Then he steadied and summed up his field with a glance.
All crossed the Lost Lady's, that dry ditch of fear,
Then a roar broke about them, the race-course was near.
Right and left were the swing-boats and merry-go-rounds,
Yellow varnish that wavered, machines making sounds,
Rifles cracking like cork-pops, fifes whining with steam,
"All hot," from a pieman; all blurred as in dream.
Then the motors, then cheering, then the brass of a band,
Then the white rails all crowded with a mob on each hand.
Then they swerved to the left over gorsebush and hurdle
And they rushed for the Water where a man's blood might curdle.
Charles entered the race-course and prayed in his mind
That love for the moment might make Emmy blind,
Not see him come past half a distance behind;
For an instant he thought, "I must shove on ahead,
For to pass her like this, Lord, I'd rather be dead."
Then, in crossing the hurdle the Stand arose plain,
All the flags, horns and cheers beat like blows on his brain,
And he thought, "Time to race when I come here again,
If I once lose my head, I'll be lost past appeal."
All the crowd flickered past like a film on a reel.
Like a ribbon, whirled past him, all painted with eyes.
All the real, as he rode, was the horse at his thighs,
And the thought "They'll come back, if I've luck, if I'm wise."
Some banners uncrumpled on the blue of the skies,
The cheers became frantic, the blur of men shook,
As Thankful and Kubbadar went at the brook.
Neck and neck, stride for stride, they increased as they neared it,
Though the danger gleamed greyly, they galloped to beard it;
And Kubbadar dwelt on his jump as he cleared it,
While Thankful went on with a half a length lead.
Charles thought, "Kubbadar, there, is going to seed."
Then Monkery took it, then Soyland, then two,
Muscatel and Sir Lopez, who leaped not but flew,
Like a pair of June swallows going over the dew,
Like a flight of bright fishes from a field of seas blue,
Like a wisp of snipe wavering in the dusk out of view.
Then Red Ember, Path Finder, Gavotte and Coranto,
Then The Ghost going level by Syringa a-taunto,
Then Peterkinooks, then the Cimmeroon black,
Who had gone to his horses, not let them come back;
Then Stormalong rousing, then the Blowbury crack,
Counter Vair, going grandly beside Cross-Molin,
All charged the bright brook and Coranto went in.
Natuna, Grey Glory and Hadrian followed,
Flying clear of the water where Coranto now wallowed;
Cannonade leaped so big that the lookers-on holloed.
Ere the splash from Coranto was bright on the grass,
The face of the water had seen them all pass.
But Coranto half scrambled, then slipped on his side,