Fair stands the ancient[008] Rectory,
        The Rectory of Croft,
        The sun shines bright upon it,
        The breezes whisper soft. 
        From all the house and garden
        Its inhabitants come forth,
        And muster in the road without,
        And pace in twos and threes about,
        The children of the North.

        Some are waiting in the garden,
        Some are waiting at the door,
        And some are following behind,
        And some have gone before. 
        But wherefore all this mustering? 
        Wherefore this vast array? 
        A gallant feat of horsemanship
        Will be performed to-day.

        To eastward and to westward,
        The crowd divides amain,
        Two youths are leading on the steed,
        Both tugging at the rein;
        And sorely do they labour,
          For the steed[009] is very strong,
        And backward moves its stubborn feet,
        And backward ever doth retreat,
          And drags its guides along.

        And now the knight hath mounted,
          Before the admiring band,
        Hath got the stirrups on his feet. 
          The bridle in his hand. 
        Yet, oh! beware, sir horseman! 
          And tempt thy fate no more,
        For such a steed as thou hast got,
          Was never rid before!

        The rabbits[010] bow before thee. 
          And cower in the straw;
        The chickens[011] are submissive,
          And own thy will for law;
        Bullfinches and canary
          Thy bidding do obey;
        And e’en the tortoise in its shell
          Doth never say thee nay.

        But thy steed will hear no master,
          Thy steed will bear no stick,
        And woe to those that beat her,
          And woe to those that kick![012]
        For though her rider smite her,
          As hard as he can hit,
        And strive to turn her from the yard,
        She stands in silence, pulling hard
          Against the pulling bit.

        And now the road to Dalton
          Hath felt their coming tread,
        The crowd are speeding on before,
        And all have gone ahead. 
        Yet often look they backward,
        And cheer him on, and bawl,
        For slower still, and still more slow,
        That horseman and that charger go,
        And scarce advance at all.

        And now two roads to choose from
          Are in that rider’s sight: 
        In front the road to Dalton,
          And New Croft upon the right. 
        “I can’t get by!” he bellows,
          “I really am not able! 
        Though I pull my shoulder out of joint,
        I cannot get him past this point,
          For it leads unto his stable!”