To the pace they make, and the weight they bear,
Those hot-urged horses! Lash and goad,
Rash riders!—but, at the end of the road,
When the growing burden's last possible pound
Is piled; when the steed's last staggering bound
Is made, when the last short, labouring breath
Is breathed, when over, in shuddering death,
The charger rolls, with a sickening crash,
And responds no more to the spur or lash;
And the gulf yawns close, sheer slope to air,