there—
No horseflesh cuts a finer figure,
By Crackie! than a Morgan mare.

Most any man and every woman
Will tell you 'bout a Morgan's eye;
It's so enlit with life, so human,
The Morgan "strain" should mount, not die;
Our folks should rise from Jay to Pownal,
From Burke to Bridport—everywhere—
And take a hand, like Chauncey Brownell,
To save the Morgan horse and mare.

A bit of far-off Arab splendor
Still shows upon her dappled flanks;
I'm pretty sure the Witch of Endor
Bestrode a Morgan on her pranks;
But long upon our hillsides thriving,
She's like the folks our hillsides bear—
She's hard as nails for work or driving,
The proud, Green Mountain Morgan mare.

She doesn't need a feed of clover
Each time she straightens out to draw;
She always has some grit left over,
She always saves some air to paw;
How well she wears a premium ticket!
How well she stood the battle's blare!
The boys that stopped the charge of Pickett
Each took along a Morgan mare.

So here's to Phillips—man of vision—
The Morgan king of Windsor Street,
Concurrer in the old decision
That Morgan horses can't be beat;
He's come from Dixie with his dollars
To boost the breed that's getting rare,
And when a real Vermonter "hollers,"
He hands him out a Morgan mare.

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