The first mile is covered, the race is mine--no! For the blue blood of Tenny responds to a blow. He shoots through the air like a ball from a gun, And the two lengths between us are shortened to one. My heart is contracted, my throat feels a lump, For Tenny’s long neck is at Salvator’s rump; And now with new courage, grown bolder and bolder, I see him once more running shoulder to shoulder. With knees, hands and body I press my grand steed; I urge him, I coax him, I pray him to heed! Oh, Salvator! Salvator! list to my calls, For the blow of my whip will hurt both if it falls. There’s a roar from the crowd like the ocean in storm, As close to my saddle leaps Tenny’s great form, One more mighty plunge, and with knee, limb and hand, I lift my horse first by a nose past the stand. We are under the string now--the great race is done, And Salvator, Salvator, Salvator won! Cheer, hoar-headed patriarchs; cheer loud, I say: ’Tis the race of a century witnessed to-day! Though ye live twice the space that’s allotted to men Ye never will see such a grand race again. Let the shouts of the populace roar like the surf For Salvator, Salvator, king of the turf! He has broken the record of thirteen long years; He has won the first place in a vast line of peers. ’Twas a neck-to-neck contest, a grand, honest race, And even his enemies grant him his place. Down into the dust let old records be hurled, And hang out 2.05 in the gaze of the world. THE GOSSIPS. A rose in my garden, the sweetest and fairest, Was hanging her head through the long golden hours; And early one morning I saw her tears falling, And heard a low gossiping talk in the bowers. The yellow Nasturtium, a spinster all faded, Was telling a Lily what ailed the poor Rose: “That wild roving Bee who was hanging about her, Has jilted her squarely, as everyone knows. “I knew when he came, with his singing and sighing, His airs and his speeches so fine and so sweet, Just how it would end; but no one would believe me, For all were quite ready to fall at his feet.” “Indeed, you are wrong,” said the Lily-belle proudly; “I cared nothing for him, he called on me once, And would have come often, no doubt, if I’d asked him, But, though he was handsome, I thought him a dunce.” “Now, now, that’s not true,” cried the tall Oleander. “He has traveled and seen every flower that grows; And one who has supped in the garden of princes, We all might have known would not wed with the Rose.” “But wasn’t she proud when he showed her attention? And she let him caress her,” said sly Mignonette; “And I used to see it and blush for her folly, The silly thing thinks he will come to her yet.”