Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO A FAVOURITE PONY, by ELIZA COOK


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO A FAVOURITE PONY, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Come, hie thee on, my gentle gyp
Last Line: I'll sing thy praise in better rhyme.
Subject(s): Animals; Horses


Come, hie thee on, my gentle Gyp;
Thy rider bears nor spur nor whip,
But smooths thy jetty, shining mane,
And loosely flings the bridle rein.

The sun is down behind the hill,
The noise is hushed about the mill,
The gabbling geese and ducks forsake
Their sports upon the glassy lake,
The herd-boy folds his bleating charge,
The watch-dog, chainless, roves at large,
The bees are gathered in the hive,
The evening flowers their perfumes give.
On, on, my gentle Gyp! but stay;
Say, whither shall we bend our way?
Down to the school-house, where the boys
Greet us with rude caressing noise?
Where urchins leave their balls and bats,
To stroke thy neck with fondling pats;
Where laughing girls bring oats and hay,
And coax thy ears; well knowing they
Can sport right fearlessly and free
With such a gentle brute as thee?
Or shall we take the sandy road
Towards the wealthy squire's abode?
Where the lodge gate, so wide and high,
Swings nobly back for you and I;
I'll warrant me that gate thou'dst find,
Though reinless, riderless, and blind.

Thou'rt restless, Gyp; come, start and go: --
You take the hill; well, be it so --
The squire's abode I plainly see,
Has equal charms for you and me.
'Tis there thou art allowed to pick
The corners of the clover rick;
'Tis there, by lady's hand thou'rt fed
On pulpy fruit, and finest bread.
The squire himself declares thou art
The prettiest pony round the part:
Nor black, nor chestnut, roan, nor gray,
Can match with thy rich glossy bay.
He says, thy neck's proud curving line
The artist's pencil might define;
With blood and spirit, yet so mild, --
A fitting plaything for a child;
So meekly docile, thou'rt indeed
More like a pet lamb than a steed;
That when thou art gone, St. Leonard's plain
Will never see thy like again!
He says all this! No wonder, then,
I think the squire the best of men;
For they who praise thy form and paces
Are sure to get in my good graces.
The squire tells truth; to say the least,
Thou really art a clever beast;
A better one, take altogether,
Ne'er looked from out a hempen tether:
And oft I hope, thou'lt ne'er be having
The plague of glander, gall, or spavin.
Full many a mile thou'st borne me, Gyp,
Without a stumble, shy, or slip;
Excepting when that deep morass,
All overgrown with weeds and grass,
Betrayed us to a headlong tumble,
And made me feel a little humble;
But on we went, though well bespattered,
Thy knees uncut, my bones unshattered!

My gentle Gyp! I've seen thee prove
How fast a twelve hand brute can move;
I've seen thee keep the foremost place,
And win the hard contested race;
I've seen thee lift as light a leg
As Tam O'Shanter's famous Meg,
Who galloped on right helter skelter,
With goblins in her rear to pelt her;
And, closely prest by evil kind,
Left her unhappy tail behind.
Stop, fair and softly, gentle Gyp --
I've jingled thus far in our trip;
But now we're nigh the well-known gate;
Ho, steady -- stand at ease -- and wait --
While I restore to hiding-place
My paper and my pencil-case;
Stand steady -- and another time
I'll sing thy praise in better rhyme.





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