I've a tale to relate.
Such a wonderful tale
That really I fear
My description must fail;
'Tis about a fine horse
Who had powers so amazing.
He lived without eating,
Or drinking, or grazing;
In fact this fine horse
Was so "awfully" clever.
That left to himself
He'd have lived on forever.
He stood in a room,
With his nose in the air,
And his wide staring eyes
Looking no one knows where.
His tail undisturbed
By the sting of a fly
One foot slightly raised
As if kicking he'd try,
This wonderful horse
Never slept or yet dozed,
At least if he did so,
His eyes never closed.
"Come, gee up, old Dobbin.
Look sharp, don't you see
I want to be there
And get back before tea?"
But this obstinate horse
Never offered to prance,
Or made an attempt
At the slightest advance;
Harry slashed him so hard.
That he slashed off one ear,
Then his mane tumbled off,
And poor Dobbin looked queer.
With spur, and with whip,
And with terrible blows,
He soon was deprived
Of one eye, and his nose,
While his slightly-raised foot
Found a place on the floor.
The tail once so handsome
Was handsome no more,
And Harry, the tears
Raining down as he stood,
Cried, "Bother the horse,
It is nothing but wood!"