The time you won your town the race | |
We chaired you through the market-place; | |
Man and boy stood cheering by, | |
And home we brought you shoulder-high. | |
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To-day, the road all runners come, | 5 |
Shoulder-high we bring you home, | |
And set you at your threshold down, | |
Townsman of a stiller town. | |
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Smart lad, to slip betimes away | |
From fields where glory does not stay, | 10 |
And early though the laurel grows | |
It withers quicker than the rose. | |
|
Eyes the shady night has shut | |
Cannot see the record cut, | |
And silence sounds no worse than cheers | 15 |
After earth has stopped the ears: | |
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Now you will not swell the rout | |
Of lads that wore their honours out, | |
Runners whom renown outran | |
And the name died before the man. | 20 |
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So set, before its echoes fade, | |
The fleet foot on the sill of shade, |
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