His ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass’d crest now stands on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours does he send:
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.
Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say, “Lo! thus my strength is tried;