322 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
He starts afresh, and, whinnying loud, Pierces the air with shrilly neigh, —
Now, like the lightning from a cloud. Flashes amongst the hills away.
I hear him still, though out of sight,
Through the cleft mountain thundering on ;
Now a thin wreath of misty white
Curls o'er the hill-top, and he's gone.
Hark from afar that piercing scream !
From five miles off he bids farewell — Such speed will bear the fiend, I deem.
Ere nightfall to his native hell.
Such yon poor Indian's wish, no doubt, Who hears from far the frightful sound,
And fears lest he shall be cast out Ere long from his last himting-ground.
Well might he dread thy voice to hear.
Who deemed thee by man's hand untrained,
Free thine own reckless course to steer. And scatter mischief unrestrained.
Thy head erect and hide of black
Oft filled the unwonted swain with dread ;
The scared flocks scamper from tliy track. Wild beasts in terror hear thy tread.
And to more secret shades take flight,
When thou through diirk com'st rumbling nigh,
While, fitful breathing on the night, The fire-sparks from thy nostrils fly.
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