Over he goes, with a crash and a rattle,
Hound couples clinking, ’gainst saddle and thigh;
Over he goes, and the light of the battle
Gleams like a spark in his eager young eye.
Twigs of the hawthorn fly backward together,
Meeting again with an ominous swish;
Over he goes, landing light as a feather,
One with his horse and quick as you’d wish.
Kinds and condition of fences don’t matter,
Straight as a ramrod he rides at them all;
Over he goes with a bang and a clatter,
Knocking loose stones off the top of the wall.