And for the city struck a headlong course,
With clatter of hoof along the central street,
Nor halted till, thus masterless and late,
Bleeding and torn, he reached the palace-gate.
Then rose a clamor and the tidings spread,
And servitors and burghers thronged about,
Crying, “The Prince’s horse! the Prince is dead!”
Till on the courser’s track they sallied out,
And came upon the fallen oak, and found
The Prince sore maimed and senseless on the ground.