The horse, the brave.
The gallant Horse--
Fit theme for the minstrel's song!
He hath good claim
To praise and fame;
As the fleet, the kind, the strong.
Behold him free
In his native strength,
Looking fit for the sun-god's car;
With a skin as sleek
As a maiden's cheek,
And an eye like a Polar star.
Who wonders not
Such limbs can deign
To brook the fettering firth;
As we see him fly
The ringing plain,
And paw the crumbling earth?
His nostrils are wide
With snorting pride,
His fiery veins expand;
And yet he'll be led
With s silken thread,
Or soothed by and infant's hand.
He owns the lion's
Spirit and might,
But the voice he has learnt to love
Needs only be heard,
And he'll turn to the word,
As gentle as a dove.
The Arab is wise
Who learns to prize
His barb before all gold;
But us his barb
More fair than ours,
More generous, fast or bold?
A song for the steed,
The gallant steed--
Oh! grant him a leaf of bay;
For we owe much more
To his strength and speed,
Than man can ever repay.
Whatever his place--
The yoke, the chase,
The war-field, road, or course,
One of Creation's
Brightest and best
Is the Horse, the noble Horse!