At length the gates open as of themselves,
When at the trumpet's sound the steeds dash forth
As by one spirit moved, under tight rein,
And neck and neck they thunder down the plain,
While rising dust-clouds chase the flying wheels.
But weight, not lack of nerve or spirit, tells;
Azim and Channa urge their steeds in vain,
By Tartar and light Arab left behind
As the light galley leaves the man-of-war;
They sweat and labor ere a mile is gained,
While their light rivals pass the royal stand
Fresh as at first, just warming to the race.
And now the real race at length begins,
A double race, such as the Romans loved.
Horses so matched in weight and strength and speed,
Drivers so matched in skill that as they pass
Azim and Channa seemed a single man.
Timour and Devadatta, side by side,
Wheel almost touching wheel, dash far ahead.
Azim and Channa, left so far behind,
No longer urge a race already lost.
The Babylonian and Nisaean steeds,
No longer pressed so far beyond their power,
With long and even strides sweep smoothly on,
Striking the earth as with a single blow,
Their hot breath rising in a single cloud.
Arab and Tartar with a longer stride
And lighter stroke skim lightly o'er the ground.
Watching the horses with a master's eye,
As Devadatta and Timour four times,
Azim and Channa thrice, swept by the stand,
The prince saw that another round would test,
Not overtax, their powers, and gave the sign,
When three loud trumpet-blasts to all proclaimed
That running one more round would end the race.
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