An ode to the “gallant First Flight,” this is one Ogilvie poem that your editor has too often overlooked. No longer!
By John F. Herring
While there’s one on his feet with a tale to repeat
And another is sampling a drink,
The eager First Flight have a girth to pull tight
Or a chain to let out by a link;
While the boisterous laugh in that circle of chaff
The opening music has drowned,
You will hear the First Flight as they whisper “That’s right!’
To the note of a favorite hound.
When a holloa makes sure that his start is secure
And dispels every doubt of a run,
When the crowd gallops straight to the obvious gate
With the latch that is never undone,
You will see the First Flight cram a topper on tight,
Catch a willing old nag by the head,
And clapping on sail at the blackthorn or rail,
Take the line of the robber in red.
They thunder away over stubble and clay,
Over roots or the level o’ lea,
The gallant First Flight that are soon out of sight
While the slow ones are sadly at sea
The crash of a rail in the cream of the vale
Is to them but a matter of mirth,
And the avalanche fall of a hoof-rattled wall
But the merriest music on earth.
Now the men who ride first may be frequently cursed
As they press on the faltering pack,
But we’re all of us loath to pull up for an oath
When it comes from a field or two back;
And the Master may blame and the jealous declaim,
But the weakest must go to the wall,
And it’s plain the First Flight have the premier right
If the hounds may be hustled at all.
Come drink with me, then, to the big-hearted men
Who have pluck to sit down and go straight!
Whether farmer or squire, may they keep out of wire
And be spared a lift home on a gate!
Fill your glass tonight to the gallant First Flight,
Let us wish them the luck of the line
And tomorrow recall to the best game of all,
And the wind that is better than wine!
Posted December 9, 2021