A Gallop From The Train Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABAB CDCD EFEF GHGH CICI JKJK LMLM NLNL NONP QRQR| Though I can't afford a hunter more's the pity | A |
| I love a rousing gallop like the rest | B |
| Every morning as I travel to the city | A |
| I have five and forty minutes of the best | B |
| - | |
| As we leave our country station there's a holloa | C |
| If it's but the engine whistle never mind | D |
| By the window I am sitting and I follow | C |
| Where the horn of fancy tells me of a find | D |
| - | |
| Through the rattle of our going comes the chorus | E |
| 'Tis a south wind and a proper scenting day | F |
| There's a topping piece of country spread before us | E |
| And I'll jump it all in fancy on the grey | F |
| - | |
| How he dances as I edge him through the others | G |
| He is fond of this finessing for a start | H |
| Just a little bit more eager than his brothers | G |
| By a beat or maybe two beats of his heart | H |
| - | |
| There's a gap we know of leading from the stubble | C |
| And we have it while the other people pass | I |
| A crash behind us Some one tasting trouble | C |
| We are over in the lead and on the grass | I |
| - | |
| How he lays him down to revel in his freedom | J |
| How he snatches at his snaffle as he goes | K |
| The field will have to gallop when we lead 'em | J |
| Hark behind us There's another on his nose | K |
| - | |
| Here's an oak rail with a trappy ditch behind it | L |
| And I feel the little beggar shortening stride | M |
| It's a big one but I know he wouldn't mind it | L |
| Were it twice as big and half again as wide | M |
| - | |
| So I catch him by the head a little shorter | N |
| And his answer comes a thrilling from the bit | L |
| Then I loose him and he flies it What a snorter | N |
| And he never made the shadow of a hit | L |
| - | |
| So we take those rasping fences well perhaps a wee bit faster | N |
| Than we'd take 'em if we were not on a train | O |
| And there's not a soul before us but the huntsman and the Master | N |
| And a toiling field is squandered once again | P |
| - | |
| By a grey suburban station to the sullen air brake's grinding | Q |
| We kill our dog fox handsomely at last | R |
| It was five and forty minutes to the finish from the finding | Q |
| And at fifty miles an hour 'twas pretty fast | R |
William Henry Ogilvie
(1)
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