Of life so willing to be tamed.
Hast thou seen roam the steppe’s vast space
Our beautiful, wild charger race?
Bold as the chief, fleet like the doe,
It serves and knows no master’s will,
But pricks its ear, and, standing still,
Scents danger in the winds that blow,
Then sudden in a cloud of dust
It darts away from its mistrust,—
Fights all the foes it ever had