Various

“ Though shadows are round us, and rocks o'er us frown; The thick branches shake as we're hurrying through, And deck us with spangles of silvery dew!
What a wild thought of triumph, that this girlish hand Such a steed in the might of his strength may command! What a glorious creature! Ah! glance at him now, As I check him a while on this green hillock's brow; How he tosses his mane, with a shrill joyous neigh, And paws the firm earth in his proud, stately play! Hurrah! off again, dashing on as in ire, Till the long, flinty pathway is flashing with fire! ”

“ But still the Wildgrave onward rides; Halloo, halloo! and hark again! When spurring from opposing sides, Two Stranger Horsemen join the train.
Who was each Stranger, left and right, Well may I guess, but dare not tell; The right-hand steed was silver white, The left, the swarthy hue of hell.
The right-hand Horseman young and fair, His smile was like the morn of May; The left, from eye of tawny glare, Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.
He waved his huntsman's cap on high, Cried, "Welcome, welcome, noble lord! What sport can earth, or sea, or sky, To match the princely chase, afford?" ”

“ He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, "Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!"— But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne, The stag, the hut, the hermit, go.
And horse and man, and horn and hound, And clamor of the chase, was gone; For hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound, A deadly silence reigned alone.
Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around; He strove in vain to wake his horn, In vain to call: for not a sound Could from his anxious lips be borne.
He listens for his trusty hounds; No distant baying reached his ears: His courser rooted to the ground, The quickening spur unmindful bears. ”

“ A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: That was all! and yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat. He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ”

“ Look, when a painter would surpass the life, In limning out a well-proportioned steed, His art with nature's workmanship at strife, As if the dead the living should exceed; So did this horse excel a common one, In shape, in courage, color, pace, and bone.
Round-hoofed, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: Look, what a horse should have, he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back. ”

“ And his voice loud and shrill, as if blown from a reed,— "Pull, pull in your lassos, and bridle to steed, And speed you if ever for life you would speed, And ride for your lives, for your lives you must ride! For the plain is aflame, the prairie on fire, And feet of wild horses hard flying before I hear like a sea breaking high on the shore, While the buffalo come like a surge of the sea, Driven far by the flame, driving fast on us three As a hurricane comes, crushing palms in his ire." ”

“ But their stronger foes must win the day, And the knights begin to fail; For the sword hath swept their best array, And superior powers prevail. Unconquered alone, to a rocky height Bold Harras fought his way; And his brave steed carried him through the fight, And bore him safe away.
And he left the rein to that trusty steed, And rode from the fatal fray; But he gave to his erring path no heed, And he missed the well-known way. And when he heard the foemen near, He sprang from the forest gloom; But as soon as he reached the daylight clear, He saw at once his doom! ”

“ Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear. He spurs his steed; he nears the steep, That, jutting, shadows o'er the deep; He winds around; he hurries by; The rock relieves him from mine eye; For well I ween unwelcome he Whose glance is fixed on those that flee; And not a star but shines too bright On him who takes such timeless flight. He wound along; but ere he passed One glance he snatched, as if his last, A moment checked his wheeling steed, A moment breathed him from his speed, A moment on his stirrup stood— Why looks he o'er the olive wood? ”

“ No song of a time that shook the earth With the nations' throe at a nation's birth; But the song of a brave man, free from fear As Sheridan's self, or Paul Revere; Who risked what they risked, free from strife, And its promise of glorious pay—his life!
The peaceful valley has waked and stirred, And the answering echoes of life are heard: The dew still clings to the trees and grass, And the early toilers smiling pass, As they glance aside at the white-walled homes, Or up the valley, where merrily comes The brook that sparkles in diamond rills As the sun comes over the Hampshire hills. ”

“ What booted it to traverse o'er Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute, Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, Lay in the wild luxuriant soil; No sign of travel,—none of toil; The very air was mute; And not an insect's shrill small horn, Nor matin bird's new voice was borne From herb nor thicket. Many a werst, Panting as if his heart would burst, The weary brute still staggered on; And still we were—or seemed—alone: At length, while reeling on our way, Methought I heard a courser neigh, From out yon tuft of blackening firs. ”

