Ix

With his nostrils fierce dilating, With his crest a curling sea, All his volumed power is waiting For the will, to set it free.

"Peace, my friend!" The touch he knoweth Calms his heart, howe'er it gloweth: Horse can shame a man, to quell Passion, where he loveth well.

"Nay, endure we," saith the rider, "Till her plighted word be paid; Then, though Satan stand beside her, God shall help me swing this blade."