See where he rides, all hot and fast – High on his horse that kicks Lightning and thunder out of wind, While fools applaud his tricks. A year or two, and there he lies, A bleeding thing, and thrown; Down in the dust he dribbles blood, Forgotten and unknown. Whoa! Steady now, my little horse, A gentle canter past: Though faintly cheered, there's nothing gained By riding wild and fast. |