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 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!

Farewell! those free, untired limbs full many a mile must roam,
To reach the chill and wintry clime that clouds the stranger’s home;
Some other hand, less kind, must now thy corn and bed prepare;
The silk mane that I braided once must be another’s care.

The morning sun shall dawn again — but nevermore with thee
Shall I gallop o’er the desert paths where we were wont to be;
Evening shall darken on the earth, and o’er the sandy plain
Some other steed with slower pace shall bear me home again.

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 arms to check or cheer thy speed,
Then must I startling wake to feel thou’rt sold, my Arab steed!

Ah, rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide,
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 that on thee gaze 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.
And yet if haply when thou’rt gone this lonely heart should yearn,
Can the hand that casts thee from it now command thee to return?

“Return!” alas, my Arab steed! what will thy master do,
When thou that wast his all of joy hast vanished from his view?
When the dim distance greets mine eyes, and through the gathering tears
Thy bright form for a moment like the false mirage appears?

Slow and unmounted will I roam with wearied foot alone,
Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou oft hast borne me on,
And sitting down by the green well, I’ll pause, and sadly think,
“‘T was here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink.”

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 wert sold?
‘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.