Riders, walkers alike cry "Whoa!
Stop these fiends of the whirling wheel!"
ODE ON SACRIFICE.
Amid the glowing pageant of the year
There comes too soon th' inevitable shock,
That token of the season sere,
To the unthinking fair so cheaply dear,
Who, like to shipwreck'd seamen, do it hail,
And cry, "A Sale! a Sale!