We scarce know if we ride or we fly.
You have all of the hippogriff heard,
For mettle and speed a rare thing,
Half-breed betwixt courser and bird,
Keeping pace with foot and with wing.
The bird of the desert is he,
The ostrich of beautiful plume,
Skimming earth, as a swallow the sea,
Or an eagle the lofty blue dome.
He laughs at the speed of the hind,