Wet Sundays

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W.H. Gocher, 1903 - Horse racing - 404 pages

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Page 186 - Search then the ruling passion: there, alone, The wild are constant, and the cunning known; The fool consistent, and the false sincere; Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here.
Page 325 - Bow'd down by degrees, he bends on to his fate ; Blind, old, lean, and feeble, he tugs round a mill, Or draws sand, till the sand of his hour-glass stands still.
Page 404 - Seeking help from none ; Life is mostly froth and bubble, Two things stand like stone, KINDNESS in another's trouble, COURAGE in your own.
Page 383 - Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight...
Page 300 - Twas a hard and bitter stroke, For his honest back was broke, At the place where the old horse died. With a neigh so faint and feeble that it touched me like a groan, " Farewell," he seemed to murmur, " ere I die ; " Then set his teeth and stretched his limbs, and so I stood alone, While the merry chase went heedless sweeping by. Am I womanly and weak If the tear was on my cheek For a brotherhood that death could thus divide ? If sickened and amazed Through a...
Page 324 - They by scent and by view cheat a long tedious way ; While, alike born for sports of the field and the course, Always sure to come through, a staunch and fleet horse, When fairly run down, the fox yields up his breath, The high-mettled racer is in at the death.
Page 144 - ... was rough, his tail was bare, The gray was sprinkled in his hair ; Sportsmen and jockeys knew him not, And yet they say he once could trot Among the fleetest of the town, Till something cracked and broke him down, The steed's, the statesman's, common lot! " And are we then so soon forgot ? " Ah me ! I doubt if one of you Has ever heard the name "Old Blue," Whose fame through all this region rung In those old days when I was young !
Page 6 - Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
Page 315 - The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
Page 84 - Which is why I remark, And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark, And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar — Which the same I am free to maintain.

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