Bound o’er the steeps and, hovering, hem the foe.
Here changed the scene; the snows were crimsoned o’er;
The hard ice trickled to the tepid gore.
With pawing hoof the courser delved the ground
And rigid frost his clinging fetlock bound:
Nor yet his slippery fall the peril ends;
The fracturing ice the bony socket rends.
Twelve times they measured the long light of day
And night’s bleak gloom and urged thro’ wounds their way;
Till on the topmost ridge their camp was flung