‘Oh! sister, he is so swift and tall,
Though I want the ride, he will spoil it all,
For, when he sets out, he will let me fall,
And give me a bump, I know!
Mamma, what was it I heard you say,
About the world’s hobbies, the other day,
How some would get on and gallop away,
To end with an overthrow?’
‘I said, little prattler, the world was a race,
That many would mount with a smile on the face,
And ride to their ruin, or fall in disgrace:
That him, who was deaf to fear,
And did not look our for a rein or a guide,
His courser might cast on the highway side,
In the mud, rocks and brambles, to end his ride,
Perchance with a sight and a tear!’
‘Oh! sister, sister! I fear to try;
For Brutus’s back is so live and high!
It creeps at my touch – and he winks his eye—
I’m sure he is going to jump!
Come! dear mother, tell us some more
About the world’s ride, as you did before,
Who helped it up – and all how it bore
The fall, and got over the bump!’