Francis Hastings Charles Doyle

“ His croup, his flanks, his shoulders, all are long,
His legs are flat, his quarters clean and round,
Snake-like his tail shoots out, his hocks are strong,
Such as the desert ostrich bear along,
And his lithe fetlocks spurn the echoing ground.
As my own soul I trust him, without fear,
No mortal ever yet bestrode his peer.
His flesh is as the Zebra’s firm, he glides
Fox-like, whilst cantering slow across the plain;
But, when at speed, his limbs put on amain
The wolf’s long gallop, and untiring strides.
Yes, in one day he does the work of five ”

“ As God’s keen arrow from the bow of fate;
Or like some thirsty dove, first of the flock,
Towards water hidden in a hollow rock.
A war-horse true, to front the clash of swords,
He loves to hound the lion to his lair ”

“ The stately forms of those
Whom thou hast watch’d so well,
Rizpah, daughter of Aiah.
IV.
And whilst the ages roll
Through Time’s unsounded deep,
Thy true and tender soul
A magic life shall keep ”