The New sporting magazine, Volume 15

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Page 253 - I see before me the Gladiator lie: He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low — And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Page 366 - The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine.
Page 251 - In general, the ball came from his hand, as if from a racket, in a straight horizontal line ; so that it was in vain to attempt to overtake or stop it. As it was said of a great orator that he never was at a loss for a word, and for the properest word, so Cavanagh always could tell the degree of force necessary to be given to a ball, and the precise direction in which it should be sent.
Page 247 - Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night. It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden ; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say — It lightens.* Sweet, good night!
Page 112 - Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? So might we talk of the old familiar faces. How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me ; all are departed ; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Page 253 - and that was far away. He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their mother, — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday! — All this rushed with his blood. — Shall he expire And unavenged? — Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire!
Page 296 - Ay ! mark his action well ! Behind he is, but what repose ! How steadily and clean he goes ! What latent speed his limbs disclose ! What power in every stride he shows ! They see, they feel, from man to man The shivering thrill of terror ran, And every soul instinctive knew It lay between the mighty two. The world without, the sky above, Have glided from their straining...
Page 251 - He was the best up-hill player in the world ; even when his adversary was fourteen, he would play on the same or better, and as he never flung away the game through carelessness and conceit, he never gave it up through laziness or want of heart.
Page 252 - Circus' genial laws, And the imperial pleasure. — Wherefore not? What matters where we fall to fill the maws Of worms — on battle-plains or listed spot ? Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot.
Page 295 - A hundred yards have glided by, And they settle to the race, More keen becomes each straining eye, More terrible the pace. Unbroken yet o'er the gravel road Like maddening waves the troop has flowed, But the speed begins to tell ; And Yorkshire sees, with eye of fear, The Southron stealing from the rear. Ay...

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