Hippodromania; Or, Whiffs From The Pipe Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCDCDEDEF GHGGHIJIJ KLMLNONO PQPQRARS TUTUVUVU DDDWDDDDD FXFXYZYZA2B2A2B2 C2D2 SDSD E2QE2QSDSD F2FF2FDG2DG2 DZDZH2ZH2Z YDYDI2JI2J RZRZZD2ZD2 J2JJ2JK2L2K2L2 M2ZM2ZZN2ZN2 F2ZF2ZFJFO2 DDFDDDFXP2XP2Q2R2Q2R 2DS2FS2DSDST2YT2YU2Z U2Z AQ2 Q2N2V2W2 YQ2X2Q2 R2ZQ2Z Y2DS ZZZ2Z A3ZZZ G2DZD DZU2Z B3DFC3Part I | A |
Visions in the Smoke | B |
Rest and be thankful On the verge | C |
Of the tall cliff rugged and grey | D |
But whose granite base the breakers surge | C |
And shiver their frothy spray | D |
Outstretched I gaze on the eddying wreath | E |
That gathers and flits away | D |
With the surf beneath and between my teeth | E |
The stem of the 'ancient clay' | F |
- | |
With the anodyne cloud on my listless eyes | G |
With its spell on my dreamy brain | H |
As I watch the circling vapours rise | G |
From the brown bowl up to the sullen skies | G |
My vision becomes more plain | H |
Till a dim kaleidoscope succeeds | I |
Through the smoke rack drifting and veering | J |
Like ghostly riders on phantom steeds | I |
To a shadowy goal careering | J |
- | |
In their own generation the wise may sneer | K |
They hold our sports in derision | L |
Perchance to sophist or sage or seer | M |
Were allotted a graver vision | L |
Yet if man of all the Creator plann'd | N |
His noblest work is reckoned | O |
Of the works of His hand by sea or by land | N |
The horse may at least rank second | O |
- | |
Did they quail those steeds of the squadrons light | P |
Did they flinch from the battle's roar | Q |
When they burst on the guns of the Muscovite | P |
By the echoing Black Sea shore | Q |
On on to the cannon's mouth they stride | R |
With never a swerve nor a shy | A |
Oh the minutes of yonder maddening ride | R |
Long years of pleasure outvie | S |
- | |
No slave but a comrade staunch in this | T |
Is the horse for he takes his share | U |
Not in peril alone but in feverish bliss | T |
And in longing to do and dare | U |
Where bullets whistle and round shot whiz | V |
Hoofs trample and blades flash bare | U |
God send me an ending as fair as his | V |
Who died in his stirrups there | U |
- | |
The wind has slumbered throughout the day | D |
Now a fitful gust springs over the bay | D |
My wandering thoughts no longer stray | D |
I'll fix my overcoat buttons | W |
Secure my old hat as best I may | D |
And a shocking bad one it is by the way | D |
Blow a denser cloud from my stunted clay | D |
And then friend BELL as the Frenchmen say | D |
We'll 'go back again to our muttons' | D |
- | |
There's a lull in the tumult on yonder hill | F |
And the clamour has grown less loud | X |
Though the Babel of tongues is never still | F |
With the presence of such a crowd | X |
The bell has rung With their riders up | Y |
At the starting post they muster | Z |
The racers stripp'd for the 'Melbourne Cup' | Y |
All gloss and polish and lustre | Z |
And the course is seen with its emerald sheen | A2 |
By the bright spring tide renew'd | B2 |
Like a ribbon of green stretched out between | A2 |
The ranks of the multitude | B2 |
- | |
The flag is lowered 'They're off ' 'They come ' | - |
The squadron is sweeping on | C2 |
A sway in the crowd a murmuring hum | D2 |
'They're here ' 'They're past ' 'They're gone ' | - |
They came with the rush of the southern surf | S |
On the bar of the storm girt bay | D |
And like muffled drums on the sounding turf | S |
Their hoof strokes echo away | D |
- | |
The rose and black draws clear of the ruck | E2 |
And the murmur swells to a roar | Q |
As the brave old colours that never were struck | E2 |
Are seen with the lead once more | Q |
Though the feathery ferns and grasses wave | S |
O'er the sod where Lantern sleeps | D |
Though the turf is green on Fisherman's grave | S |
The stable its prestige keeps | D |
- | |
Six lengths in front she scours along | F2 |
She's bringing the field to trouble | F |
She's tailing them off she's running strong | F2 |
She shakes her head and pulls double | F |
Now Minstrel falters and Exile flags | D |
The Barb finds the pace too hot | G2 |
And Toryboy loiters and Playboy lags | D |
And the BOLT of Ben Bolt is shot | G2 |
- | |
That she never may be caught this day | D |
Is the worst that the public wish her | Z |
She won't be caught she comes right away | D |
Hurrah for Seagull and Fisher | Z |
See Strop falls back though his reins are slack | H2 |
Sultana begins to tire | Z |
And the top weight tells on the Sydney crack | H2 |
And the pace on 'the Gippsland flyer' | Z |
- | |
The rowels as round the turn they sweep | Y |
Just graze Tim Whiffler's flanks | D |
Like the hunted deer that flies through the sheep | Y |
He strides through the beaten ranks | D |
Daughter of Omen prove your birth | I2 |
