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[No title]

SOMETHING LIKE A BALL!

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DEATH BY LIGHTNING.

THE EFFECT OF STRIKES.

THE TRIUMPH OF THE SPHYNX.

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THE TRIUMPH OF THE SPHYNX. Drag him into his place, with sound of brass Blerit with reluctant captives' groans and howls, Where birds, beasts, creeping things for God-heads pass- Apes, crocodiles, cats, monkeys, hawks and owls. Drag him, ye victims of Caucasian craft, Prize of the brain that is his bow and spear: Proud, in his honour, to be beasts of draught, Obey the whip, in wonder, awe and fear. Let those who will not draw, nor fear the lash. Drop out of place, and ]'all, or faint or fail: Not many the defiant and the rash To stand against that iron scourge's hail Drag him, all colours, races, ranks of men- True blue, and blue and buff, and drab and red- The Mystery defying mortal ken, Propounder of a riddle never read- The riddle of his own faiths, meanings, ends: Dark riddle alway, ne'er sn dark as now: Enigma baffling foes, and baulking friends, With deep, dark eyes, locked lips, and stony brow, Portentous Sphynx, that sitting calm and still Watchest with snaky, unimpassioned gaze, Stir of more restless mind, more eager will, By taunts unfretted, and unflushed by praise He waited for his time, his time is come: < He knew his place kept for him in the shrine, Nor recked what hideous shapes, foul things, and dumb, Shared it, so crawling crowds hailed all divine. Drag him into his seat, with loud acclaim Of sounding brass, keen whips, and stiotiting herds, O'er broken pledges, reasons brought to shame, Ruins of parties, spume 01 eaten words. But though he move towards his place of power, Where many knees are bent; and heads are bowed. 'Tis thanks to backs before the lash that cower, Blind priests that shout and scourge a blinder crowd. -Punch.

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