94 



That morn lie bounded fresk and fair, but now witbi 



stony eye, 

 With nostril stretch'd, and heaving flank, he'd lain him 



down to die ! 

 'Twill soon be o'er, just one short neigh, a quiver and a 



groan, 

 His eye was set, his heart was full, 'twas thus he made 



his moan : 



And is it come to this at last, my own my gallant steed? 



Although I see, 1 scarce believe that thou art dead 

 indeed. 



And can it be that thou and I no more shall lead the 

 burst ? 



No more cut down the customers, the fastest and the 

 first? 



No more shall fly the biggest fence that thins the horse- 

 men's ranks ? 



No more shall charge the widest brook, though brimming 

 to its banks ? 



Oft, olt, for many a rapturous mile, throughout the live- 

 long day, 



O'er many a field, o'er many a fence, we two have sailed 

 away ! 



And now it almost breaks my heart to see thee lying 

 there. 



To know I cannot help thee with my fondest, tenderest 

 care! 



To feel that all is over, that thy bright career is past, 



That spite thy form, and spite thy fame, this field has 

 been thy last ! 