The colt will take lots of choking | J |
The hot breath steams at your saddle girth | I2 |
From his scarlet nostril smoking | J |
- | |
The shouts of the Ring for a space subside | R |
And slackens the bookmaker's roar | Z |
Now Davis rally now Carter ride | R |
As man never rode before | Z |
When Sparrowhawk's backers cease to cheer | Z |
When Yattendon's friends are dumb | D2 |
When hushed is the clamour for Volunteer | Z |
Alone in the race they come | D2 |
- | |
They're neck and neck they're head and head | J2 |
They're stroke for stroke in the running | J |
The whalebone whistles the steel is red | J2 |
No shirking as yet nor shunning | J |
One effort Seagull the blood you boast | K2 |
Should struggle when nerves are strained | L2 |
With a rush on the post by a neck at the most | K2 |
The verdict for Tim is gained | L2 |
- | |
Tim Whiffler wins Is blood alone | M2 |
The sine qua non for a flyer | Z |
The breed of his dam is a myth unknown | M2 |
And we've doubts respecting his sire | Z |
Yet few if any those proud names are | Z |
On the pages of peerage or stud | N2 |
In whose 'scutcheon lurks no sinister bar | Z |
No taint of the base black blood | N2 |
- | |
Aye Shorthouse laugh laugh loud and long | F2 |
For pedigree you're a sticker | Z |
You may be right I may be wrong | F2 |
Wiseacres both Let's liquor | Z |
Our common descent we may each recall | F |
To a lady of old caught tripping | J |
The fair one in fig leaves who d d us all | F |
For a bite at a golden pippin | O2 |
- | |
When first on this rocky ledge I lay | D |
There was scarce a ripple in yonder bay | D |
The air was serenely still | F |
Each column that sailed from my swarthy clay | D |
Hung loitering long ere it passed away | D |
Though the skies wore a tinge of leaden grey | D |
And the atmosphere was chill | F |
But the red sun sank to his evening shroud | X |
Where the western billows are roll'd | P2 |
Behind a curtain of sable cloud | X |
With a fringe of scarlet and gold | P2 |
There's a misty glare in the yellow moon | Q2 |
And the drift is scudding fast | R2 |
There'll be storm and rattle and tempest soon | Q2 |
When the heavens are overcast | R2 |
The neutral tint of the sullen sea | D |
Is fleck'd with the snowy foam | S2 |
And the distant gale sighs drearilie | F |
As the wanderer sighs for his home | S2 |
The white sea horses toss their manes | D |
On the bar of the southern reef | S |
And the breakers moan and by Jove it rains | D |
I thought I should come to grief | S |
Though it can't well damage my shabby hat | T2 |
Though my coat looks best when it's damp | Y |
Since the shaking I got no matter where at | T2 |
I've a mortal dread of the cramp | Y |
My matches are wet my pipe's put out | U2 |
And the wind blows colder and stronger | Z |
I'll be stiff and sore and sorry no doubt | U2 |
If I lie here any longer | Z |
- | |
- | |
- | |
Part II | A |
The Fields of Coleraine | Q2 |
- | |
- | |
On the fields of Col'raine there'll be labour in vain | Q2 |
Before the Great Western is ended | N2 |
The nags will have toil'd and the silks will be soil'd | V2 |
And the rails will require to be mended | W2 |
- | |
For the gullies are deep and the uplands are steep | Y |
And mud will of purls be the token | Q2 |
And the tough stringy bark that invites us to lark | X2 |
With impunity may not be broken | Q2 |
- | |
Though Ballarat's fast and they say he can last | R2 |
And that may be granted hereafter | Z |
Yet the judge's decision to the Border division | Q2 |
Will bring neither shouting nor laughter | Z |
- | |
And Blueskin I've heard that he goes like a bird | Y2 |
And I'm told that to back him would pay me | D |
He's a good bit of stuff but not quite good enough | S |
'Non licuit credere famae ' | - |
- | |
Alfred ought to be there we all of us swear | Z |
By the blood of King Alfred his sire | Z |
He's not the real jam by the blood of his dam | Z2 |
So I sha'n't put him down as a flyer | Z |
- | |
Now Hynam my boy I wish you great joy | A3 |
I know that when fresh you can jump sir | Z |
But you'll scarce be in clover when you're ridden all over | Z |
And punished from shoulder to rump sir | Z |
- | |
Archer goes like a shot they can put on their pot | G2 |
And boil it to cover expenses | D |
Their pot will boil over the run of his dover | Z |
He'll never earn over big fences | D |
- | |
There's a horse in the race with a blaze on his face | D |
And we know he can gallop a docker | Z |
He's proved himself stout of his speed there's no doubt | U2 |
And his jumping's according to Cocker | Z |
- | |
When Hynam's outstripp'd and when Alfred is whipp'd | B3 |
To keep him in sight of the leaders | D |
While Blueskin runs true but his backers look blue | F |
For his rider's at work with the | C3 |
Adam Lindsay Gordon
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