Behold the Arabs leading up a mare of milky

white!

To tell the truth, without reserve, evasion, or remorse,

The last of creatures in my love or liking is a horse:

Whether in early youth some kick untimely laid me flat,

Whether from born antipathy, as some dislike a cat,

I never yet could bear the kind, from Meux's giant steeds

Down to those little bearish cubs of Shetland's shaggy breeds ;

As for a warhorse, he that can bestride one is a

hero,

Merely to look at such a sight my courage sinks

to zero.

With lightning eyes, and thunder mane, and hurricanes of legs,

Tempestuous tail-to picture him description vainly begs!

His fiery nostrils send forth clouds of smoke instead of breath

Nay, was it not a Horse that bore the grisly Shape of Death?

Judge then how cold an ague-fit of agony was

mine

To see the mistress of my fate, imperious, make

a sign

To which my own foreboding soul the cruel sense

supplied:

"Mount, happy man, and run away with your Arabian bride!"

Grim was the smile, and tremulous the voice with which I spoke,

Like any one's when jesting with a subject not a joke,

So men have trifled with the axe before the fatal

66

stroke.

Lady, if mine had been the luck in Yorkshire to be born,

Or any of its ridings, this would be a blessed

morn;

But, hapless one! I cannot ride-there's something in a horse

That I can always honour, but I never could endorse

To speak still more commercially, in riding I am

quite

Averse to running long, and apt to be paid off at

sight:

In legal phrase, for every class to understand me

still,

I never was in stirrups yet a tenant but at will; Or, if you please, in artist terms, I never went a-straddle

On

any horse without 'a want of keeping' in the saddle.

In short," and here I blush'd, abash'd and held my head full low,

"I'm one of those whose infant ears have heard the chimes of Bow!"

The lady smiled, as houris smile, adown from Turkish skies,

And beams of cruel kindness shone within her

hazel eyes;

66

Stranger," she said, or rather say, my nearest, dearest friend,

There's something in your eyes, your air, and that high instep's bend,

That tells me you're of Arab race,-whatever spot of earth,

Cheapside, or Bow, or Stepney, had the honour of your birth,

The East it is your country! Like an infant changed at nurse

By fairies, you have undergone a nurtureship

perverse;

But this these desert sands-these palms, and cedars waving wild,

All, all, adopt thee as their own-an oriental

child

The cloud may hide the sun awhile-but soon or

late, no doubt,

[out!

The spirit of your ancestry will burst and sparkle I read the starry characters—and lo! 'tis written

there,

A Mare till now was never back'd by one of mortal mould,

Hark, how she neighs, as if for thee she knew that she was foal'd!"

And truly I devoutly wish'd a blast of the simoom

Had stifled her!-the Mare herself appeared to mock my doom;

With many a bound she caper'd round and round me like a dance,

I fear'd indeed some wild caress would end the

fearful prance,

And felt myself, and saw myself the phantasy was horrid!

Like old Redgauntlet, with a shoe imprinted on my forehead!

On bended knees, with bowing head, and hands upraised in pray'r,

I begg'd the turban'd Sultaness the issue to for

bear;

[wife, I painted weeping orphan babes, around a widow'd And drew my death as vividly as others draw

from life;

"Behold," I said, "a simple man, for such high feats unfit,

Who never yet has learn'd to know the crupper from the bit,

Whereas the boldest horsemanship, and first equestrian skill,

Would well be task'd to bend so wild a creature to the will."

Alas! alas! 'twas all in vain, to supplicate and * kneel,

The quadruped could not have been more cold to my appeal!

"Fear nothing," said the smiling Fate, "when human help is vain,

Spirits shall by thy stirrups fly, and fairies guide the rein;

Just glance at yonder animal, her perfect shape remark,

And in thy breast at once shall glow the oriental

spark!

As for thy spouse and tender babes, no Arab roams the wild

But for a Mare of such descent, would barter wife and child."

"Nay then," cried I-(Heav'n shrive the lie!) "to tell the secret truth,

'Twas my unhappy fortune once to over-ride a youth!

A playful child, so full of life!-a little fair

haired boy,

His sister's pet, his father's hope, his mother's darling joy!