Hurrah! for a ride in the morning gray,
On the back of a bounding steed.
What pleasure to list how the wild winds play;
Hark! Hark! to their music,—away! away!
Gallop away with speed.
'Neath the leaf and the cloud in spring-time's pride
There is health in a morning's joyous ride.
And hurrah! for a ride in the sultry noon,
When the summer has mounted high,
'Neath the shady wood in the glowing June,
When the rivulet chanteth its lullaby tune
To the breeze as it wanders by,
Quietly down by the brooklet's side;—
Sweet is the summer's joyous ride.
And do you not love at evening's hour,
By the light of the sinking sun,
To wend your way o'er the widening moor,
Where the silvery mists their mystery pour,
While the stars come one by one?
Over the heath by the mountain's side,
Pensive and sweet is the evening's ride.
I tell thee, O stranger, that unto me
The plunge of a fiery steed
Is a noble thought,—to the brave and free
It is music, and breath, and majesty,—
'Tis the life of a noble deed;
And the heart and the mind are in spirit allied
In the charm of a morning's glorious ride.
Then hurrah! for the ring of the bridle rein,—
Away, brave horse, away!
The preacher or poet may chant their strain,
The bookman his wine of the past may drain,—
We bide not with them to-day;
And yet it is true, we may look with pride
On the mental spoils of a morning's ride.