HIPPODROMANIA ; 



OR, WHIFFS FROM THE PIPE 



Part I 

 VISIONS IN THE SMOKE 



Rest, and be thankful ! On the verge 



Of the tall cliff, rugged and grey, 

 At whose granite base the breakers surge. 



And shiver their frothy spray. 

 Outstretched, I gaze on the eddying wreath 



That gathers and flits away. 

 With the surf beneath, and between my 

 teeth 



The stem of the "ancient clay." 



With the anodyne cloud on my listless 

 eyes, 



With its spell on my dreamy brain. 

 As I watch the circling vapours rise 

 From the brown bowl up to the sullen skies, 



My vision becomes more plain, 

 Till a dim kaleidoscope succeeds 



Through the smoke-wrack drifting and 

 veering. 

 Like ghostly riders on phantom steeds 



To a shadowy goal careering. 



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