The sighs when dying comrades fall,
Struck by the foe, are only sad;
They leaped the ditch and climbed the wall,
And shared the purpose of us all;
The fame they have; the joy they had:
“Rest in thy tracks, brave lad!”

But thou, poor beast! unknown to fame,
Whose heart is reached while ours is bounding,
Amidst the victory's acclaim—
By thee we kneel with more of shame,
That bore us through the fight resounding,
And dumbly took our wounding!

Lord Herman saw the blood drops seethe,
The nag's neck droop, the nostril bubble,
And loosed the bridle from his teeth;
Yet swam the old legs underneath,
Invincibly. The gap they double;
But further swim in trouble.

And lovely Nature stretched her aid,
Her sympathetic tow and eddy;
The oars of air with azure blade,
And silent gravities persuade
And waft them onward, slow and steady—
On duteous deeds aye ready.

High leaped the perch. The hawk screamed joy.
Under Joost's belly musically
The ripples broke. Bright clouds convoy
The brute that man would but destroy,
And all instinctive agents rally
Strong and medicinally.

In vain! The gurgling waters suck
That old life under. Herman swimming
Seized but the horse tail. Like a buck
Breasting a lake in wild woods' pluck,
Joost rose, the glaze his bright eyes dimming,
And blood his sockets brimming.

Then, voices speak and women cry.
The treading feet find soil to stand.
Above them the green ramparts lie,
And 'twixt their shadows and the sky,
The wondering burghers crowd the strand,
And Herman help to land:

“Now to Newcastle's English walls,
Hail, Herman! and thy matchless stud”!
Joost staggers up the bank and falls,
And, dying, to his master crawls,
Yields up his long solicitude,
And spills his veins of blood.

In Herman's arms his neck is prest,
With martial pride his dark eye glazes;
He feels the hand he loves the best
Stroke fondly, and a chill of rest,
As if he rolled in pasture daisies
And heard in winds his praises:

“O could'st thou speak, what wouldst thou say?
I, who can speak, am dumb before thee.
Thine eyes that drink Olympian day
Where steeds of wings thy soul convey,
With pride of eagles circling o'er thee:
Thou seest I adore thee!

“Bound to thy starry home and her
Who brought me thee and left earth hollow!
An honored grave thy bones inter,
And painting shall thy fame confer,
Ere in thy shining track I follow,
Thou courser of Appolo!”