This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1884 Excerpt: ...Many a werst, Panting as if his heart would burst, The weary brute still stagger'd on; And still we were--or'seemed alone. At length, while reeling on our way, Methought I heard a courser neigh, From out yon tuft of blackening firs. Is it the wind those branches stirs? No, no! from out the forest prance A trampling ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1884 Excerpt: ...Many a werst, Panting as if his heart would burst, The weary brute still stagger'd on; And still we were--or'seemed alone. At length, while reeling on our way, Methought I heard a courser neigh, From out yon tuft of blackening firs. Is it the wind those branches stirs? No, no! from out the forest prance A trampling troop; I see them come! In one vast squadron they advance! I strove to cry--my lips were dumb. The steeds rush on in plunging pride; But where are they the reins to guide? A thousand horse--and none to ride! With flowing tail, and flying mane, Wide nostrils--never stretch'd by pain, Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscarr'd by spur or rod, A thousand horse, the wild, the free, Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on, As if our faint approach to meet; The sight re-nerved my courser's feet, A moment staggering, feebly fleet, A moment, with a faint low neigh, He answered, and then fell. With gasps and glazing eyes he lay, And reeking limbs immoveable, His first and last career is done! On came the troop--they saw him stoop, They saw me strangely bound along His back with many a bloody thong: They stop--they start--they snuff the air, Gallop a moment here and there, Approach, retire, wheel round and round, Then plunging back with sudden bound, Headed by one black mighty steed, Who seem'd the patriarch of his breed, Without a single speck or hair Of white upon his shaggy hide: They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside, And backward to the forest fly, By instinct, from a human eye. They left me there to my despair, Link'd to the dead and stiffening wretch, Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, Relieved from that unwonted weight, From whence I could not extricate Nor him, nor me;...
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