Right Royal | Page 2

speaking, at my side.

The horse's very self, and yet his hide
Was like, what shall I say? like
pearl on fire,
A white soft glow of burning that did twire
Like soft
white-heat with every breath he drew.
A glow, with utter brightness
running through;
Most splendid, though I cannot make you see.
His great crest glittered as he looked at me
Criniered with spitting
sparks; he stamped the ground
All cock and fire, trembling like a
hound,
And glad of me, and eager to declare
His horse's mind.
And I was made aware
That, being a horse, his mind could only say

Few things to me. He said, 'It is my day,
My day, to-day; I shall not
have another.'
And as he spoke he seemed a younger brother
Most near, and yet a
horse, and then he grinned
And tossed his crest and crinier to the

wind
And looked down to the Water with an eye
All fire of soul to
gallop dreadfully.
All this was strange, but then a stranger thing
Came afterwards. I
woke all shivering
With wonder and excitement, yet with dread

Lest the dream meant that Royal should be dead,
Lest he had died
and come to tell me so.
I hurried out; no need to hurry, though;

There he was shining like a morning star.
Now hark. You know how
cold his manners are,
Never a whinny for his dearest friend.
To-day
he heard me at the courtyard end,
He left his breakfast with a
shattering call,
A View Halloo, and, swinging in his stall,
Ran up to
nuzzle me with signs of joy.
It staggered Harding and the stable-boy.

And Harding said, 'What's come to him to-day?
He must have had
a dream he beat the bay.'
Now that was strange; and, what was stranger, this.
I know he tried to
say those words of his,
'It is my day'; and Harding turned to me,
'It
is his day to-day, that's plain to see.'
Right Royal nuzzled at me as he
spoke.
That staggered me. I felt that I should choke.
It came so pat
upon my unsaid thought,
I asked him what he meant.
He answered 'Naught.
It only came into my head to say.
But there it
is. To-day's Right Royal's day.'
That was the dream. I cannot put the glory
With which it filled my
being, in a story.
No one can tell a dream.
Now to confess.
The dream made daily life a nothingness,
Merely a
mould which white-hot beauty fills,
Pure from some source of
passionate joys and skills.
And being flooded with my vision thus,

Certain of winning, puffed and glorious,
Walking upon this earth-top
like a king,
My judgment went. I did a foolish thing,
I backed
myself to win with all I had.
Now that it's done I see that it was mad,
But still, I had to do it,

feeling so.
That is the full confession; now you know."
SHE
The thing is done, and being done, must be.
You cannot hedge.
Would you had talked with me
Before you plunged. But there, the
thing is done.
HE
Do not exaggerate the risks I run.
Right Royal was a bad horse
in the past,
A rogue, a cur, but he is cured at last;
For I was right,
his former owner wrong,
He is a game good chaser going strong.

He and my lucky star may pull me through.
SHE
O grant they may; but think what's racing you,
Think for a
moment what his chances are
Against Sir Lopez, Soyland, Kubbadar.
HE
You said you thought Sir Lopez past his best.
I do, myself.
SHE
But there are all the rest.
Peterkinooks, Red Ember, Counter Vair,

And then Grey Glory and the Irish mare.
HE
She's scratched. The rest are giving me a stone.
Unless the field
hides something quite unknown
I stand a chance. The going favours
me.
The ploughland will be bogland certainly,
After this rain. If
Royal keeps his nerve,
If no one cannons me at jump or swerve,
I
stand a chance. And though I dread to fail,
This passionate dream that
drives me like a sail
Runs in my blood, and cries, that I shall win.
SHE
Please Heaven you may; but now (for me) begin
Again the horrors
that I cannot tell,
Horrors that made my childhood such a hell,

Watching my Father near the gambler's grave
Step after step, yet
impotent to save.
You do not know, I never let you know,
The horror of those days of

long ago
When Father raced to ruin. Every night
After my Mother
took away the light
For weeks before each meeting, I would see

Horrible horses looking down on me
Laughing and saying "We shall
beat your Father."
Then when the meetings came I used to gather

Close up to Mother, and we used to pray.
"O God, for Christ's sake,
let him win to-day."
And then we had to watch for his return,
Craning our necks to see if
we could learn,
Before he entered, what the week had been.
Now I shall look on such another scene
Of waiting on the race-chance.
For to-day,
Just as I did with Father, I shall say
"Yes, he'll be beaten
by a head, or break
A stirrup leather at the wall, or take
The brook
too slow, and,