softly cradles me, as in her hammock sways a queen. The foaming
waters cool my weary feet, burning from bathing in the falling
tears of countless generations that have clung to them in vain
endeavour to arrest my steps.

Then, when the storm has ceased, after its roar has calmed me like
a lullaby, I bow my head: the hurricane, raging in fury but a
moment earlier dies instantly. No longer does it live, but neither
do the men, the ships, the navies that lately sailed upon the
bosom of the waters.

'Mid all that I have seen and known,--peoples and thrones, loves,
glories, sorrows, virtues--what have I ever loved? Nothing--except
the mantling shroud that covers me!

My horse! ah, yes! my horse! I love thee too! How thou rushest
o'er the world! thy hoofs of steel resounding on the heads bruised
by thy speeding feet. Thy tail is straight and crisp, thine eyes
dart flames, the mane upon thy neck flies in the wind, as on we
dash upon our maddened course. Never art thou weary! Never do we
rest! Never do we sleep! Thy neighing portends war; thy smoking
nostrils spread a pestilence that, mist-like, hovers over earth.
Where'er my arrows fly, thou overturnest pyramids and empires,
trampling crowns beneath thy hoofs; All men respect thee; nay,
adore thee! To invoke thy favour, popes offer thee their triple
crowns, and kings their sceptres; peoples, their secret sorrows;
poets, their renown. All cringe and kneel before thee, yet thou
rushest on over their prostrate forms.

Ah, noble steed! Sole gift from heaven! Thy tendons are of iron,