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BRACED in the sinewy vigour of thy breed,
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In pride of generous strength, thou stately steed! |
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Thy broad chest to the battle's front is given, |
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Thy mane fair floating to the winds of heaven; |
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Thy stamping hoofs the flinty pebbles break; |
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Graceful the rising of thine arched neck; |
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Thy bridle-bits white flakes of foam enlock; |
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From thy moved nostrils bursts the curling smoke |
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Thy kindling eye-balls brave the glaring south, |
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And dreadful is the thunder of thy mouth: |
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Whilst low to earth thy curving haunches bend, |
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Thy sweepy tail involved in clouds of sand, |
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Erect in air thou rearest thy front of pride, |
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And ring'st the plated harness on thy side. |
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But lo! what creature, goodly to the sight, |
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Dares thus bestride thee, chafing in thy might; |
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Of portly stature, and determined mien, |
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Whose dark eye dwells beneath a brow serene, |
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And forward looks unmoved to scenes of death, |
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And smiling, gently strokes thee in thy wrath; |
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Whose right hand doth its flashing falchion wield? |
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A British soldier girded for the field. |