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The time you won your town the race |
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| We chaired you through the market-place; |
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| Man and boy stood cheering by, |
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| 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, |
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| And set you at your threshold down, |
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| Townsman of a stiller town. |
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| Smart lad, to slip betimes away |
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| From fields where glory does not stay, |
10 |
| And early though the laurel grows |
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| It withers quicker than the rose. |
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| Eyes the shady night has shut |
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| Cannot see the record cut, |
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| 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 |
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| Of lads that wore their honours out, |
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| Runners whom renown outran |
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| And the name died before the man. |
20 |
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| So set, before its echoes fade, |
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| The fleet foot on the sill of shade, |
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