Antar! they cried; and their lances
Well-cords in slenderness, pressed to the breast
Of my war-horse still as I pressed on them.
Doggedly strove we and rode we.
Ha! the brave stallion! Now is his breast dyed
With blood drops, his star-front with fear of them!
Swerved he, as pierced by the spear points.
Then in his beautiful eyes stood the tears
Of appealing, words inarticulate.
If he had our man's language,