Here you will find thePoemThe Battered Brigadeof poet William Henry Ogilvie
The mark of a stake in the shoulder, The brand of a wall on the knee, Are scars to the careless beholder And blemishes. So it may be ; But every such blemish endorses The pluck of a steed unafraid, And the heart of a lover of horses Goes out to the Battered Brigade. Their knocks have been gathered in duty, Their scars in the front of the fray; It isn't your cleanest-legged beauty That's first at the end of the day. When five foot of timber before us Has half of the pretty ones stayed, If you want to catch up to the chorus Come on with the Battered Brigade! Turned out in the finest of fettle 'Tis sometimes the soundest that fails And would rather hear hoofs on the metal Than follow the rattle of rails; But out on the grass with hounds racing And fences as big as they're made The cream of the gay steeple-chasing Is left to the Battered Brigade. Their line is the line of the foxes, Their pace is the pace of the pack, Though to-morrow they stand in their boxes As stiff as the props of a stack; And I 'll lay you my cheque at the banker's They're forward next week undismayed. Good luck to the blemished front-rankers! Hats off to the Battered Brigade!
