TO MY STEED.

———

BY S. D. ANDERSON.

———

Come forth, my brave steed, for the dew’s on the flowers,

And we will away with the speed of the hours;

The breath of the summer-time rides on the gale,

And health is abroad on each mountain and dale.

Come forth, for the lark is alive with his song,

And the bound of my pulses is life-like and strong;

It is gladness to see the wild fire of thine eye,

And feel thy light tread as the breeze rushes by.

Come forth, my own Arab, the Sun is asleep,

And the tears of the morning thy dark mane shall steep;

Thou shalt drink from the gushes of Summer’s cool streams,

E’er the flow of the fountain is tipt with morn’s beams.

Come forth to the greenwood whilst perfume is there,

And we’ll start the wild deer from his slumbering lair;

The leap of the cascade, and dash of the spray,

Shall echo more faint as we hurry away.

Come forth, my brave steed—far truer art thou

Than the smile on the lip, or the light on the brow;

More faithful than promises lovers may breathe,

Or the garlands of fame that a nation may wreath.

Come forth—I am ready—hurrah for the hills,

Whilst the harp-string of pleasure with ecstasy thrills;

No hour like the morning—no scene like to this

In all the wide world, for a moment of bliss.