The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1876-10-25
VOL. XXvI, NO 10.

And almost did his rider too
For in the race he sprained his back,
Which forced him there to yield the track,
And walk his horse, for well he knew
The race was won by gallant Blue.
At this Blue Jeans Stacked bride rein,
Patted the Gray and strOked his name,
Walked gently by the limping horse
Along the hard and gravelly course,
When just as rang the evening bell
They friendly, reached the Grand Hotel.
Friends soon came round, each one to cheer
The fallen chief-or cavalier,
What's to be done-thc race was DER
Not so said Blue, say this no more,
rTis only half, being horse and man,
I'll try and beat him If 1 can.
What's to be done? says Sitting Bull
We now must make a stronger pull;
Send for young Tip, mean the son,
The battle scarr'd Ben Harrison,
Who then was fishing i'm the North,
And knew not ofthe fate of Orth;
But quick as thought, the lightning sped,
And down came Ben, Old Blue to tread,
And gIorious-bear the palm away
In triumph from the dapple gray.
Twas soon narranged-another race
BehOOVeS my rapid pen 10 traces
A day or two had passed away,
And rested was the gallant gray;
The rider, too, was fresh and trim,
Both firm of hand and 1.-THE of limb,
And eager now to gain the way
And the red ribbon bear away,
But some one said twas hardly fair
To double teams against pair;
Enough, said Blue, bring on the son,
I'll beat them both, rs well as one.
Morn rose sercnely, calm and mild,
AS mother to her flvOrite child,
When soon appeared the gallant son
Ofthe immortal Harrison;
Bright streamers tioated DER the way,
The city showed her best array
And gaily foated DER the land,
The sound of many a martial band.
Behold the conquering hero comes,
Was played by flies and beat by drums,
The steed he rode, was roam and red,
And looked high born rs wei as bred
His sire was deemed the swiftest horse
That everswept the Northern course;
His snaflie bit and bride rein
Were both made of the finest grain,
His saddle too, with silk and gold
Was stitched and bOss'd like baron bold;
With shirt and cap of crimson red,
With whip and spur he took his place.
The hero Of the coming race.
Loud cheered the throng the crowd gave
way,
As forward came the dapple gray;
Fire flashed beneath the chargers feet,
AS down they swept along the street;
Each tried to show his metal true,
The shirt of red as wells the blue;
On, on they went, the bridge was crossed,
Till in the distance both were lost,
No quarter-nag could stand the pace,
No rider keep up with the race,
But one by one all fell behind.
AS leaves fall in the wintry wind
Straight as an arrow on they went,
Resolved on success-frmly bent,
They leaped the fence and took the flood,
Nor stopped AT bars or turned tor wood.
But onward, on through mud and mire
AS if the country was on fire,
On through old Hendricks-Danville passed,
And Putnams entered like a blast,
Crossed Walnut fork in such a haste,
Laying fields and garden bare and waste,
That men declared when huslxing corn
No race like this since they were born,
For when they reached old Rockville town
The sun was hardly three-fourths down;
But here they neither staid nor stopp'd,
But forward, onward, gaily Topped,
And halted not till the Wabash
Was heard its marshy sides to lash,
Which then, like them was on a spree,
Had burst its banks, an inland sea,
And looked more like a foaming lake
When winters ice begins to break.
To take the stream seemed certain death,
Each stopped, and looll'd, and held his
breath,
Till Old Blue Jeans and gallant gray
Plunged boldly in and forced the way,
But Ben stood still upon the brink
And gave his horse the time TO drink,
Look'd for the ford, but there was none,
And the old bridge was swept and gone;
When Blue, whose horse begun to swim,
Checked the tight rein, head up the stream,
Quickly he threw his stirrups loose,
And on his saddle sat caboose,
Thus safely to the other side
He cross'd the foaming rivers tide
And landing on the verdant plaia
Bowed Iowa long farewell to Ben.
The sun was sinking soft and low,
'Mong fleecy clouds as white rs snow;
FOR DlruS nau sung tnelr evening song,
And sought their nests the leaves among;
The cows trudged home with tinlxling bell,
And soft the dews ofevening fell;
The farmer, too, had left the field,
Rejoicing in the golden yield;
And peace and plenty seemed to rest
Upon the praires of the West;
And night had spread her hazy vail,
On bridle-track and Indian trail,
When the gray horse, the tried and true,
Crossed the state line with rider Blue,
In triumph carried Off the palm,
For Old Blue Jeans and Uncle Sam,
And thus, the race was lost and won,
Before the close Of evenings sun.
Moral.