THE ARAB AND HIS STEED. 
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velope themselves in flannel, and cover themselves with a feather 
bed, in order to excite copious perspiration, and to encourage it 
by drinking a warm decoction of sarsaparilla. 
M. Dupuy adds, that, next to the discovery of vaccination, 
there cannot be one more valuable than that of a specific for such 
a dreadful malady as hydrophobia; and he expresses his hope that 
future experience may confirm that of M. Buisson. 
Seance cle VA cademie des Sciences , Sept . 23, 1833. 
The Arab and his Steed. 
My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, 
With thy proudly arch’d and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye ; 
Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy winged speed, 
1 may not mount on thee again—thou’rt sold, my Arab steed! 
Fret not with that impatient hoof; snuff not the breezy wind; 
The farther that thou tliest now, so far am I behind : 
The stranger hath thy bridle-rein—thy master hath his gold— 
Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell! thou’rt sold, my steed, thou’rt sold. 
Farewell! those free untired limbs full many a mile mustroam 
To reach the chill and wintry sky that clouds the stranger’s home; 
Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bread prepare, 
The silky mane I braided once must be another’s care ! 
The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee 
Shall I gallop through the desert paths where we were wont to be : 
Evening shall darken on the earth, and o er the sandy plain 
Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again. 
Yes, thou must go! the wild free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky, 
Thy master’s home—from all of these, my exiled one must fly; 
Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less licet, 
And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck thy master’s hand to meet. 
Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright; 
Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light; 
And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed, 
Then must I, starting, wake to feel,—thou’rt sold ,, my Arab steed ! 
Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide. 
Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side, 
And the rich blood that’s in thee swells, in thy indignant pain. 
Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each started vein. 
Will they ill use thee? If I thought—but no, it cannot be— 
Thou art so swift, yet easy curb’d, so gentle, yet so free; 
And yet if aptly, when thou’rt gone, my lonely heart should yearn, 
Can the hand which casts thee from it now command thee to return ? 
Return ! alas, my Arab steed ! what shall thy master do, 
When thou, who wert his all of joy, hath vanish’d from his view ! 
When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the glittering tears, 
Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false mirage appears. 
