MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. Ill 



Game Lanercost was in his box, his foals hard by at romps ; 

 And I pictured for them victories, like War Eagle's and VanTromp's : 

 I remembered how their sire's sides, and Newcastle pockets bled. 

 When he challenged Beeswing for the Cup, and beat her by a head. 



I wandered over Knavesmire, and thought with many a chuckle, 



How the pseudo Mrs. Thornton here defeated Francis Buckle ; 



How " The Prince," some sixty years ago, when the turf was all his 



rage, 

 Saw Chifney senior on his steeds, and Miss Parren on the stage. 



I thought o'er Stubbs's glories, that crack veteran of the brush, 

 How he scanned the seat of Jackson, and caught old Pierse's rush : 

 How he sketched the form of Queensberry who in contests short and 



quick, 

 Snapped his matches at Newmarket, with his jockey, " Hell-fire 



Dick." 



The veteran's dead ; but Herring still to canvass charms imparts, 

 When he sketches down a contest, to warm up sound racing hearts ; 

 Kelburne invoked his pencil, when at Ebor " one-eyed Harry," 

 Sam Chifney's rush, on Memnon, with Actseon dared to parry. 



Then I hied away to Doncaster, I wandered o'er the course, 



And images of olden time rose in my mind perforce ; 



A mist curled o'er the heather, the Moor was still as death, 



From Hose Hill to Carr-Potterie, where the Childers drew his breath. 



I seemed to view, like Britomart, in Merlin's magic glass, 

 Spectres of mounted racers, on wings of wind fly past ; 

 O'er " four miles," in the Low Pasture, I heard the galloways blow, 

 As in days of the Pretender, a century ago. 



Then came the first St. Leger a race of five 'tis done ; 



And the shout arose that Singleton for Lord Kockingham had won : 



As I looked for 1800, betting spectres turned more pale, 



As Buckle, upon Champion, rode calmly back to scale. 



Next, Singleton, on Orville, came past the chair alone ; 



Then the D'Orsay, Colonel Mellish, made the pallid fieldsman 



groan; 



Near him, 'mid seedy touters, drawling out their lying tales, 

 Unmindful of the growing hemp, Dan Dawson " hugged the rails." 



Soothsayer and Octavian were A 1 in their turn ; 



Then I heard a loud hoof clattering, that made my young blood 



burn : 



Now Goodisson! now Johnson! be dire do your worst ! 

 Lord Strathmore's beat, and Ottrington, by half a head, is first. 



They're here again ! John Jackson try with knee and hand to lift ! 

 Hurrah ! Altisidora has baffled William Clift ; 



There Filho sails victorious ; Blacklock's beat though well in front ; 

 Now Sammy King and Catton in Cup battles bear the brunt. 



