quote · Legacy record

The gallop of life was once exciting, Madly we dashed over pleasant plains, And the joy, like the joy of a brave man fighting, Poured in a flood through our eager veins, Hot youth is the time for the splendid ardour, That stamps and startles, that throbs and thrills And ever we pressed our horses harder, Galloping on at the pace that kills! So rapid the pace, so keen the pleasure, Scarcely we paused to glance aside, As we mocked the dullards, who watched at leisure The frantic race that we chose to ride. Yes, youth is the time when a master-passion, Or love or ambition, our nature fills; And each of us rode in a different fashion— All of us rode at the pace that kills! And vainly, O friends, ye strive to bind us; Flippantly, gaily, we answer you:— “Should atra cura jump up behind us, Strong are our steeds and can carry two!” But we find the road, so smooth at morning, Rugged at night ’mid the lonely hills; And all too late we recall the warning Weary at last of the pace that kills.... The gallop of life was just beginning; Strength we wasted in efforts vain; And now, when the prizes are worth the winning, We’ve scarcely the spirit to ride again! The spirit, forsooth! ’Tis our strength has failed us, And sadly we ask, as we count our ills, “What pitiful, pestilent folly ailed us? Why did we ride at the pace that kills?”

The gallop of life was once exciting, Madly we dashed over pleasant plains, And the joy, like the joy of a brave man fighting, Poured in a flood through our eager veins, Hot youth is the time for the splendid ardour, That stamps and startles, that throbs and thrills And ever we pressed our horses harder, Galloping on at the pace that kills! So rapid the pace, so keen the pleasure, Scarcely we paused to glance aside, As we mocked the dullards, who watched at leisure The frantic race that we chose to ride. Yes, youth is the time when a master-passion, Or love or ambition, our nature fills; And each of us rode in a different fashion— All of us rode at the pace that kills! And vainly, O friends, ye strive to bind us; Flippantly, gaily, we answer you:— “Should atra cura jump up behind us, Strong are our steeds and can carry two!” But we find the road, so smooth at morning, Rugged at night ’mid the lonely hills; And all too late we recall the warning Weary at last of the pace that kills.... The gallop of life was just beginning; Strength we wasted in efforts vain; And now, when the prizes are worth the winning, We’ve scarcely the spirit to ride again! The spirit, forsooth! ’Tis our strength has failed us, And sadly we ask, as we count our ills, “What pitiful, pestilent folly ailed us? Why did we ride at the pace that kills?”

In print by 1921 AD · modern

Recorded in a printed collection by this date; the original date of these words is still unknown.