Classic Poem

The red sun breaks through muddy lakes of haze and rifted cloud,
And still and gray the prairies lay as motionless as the shroud.
But a distant roar was on the air, a rumble from afar,
And a dust cloud brown was sweeping down from the blue horizon's bar.

Above the line the great horns shine, beneath, the sharp hoofs speed,
And the solid ground shakes with the sound of a herd in full stampede.
And close to the lead is a coal-black steed, and a boy with a dashing bay,
Then a man with a roan who rides alone, whose hair is streaked with gray.

While the West still glowed they mounted and rode, and the reckless race began,
Through the dim starlight of the prairie night, and still they galloped on,
For life is cheap when men must keep these runaway brutes beside,
And until they stop, or the horses drop, it is ride and ride and ride.

The sun, from high in a murky sky, shines hot on the dusty track
Where two men ride by the great herd's side, still led by the fiery black;
An hour ago on the treacherous slough the gallant bay went down,
And a young voice clear rang out a cheer for the men who galloped on.

And now the black is falling back, panting, with low-hung head,
And shortening strides, though his dust-gray sides the spurs have marked with red.
He is out of the race, but into his place the gray-haired rider sweeps,
And foot by foot and inch by inch to the head of the herd he creeps.

And along the flank of the surging rank, over the trampling noise,
The echoes break as his pistols speak in sharp and threatening voice,
Till the danger is past, and they turn at last, with heavy, plunging tread,
Tired and blown, and the plucky roan swings slowly 'round ahead.

Give praise to the old gray veteran bold, who turned the maddened throng
Nor let it lack for the man with the black, who held the lead so long;
But what shall we add of the bare-faced lad, who knew that his race was done,
When, helpless, he lay by his fallen bay, but cheered his comrades on?