There was once a man — strenuous no 

 doubt, but not wise, for he did not give heed 

 to the real nature of things, and so he set 

 himself to do by his own unaided hand the 

 work which only the genii can accomplish. 

 And this man possessed also a stud of horses. 

 They were docile, clean-limbed, fleet, and 

 strong, and he would make them still more 

 strong and fleet. So he rode them swiftly 

 with all his might, day and night, always 

 on the course, always pushed to the utmost, 

 leaving only the dull and sluggish to remain 

 in the stalls. For it was his dream to fill 

 these horses with the spirit of action, with 

 the glory of swift motion, that this glory 

 might be carried on and on to the last gen- 

 eration of horses. There were some who 

 could not keep the pace, and to these and 

 these alone he assigned the burden of bear- 

 ing colts. And the feeble and the broken, the 

 dull of wit, the coarse of limb, became each 

 year the mothers of the colts. The horses 

 who were chosen for the race-course he 

 trained with every care, and every stroke of 

 discipline showed itself in the flashing eyes 

 and straining muscles, — such were the best 



The 

 Human 



Harvest 



A Dream 

 of snjoift 

 horses 



[19] 



