Eustace and Edith

Poor rocking-horse! Eustace, and Edith too,
Mount living steeds: she leans her dainty whip
Across thy smooth-worn flank, and feels thee dip
Beneath the pressure, while she dons a shoe,
Or lifts a glove, and thinks ' My childhood's gone!'
While the young statesman, with high hopes possest,
Lays a light hand upon thy yielding crest,
And rocks thee vacantly and passes on.
Yet they both love thee — nor would either brook
Thine absence from this hall, tho' other aims
And interests have supplanted thy mute claims,
And thou must be content with casual look
From those, who sought thee once with earnest will,
And gallop'd thee with all their might and skill.