POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2369, 5 November 1881, Page 3

POETRY.

MISS COLUMBIA, What Shb Said and Did ax thb Dabby. So one of fair Columbia’s dreams la realised. It really seems Almost romantic. Here, Uncle Jonathan, we end All jealousies, and, friend to friend. Our warm congratulations send Across the wide Atlantic.

No murmur now the battle’s done; We freely own the best horse won, Nor call him “lucky.” A health to Lorillard and Keene, Who’ye sent their flyers on the scene Of British turfdom from the green Grass fields of old Kentucky.

And did not I receive the tip, Dropped dew-like from a rosebud lip—- “ Our horse all there is ” What time I found me midst a troop Of young Now Yorkers on the “stoop” (They called it) of the Langham group Were they of Western fairies.

And Miss Columbia looked that morn— Deem not my words of rapture born, Too eulogistic— A dainty dream of black and red— A dress whereover Worth had shed The fruits of taste artistic.

Columbia, beauteous as the dawn ! In her I scanned perfection drawn From many races. She stood on arched Spanish feet; Old England’s lovely rose was sweet Upon her cheek; and, to complete Her, Gaul lent foreign graces. All things und places she had seen JJTom loan to neor-emeUa.—l mean

From New York to Naples. She’s learned to dance, flirt, talk, and ride “Inform.” Has quite the memory died Of words we spoke on t’other side Under the frost-kissed maples ?

How lighly laughed she when I showed Her all the humors of the road,

From coach to coster ! The men she knew 1 “ Upon theEhine I met his Grace.” . . . “ A beau of mine, The Count—at Romo—in ’79.” Poor me! I knew I’d lost her.

High up upon the stand she stood—(l’d placed her where the view was good)— Won gloves by dozens. As past the post the winner sped. Seeing my brow with gloom o’erspread, “ rt’s in the family,” she said : “ Why, John Bull, ain’t we cousins ? ’ C. O. 8., in London “ Sporting Times.”