With hoof unshod, chafes, or is glad.
‘How blest ye children of the plains,
How sweet and free your green domains?’
So have I cried and bid them stay,
Whenever on my Tartar steed
I have approached with careful speed
Their throng, and myriad-answering neigh.
Obeying not with scornful eye
They looked at us, and passed us by.