Macmillan's Reading Books. Book V

John Stuart Mill · en
"'Bring forth the horse!'--the horse was brought;
          In truth, he was a noble steed,
          A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,
       Who look'd as though the speed of thought
       Were in his limbs; but he was wild,
          Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
       With spur and bridle undefiled--
          'T was but a day he had been caught;
       And snorting, with erected mane,
       And struggling fiercely, but in vain,
       In the full foam of wrath and dread
       To me the desert-born was led:
       They bound me on, that menial throng;
       Upon his back with many a thong;
       Then loosed him with a sudden lash--
       Away!--away!--and on we dash!
       Torrents less rapid and less rash.

       *       *       *       *       *

       "Away, away, my steed and I,
          Upon the pinions of the wind,
          All human dwellings left behind;
       We sped like meteors through the sky,
       When with its crackling sound the night
       Is chequer'd with the northern light:
       Town--village--none were on our track.
          But a wild plain of far extent,
       And bounded by a forest black;
          And, save the scarce seen battlement
       On distant heights of some stronghold,
       Against the Tartars built of old,
       No trace of man. The year before
       A Turkish army had march'd o'er;
       And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod,
       The verdure flies the bloody sod:
       The sky was dull, and dim, and gray,
          And a low breeze crept moaning by--
          I could have answered with a sigh--
       But fast we fled, away, away,
       And I could neither sigh nor pray;
       And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain
       Upon the courser's bristling mane;
       But, snorting still with rage and fear,
       He flew upon his far career:
       At times I almost thought, indeed,
       He must have slacken'd in his speed;
       But no--my bound and slender frame
          Was nothing to his angry might,
       And merely like a spur became;
       Each motion which I made to free
       My swoln limbs from their agony
          Increased his fury and affright:
       I tried my voice,--'t was faint and low.
       But yet he swerved as from a blow;
       And, starting to each accent, sprang
       As from a sudden trumpet's clang:
       Meantime my cords were wet with gore,
       Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er;
       And in my tongue the thirst became
       A something fiercer far than flame.