“ Sudden, a swift and silver shadow Rushed up from out the gloom,— A horse that stamped with hoof impatient, Yet noiseless, on the tomb. "Ha, Surtur! let me hear thy tramping, Thou noblest Northern steed, Whose neigh along the stormy headlands Bade the bold Viking heed!"
He mounted: like a north-light streaking The sky with flaming bars, They, on the winds so wildly shrieking, Shot up before the stars. "Is this thy mane, my fearless Surtur, That streams against my breast? Is this thy neck, that curve of moonlight, Which Helva's hand caressed? ”

“ By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, He seemed to the whole great army to say, "I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down, to save the day!"
Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! And when their statues are placed on high, Under the dome of the Union sky, The American soldiers' Temple of Fame; There with the glorious general's name, Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, "Here is the steed that saved the day, By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester, twenty miles away!" ”

“ Hurrah! for a ride in the morning gray, On the back of a bounding steed. What pleasure to list how the wild winds play; Hark! Hark! to their music,—away! away! Gallop away with speed. 'Neath the leaf and the cloud in spring-time's pride There is health in a morning's joyous ride.
And hurrah! for a ride in the sultry noon, When the summer has mounted high, 'Neath the shady wood in the glowing June, When the rivulet chanteth its lullaby tune To the breeze as it wanders by, Quietly down by the brooklet's side;— Sweet is the summer's joyous ride. ”

“ A moment now he slacked his speed, A moment breathed his panting steed; Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band. And loosened in the sheath his brand. On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint, Where Barnhill hewed his bed of flint; Who flung his outlawed limbs to rest, Where falcons hang their giddy nest, Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye For many a league his prey could spy; Cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne, The terrors of the robber's horn? Cliffs, which, for many a later year, The warbling Doric reed shall hear, When some sad swain shall teach the grove, Ambition is no cure for love! ”

“ Where the vine-boughs twine, the Rhine waves roar, And the foe thinks its waters shall hide him; But see, they fearless approach the shore, And they leap in the stream, and swim proudly o'er, And stand on the bank beside him! And ask ye what means the daring race? This is—Lützow's wild and desperate chase!
Why roars in the valley the raging fight, Where swords clash red and gory? O fierce is the strife of that deadly fight, For the spark of young Freedom is newly alight, And it breaks into flames of glory! ”

“ No bugle-call could rouse us all As that brave sight had done. Down all the battered line we felt A lightning impulse run. Up! up! the hill we followed Bill, And we captured every gun!
And when upon the conquered height Died out the battle's hum. Vainly mid living and the dead We sought our leader dumb. It seemed as if a spectre steed To win that day had come.
And then the dusk and dew of night Fell softly o'er the plain, As though o'er man's dread work of death The angels wept again, And drew night's curtain gently round A thousand beds of pain. ”

“ Beneath the clattering iron's sound The caverned echoes wake around In lash for lash, and bound for bound; The foam that streaks the courser's side Seems gathered from the ocean-tide: Though weary waves are sunk to rest, There's none within his rider's breast; And though to-morrow's tempest lower, 'Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour! I know thee not, I loathe thy race, But in thy lineaments I trace What time shall strengthen, not efface: Though young and pale, that sallow front Is scathed by fiery passion's brunt ”

“ For with one bound the savage fled amain, Dragging horse, Friar, down the lonely plain.
Down the arroyo, out across the mead, By heath and hollow, sped the flying maid, Dragging behind her still the panting steed And helpless Friar, who in vain essayed To cut the lasso or to check his speed. He felt himself beyond all human aid, And trusted to the saints—and, for that matter, To some weak spot in Felipe's riata. ”

“ Then bring me a cup of the red Ahr-wine; I never shall drink but this one.
"And fetch me my harness, and saddle my horse, And lead him me round to the door: He must take such a leap to-night perforce As horse never took before.
"I have lived by the saddle for years two score, And if I must die on tree, The old saddle-tree, which has borne me of yore, Is the properest timber for me.
"I have lived my life, I have fought my fight, I have drunk my share of wine; From Trier to Cöln there was never a knight Led a merrier life than mine. ”

