The Captured Wild Horse46
On the boundless plain careering,
By an unseen compass steering,
Wildly flying, reappearing,—
With untamed fire their broad eyes glowing,
In every step a grand pride showing,
Of no servile moment knowing,—
Happy as the trees and flowers,
In their instinct cradled hours,
Happier in fuller powers,—
See the wild herd nobly ranging,
Nature varying, not changing,
Lawful in their lawless ranging.
But hark! what boding crouches near?
On the horizon now appear
Centaur-forms of force and fear.
On their enslaved brethren borne,
With bit and whip of tyrant scorn,
To make new captives, as forlorn.
Wildly snort the astonished throng,
Stamp, and wheel, and fly along,
Those centaur-powers they know are strong.
But the lasso, skilful cast,
Holds one only captive fast,
Youngest, weakest—left the last.
How thou trembledst then, Konick!
Thy full breath came short and thick,
Thy heart to bursting beat so quick;
Thy strange brethren peering round,
By those tyrants held and bound,
Tyrants fell,—whom falls confound!
With rage and pity fill thy heart;
Death shall be thy chosen part,
Ere such slavery tame thy heart.
But strange, unexpected joy!
They seem to mean thee no annoy—
Gallop off both man and boy.
Let the wild horse freely go!
Almost he shames it should be so;
So lightly prized himself to know.
All deception ’tis, O steed!
Ne’er again upon the mead
Shalt thou a free wild horse feed.
The mark of man doth blot thy side,
The fear of man doth dull thy pride,
Thy master soon shall on thee ride.
Thy brethren of the free plain,
Joyful speeding back again,
With proud career and flowing mane,
Find thee branded, left alone,
And their hearts are turned to stone—
They keep thee in their midst alone.
Cruel the intervening years,
Seeming freedom stained by fears,
Till the captor reappears;
Finds thee with thy broken pride.
Amid thy peers still left aside,
Unbeloved and unallied;
Finds thee ready for thy fate;
For joy and hope ’tis all too late—
Thou’rt wedded to thy sad estate.
———
Wouldst have the princely spirit bowed?
Whisper only, speak not loud,
Mark and leave him in the crowd.
Thou need’st not spies nor jailers have;
The free will serve thee like the slave,
Coward shrinking from the brave.
And thy cohorts, when they come
To take the weary captive home,
Need only beat the retreating drum.