Braced in the sinewy vigour of thy breed,
In pride of generous strength, thou stately steed,
Thy broad chest to the battle's front is given,
Thy mane fair floating to the winds of heaven.
Thy champing hoofs the flinty pebbles break;
Graceful the rising of thine archèd neck.
White-churning foam thy chafèd bits enlock;
And from thy nostril bursts the curling smoke.
Thy kindling eyeballs brave the glaring south,
And dreadful is the thunder of thy mouth;
Whilst low to earth thy curving haunches bend,
Thy sweepy tail involved in clouds of sand;
Erect in air thou wear'st thy front of pride,
And ring'st the plated harness on thy side.
But lo! what creature, godly to the sight,
Dares thus bestride thee, chafing in thy might,
Of portly stature and determined mien,
Whose dark eye dwells beneath a brow serene,
And forward looks unmoved to fields of death,
And, smiling, gently strokes thee in thy wrath,
Whose brandished falchion dreaded gleams afar?
It is a British soldier, armed for war!