Cheapside, or Bow, or Stepney, had the honor of your birth,
The East it is your country! Like an infant changed to nurse
By fairies, you have undergone a nurtureship perverse;
But this—these desert sands—these palms, and cedars waving wild,
All, all, adopt thee as their own—an oriental child—
The cloud may hide the sun awhile—but soon or late, no doubt,
The spirit of your ancestry will burst and sparkle out!
I read the starry characters—and lo! 'tis written there,
Thou wert foredoom'd of sons of men to ride upon this Mare,
A Mare till now was never back'd by one of mortal mould,