HIPPODROMANIA ? 



They're off! lights and shades ! silk and satin ! 



A rainbow of riders and steeds ! 

 And one shows in front, and another 



Goes up and is seen in his place, 

 Sic transit (more Latin) — Oh ! bother. 



Let's get to the end of the race. 



• • • • • 



See, they come round the last turn careering, 



Already Tait's colours are struck. 

 And the green in the vanguard is steering, 



And the red's in the rear of the ruck ! 

 Are the stripes in the shade doom'd to lie 

 long? 



Do the blue stars on white skies wax dim ? 

 Is it Tamworth or Smuggler ? 'Tis Bylong 



That wins — either Bylong or Tim. 



As the shell through the breach that is riven 

 And sapp'd by the springing of mines, 



As the bolt from the thunder-cloud driven. 

 That levels the larches and pines, 



Through yon mass parti-colour'd that dashes 

 Goal-turn'd, clad in many-hued garb, 



From rear to van, surges and flashes 



The yellow and black of The Barb. 



143 



