Hurrah! and away! My Steed, good-bye!
Gray Sacramento, I glory to see
Thy smoking mane and thy blazing eye,
And thy broad breast swelling to be free!
Almost it seems that a human soul,
With its lofty essence of self-control,
And that divine disdain to be
The creature of any, which marks the goal
Of a higher nature won,
Were speaking now, in thy glorious mien,
And making the fire of thine eye more keen,
As I shout to cheer thee on!
Rushing away to the reinless herd.
Thou hast cleared the prairie, fleet as a bird,
With a joyous prance for thy wordless glee,
And a backward glance of pride for me,
And another, as proud, for the jealous crowd,
Sent over the left exultingly back,
With a challenge to come if they will, on a track
That runs like a flash through the tempest's rack —
Thyself the flash of thy own dust-cloud!
Away with thy fellows, who hail thee in pride,
I see thee dashing the laggards aside,
As a steamship dashes the billowy tide,
For thy tameless purpose is still to lead!
Hurrah! the hunter who hopes to ride
With a bit for thee, my gallant Steed,
Should mount the Eagle for better speed,
With a shooting star for his only guide,
And train his nimble hand to throw
The lightning-streak for his red lasso!
Ha! ha! I laugh with thy victor laugh!
And see with thee, from that burning eye,
The hills and the woods go drifting by,
Like clouds of hurricane-winnowed chaff!
As if the world were around thee hurled —
That eye the center, from which it whirled,
And its bicker thy jubilant laugh.
Thou hast served me well, and I speed thee well.
My gallant Steed, forever free!
Leaping the cliffs like a light gazelle,
And far out-flying the very yell
Of the savage hordes, whose arrows fell
In a pattering hail on our smoking trail,
Whole roods behind thy meteor tail,
And wasted there, on the desert air,
The vengeance meant for me.
Thou hast borne me over the herbless waste,
With a hardy mettle and eager haste,
That left swift Famine, thin and pale,
Drifting astern on the panting gale!
Little to thee, as a stumbling-block.
Was fallen tree or fallen rock;
One bound went clear, over rock and tree!
The treacherous cleft was spanned and left,
With a graceful daring, proud to see;
The-roaring floods thou hast carried me through,
With the buoyant bound of the fleet canoe,
Or the lighter glide of the swift curlew
Across the waves of a troubled sea.
I have pillowed my head on thy dark gray side,
Watching the stars, our golden guide;
We have drunk together the same clear flow
From the cups of the playful brooks, that grow
To majestical rivers far down below.
Almost, by times, I had need to share
The bitter herbs of thy scanty fare —
And oft have we gone to one roofless bed,
With the same bare sod beneath us spread,
Or coiled in the folds of the falling snow,
Where man and beast at the dawn were found,
Each lying apart in his silent mound,
As if our camp were a burial-ground
For the sleep of the nameless dead!
My dauntless Kit has a plume for thee!
For thy saving speed in an hour of need,
When thy hoofs were fleet, and his rifle slow,
To level the death-doing Indian foe,
Whose fatal point was drawn to the bow —
Thy swift leap trampled him down at a blow,
And my Lad stood peril-free!
Ha! ha! I shout to thy gallant neigh,
And cheer thee on thy reinless way,
Free! free to thy heart's desire!
Ill fare the hand that touches again
The dark gray ridge of thy tossing mane!
Or thy swelling nostrils, red and thin,
Sucking the air like a whirlwind in,
To snort it out in fire!
Never again let rider sit
On thy strong back, my noble Steed!
Nor part thy teeth with the iron bit.
To pamper his pride, or serve his need.
I give thee to the unbounded plain,
With the whole broad West for thy fair domain,
And a wild hurrah, for my parting word!
Wherever the fire of thy heart may lead,
Go forth, forever unleashed and freed,
Thy best defense in thy own good speed—
Thou lord of the reinless herd!
Farewell to "Sacramento"