Riding at dawn, riding alone,
my rifle by my side;
I follow the hoof-prints of the man
who dared to steal my bride
and I will shoot him in his tracks--
I will not be denied!
A contest entry
- Second Index of First Lines by Keith.
525 points, ended April 12, 2008, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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Loved it in fact i was left wanting more,but i guess you managed to say all that was needed to tell the story Excellent good luck in the contest
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ooo, very good! I liked your native american circle poem that was featured today, too - congrats! It's fun to see the original poem in the notes below - seems like you could also take this as a first stanza and expand it into an excellent story type poem.
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Quite right. Get stuck in to the villain without delay. The original poem by Henry Newbolt is longer, but has the same swashbuckling quality. Thanks for entering:
Gillespie.
Riding at dawn, riding alone,
Gillespie left the town behind;
Before he turned by the Westward road
A horseman crossed him, staggering blind.
"The Devil's abroad in false Vellore,
The Devil that stabs by night," he said,
"Women and children, rank and file,
Dying and dead, dying and dead."
Without a word, without a groan,
Sudden and swift Gillespie turned,
The blood roared in his ears like fire,
Like fire the road beneath him burned.
He thundered back to Arcot gate,
He thundered up through Arcot town,
Before he thought a second thought
In the barrack yard he lighted down.
"Trumpeter, sound for the Light Dragoons,
Sound to saddle and spur," he said;
"He that is ready may ride with me,
And he that can may ride ahead."
Fierce and fain, fierce and fain,
Behind him went the troopers grim,
They rode as ride the Light Dragoons
But never a man could ride with him.
Their rowels ripped their horses' sides,
Their hearts were red with a deeper goad,
But ever alone before them all
Gillespie rode, Gillespie rode.
Alone he came to false Vellore,
The walls were lined, the gates were barred;
Alone he walked where the bullets bit,
And called above to the Sergeant's Guard.
"Sergeant, Sergeant, over the gate,
Where are your officers all?" he said;
Heavily came the Sergeant's voice,
"There are two living and forty dead."
"A rope, a rope," Gillespie cried :
They bound their belts to serve his need.
There was not a rebel behind the wall
But laid his barrel and drew his bead.
There was not a rebel among them all
But pulled his trigger and cursed his aim,
For lightly swung and rightly swung
Over the gate Gillespie came.
He dressed the line, he led the charge,
They swept the wall like a stream in spate,
And roaring over the roar they heard
The galloper guns that burst the gate.
Fierce and fain, fierce and fain,
The troopers rode the reeking flight:
The very stones remember still
The end of them that stab by night.
They've kept the tale a hundred years,
They'll keep the tale a hundred more:
Riding at dawn, riding alone,
Gillespie came to false Vellore.
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Wow you go....is this why your called bad Bill. I love poems with a western theme.
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LOL. Well, I shot the demon and claimed my bride. In hindsight... Maybe I should have let him have her! Write on, brother. One.
Dez
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Spoken like a true Irishman. What great metaphor in the line, "I follow the hoof-prints of the man who dared to steal my bride" Let the devil beware!
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Yeah!!! Thats the way to say it!
I loved it!
Jetleena
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Winchester, of course.
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