“ Sure, the humblest life, Hath, in God's providence, some gracious guides, That warn it of its foe. The danger there, His instinct teaches, and with growing dread, No more solicitous of graceful flight, He bounds across the plain—he speeds away, Into the tameless wilderness afar, To 'scape his bondage. Yet, in vain his flight— Vain his fleet limbs, his desperate aim, his leap Through the close thicket, through the festering swamp, And rushing waters. His proud neck must bend Beneath a halter, and the iron parts And tears his delicate mouth. ”

“ A thousand horse,—and none to ride! With flowing tail, and flying main, Wide nostrils,—never stretched by pain,— Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscarred by spur or rod, A thousand horse, the wild, the free, Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on, [Pg 109] As if our faint approach to meet; The sight renerved my courser's feet, A moment staggering, feebly fleet, A moment, with a faint low neigh, He answered, and then fell; With gasps and glazing eyes he lay, And reeking limbs immovable, His first and last career is done! ”

“ This night we must away; The steed is wight, the spur is bright; I cannot stay till day.
"Busk, busk, and boune! [1] Thou mount'st behind Upon my black barb steed: O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles, We haste to bridal bed."—
"To-night—to-night a hundred miles!— O dearest William, stay! The bell strikes twelve—dark, dismal hour? O wait, my love, till day!"—
"Look here, look here—the moon shines clear— Full fast I ween we ride; Mount and away! for ere the day We reach our bridal bed.
"The black barb snorts, the bridle rings; Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee! ”

“ O, how I wished for spear or sword, At least to die amidst the horde, And perish—if it must be so— At bay, destroying many a foe. When first my courser's race begun, I wished the goal already won; But now I doubted strength and speed. Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed Had nerved him like the mountain-roe; Nor faster falls the blinding snow Which whelms the peasant near the door Whose threshold he shall cross no more, Bewildered with the dazzling blast, Than through the forest-paths he past,— Untired, untamed, and worse than wild; All furious as a favored child Balked of its wish ”

“ And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold, As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, And Sheridan twenty miles away.
But there is a road from Winchester town, A good broad highway leading down; And there, through the flush of the morning light, [Pg 136] A steed as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, As if he knew the terrible need; He stretched away with his utmost speed; Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away. ”

“ In the leafy darkness of the place, One could not distinguish form nor face, Only a bulk without a shape, A darker shadow in the shade; One scarce could say it moved or stayed. Thus it was we made our escape! A foaming brook, with many a bound, Followed us like a playful hound; Then leaped before us, and in the hollow Paused, and waited for us to follow, And seemed impatient, and afraid That our tardy flight should be betrayed By the sound our horses' hoof-beats made. And when we reached the plain below, We paused a moment and drew rein To look back at the castle again ”

“ God! what was that, like a human shriek From the winding valley? Will nobody speak? Will nobody answer those women who cry As the awful warnings thunder by?
Whence come they? Listen! And now they hear The sound of the galloping horse-hoofs near; They watch the trend of the vale, and see The rider who thunders so menacingly, With waving arms and warning scream To the home-filled banks of the valley stream. He draws no rein, but he shakes the street With a shout and the ring of the galloping feet ”

“ O'er thundering bridge, through boiling surge, He drove the furious horse.
Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, Splash! splash! along the sea; The scourge is wight, the spur is bright, The flashing pebbles flee.
Fled past on right and left how fast Each forest, grove, and bower! On right and left fled past how fast Each city, town, and tower!
"Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear, Dost fear to ride with me?— Hurrah! hurrah! the dead can ride!" ”

“ The brave steed, Late bounding in his freedom's consciousness, The leader of the wild, unreached of all, [Pg 157] Wears gaudy trappings, and becomes a slave.
He bears a master on his shrinking back, He feels a rowel in his bleeding flanks, And his arched neck, beneath the biting thong, Burns, while he bounds away—all desperate— Across the desert, mad with the vain hope To shake his burden off. He writhes, he turns On his oppressor. He would rend the foe, Who subtle, with less strength, had taken him thus, At foul advantage—but he strives in vain. ”