SELECT. POETRY.

Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 210, 8 February 1872, Page 7

SELECT. POETRY.

THE TROTTING HORSE. I ride the fastest trotting horse of any man in town, I'll trot you sixteen miles an hour, and post the money down ; He's such a one to bend his knee, and tuck Ms haunches in, He throws the dirt hack in your face, and counts it not a sin. As he walks away, trots away. Hifteye is like a hawk, his neck is like a swan, Bwfcjot is like a cat, his back is scarce a span ; Kind nature gave him speed, he's honest as he's good ; He is everything he should be— he's game and bone and blood, For he walks away, trots away. If any frisk or milling match should take me out out of town, I pass the blades with white cockades, and ruffles hanging down ; The knowing ones look all awry, the flats spur Johnny slow, A nod to one, good-bye to all like lightning on I go, For he walks away, trots away. A snug farm I hold, which daily I must work. Assisted by my trotting friend, whose name is Matchless Turk ; Harness or -saddle's all the same, I'm never in the lurch, At wake, or fair, or racing ground, or at the parish church, For he walk 3 away, trots away. Should fickle fortune prove unkind, and friends . all flee away, As fly the swallows from the blast when lowers the winter's day, When I am old, and hearths are cold, with little in my purse, Grant, Providence, these three requests— my' hope, my health, my horse, For he walks away, trots away.