Excerpt from Pal O Mine: King of the Turf

The Arab's Farewell To His Steed

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 winged 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,
The further 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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