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| MY beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, | |
| With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye, | |
| Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy wingèd speed; | |
| I may not mount on thee again,—thou ’rt sold, my Arab steed! | |
| Fret not with that impatient hoof,—snuff not the breezy wind,— | 5 |
| The farther that thou fliest 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. | |
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| Farewell! those free, untired limbs full many a mile must roam, | |
| To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger’s home; | 10 |
| Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare, | |
| Thy silky mane, I braided once, must be another’s care! | |
| The morning sun shall dawn again, but nevermore 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 | 15 |
| Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again. | |
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| Yes, thou must go! the wild, free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky, | |
| Thy master’s house,—from all of these my exiled one must fly; | |
| Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet, | |
| And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master’s hand to meet. | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| 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 starting vein. | |
| Will they ill-use thee? If I thought—but no, it cannot be,— | |
| Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed; so gentle, yet so free: | 30 |
| And yet, if haply, 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 wast his all of joy, hast vanished from his view? | |
| When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears | 35 |
| Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false mirage appears; | |
| Slow and unmounted shall I roam, with weary step alone, | |
| Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou oft hast borne me on; | |
| And sitting down by that green well, I ’ll pause and sadly think, | |
| “It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink!” | 40 |
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| When last I saw thee drink!—Away! the fevered dream is o’er,— | |
| I could not live a day, and know that we should meet no more! | |
| They tempted me, my beautiful!—for hunger’s power is strong,— | |
| They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long. | |
| Who said that I had given thee up? who said that thou wast sold? | 45 |
| ’T is false,—’t is false, my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold! | |
| Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains; | |
| Away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains! | |
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