Ah me! the frantic shriek she gave! I hear it ringing now!

That hour, upon the bloody spot, I made a holy vow; A solemn compact, deeply sworn, to witness my remorse, That never more these limbs of mine should mount on living horse!"

Good Heav'n! to see the angry glance that flashed upon me now!

A chill ran all my marrow through--the drops were on my brow!

I knew my doom, and stole a glance at that accursed Mare, And there she stood, with nostrils wide, that snuff'd the sultry air.

How lion-like she lash'd her flanks with her abundant tail; While on her neck the stormy mane kept tossing to the gale!

How fearfully she roll'd her eyes between the earth and sky, As if in wild uncertainty to gallop or to fly!

While with her hoof she scoop'd the sand as if before she gave My plunge into eternity she meant to dig my grave!

And I, that ne'er could calmly hear a horse's ears at play-- Or hear without a yard of jump his shrill and sudden neigh-- Whose foot within a stable-door had never stood an inch-- Whose hand to pat a living steed would feel an awful flinch,-- I that had never thrown a leg across a pony small, To scour the pathless desert on the tallest of the tall!

For oh! it is no fable, but at ev'ry look I cast, Her restless legs seem'd twice as long as when I saw them last!

In agony I shook,--and yet, although congealed by fears, My blood was boiling fast, to judge from noises in my ears; I gasp'd as if in vacuo, and thrilling with despair, Some secret Demon seem'd to pass his fingers through my hair.

I could not stir--I could not speak--I could not even see-- A sudden mist rose up between that awful Mare and me, I tried to pray, but found no words--tho' ready ripe to weep, No tear would flow,--o'er ev'ry sense a swoon began to creep,-- When lo! to bring my horrid fate at once unto the brunt, Two Arabs seized me from behind, two others in the front, And ere a muscle could be strung to try the strife forlorn, I found myself, Mazeppa-like, upon the Desert-Born!

Terrific was the neigh she gave, the moment that my weight Was felt upon my back, as if exulting in her freight; Whilst dolefully I heard a voice that set each nerve ajar,-- "Off with the bridle--quick!--and leave his guidance to his star!"

"Allah! il Allah!" rose the shout,--and starting with a bound, The dreadful Creature cleared at once a dozen yards of ground; And grasping at her mane with both my cold convulsive hands, Away we flew--away! away! across the shifting sands!

My eyes were closed in utter dread of such a fearful race, But yet by certain signs I knew we went no earthly pace, For turn whichever way we might, the wind with equal force Rush'd like a horrid hurricane still adverse to our course-- One moment close at hand I heard the roaring Syrian Sea, The next is only murmur'd like the humming of a bee!

And when I dared at last to glance across the wild immense, Oh ne'er shall I forget the whirl that met the dizzy sense!

What seem'd a little sprig of fern, ere lips could reckon twain, A palm of forty cubits high, we passed it on the plain!

What tongue could tell,--what pencil paint,--what pen describe the ride?

Now off--now on--now up--now down,--and flung from side to side!

I tried to speak, but had no voice, to soothe her with its tone-- My scanty breath was jolted out with many a sudden groan-- My joints were racked--my back was strained, so firmly I had clung-- My nostrils gush'd, and thrice my teeth had bitten through my tongue-- When lo!--farewell all hope of life!--she turn'd and faced the rocks, None but a flying horse could clear those monstrous granite blocks!

So thought I,--but I little knew the desert pride and fire, Deriv'd from a most deer-like dam, and lion-hearted sire; Little I guess'd the energy of muscle, blood, and bone, Bound after bound, with eager springs, she clear'd each massive stone;-- Nine mortal leaps were pass'd before a huge gray rock at length Stood planted there as if to dare her utmost pitch of strength-- My time was come! that granite heap my monument of death!

She paused, she snorted loud and long, and drew a fuller breath; Nine strides and then a louder beat that warn'd me of her spring, I felt her rising in the air like eagle on the wing-- But oh! the crash!--the hideous shock!--the million sparks around!

Her hindmost hoofs had struck the crest of that prodigious mound!

Wild shriek'd the headlong Desert-Born--or else 'twas demon's mirth, One second more, and Man and Mare roll'd breathless on the earth!

How long it was I cannot tell ere I revived to sense, And then but to endure the pangs of agony intense; For over me lay powerless, and still as any stone, The Corse that erst had so much fire, strength, spirit, of its own.

My heart was still--my pulses stopp'd--midway 'twixt life and death, With pain unspeakable I fetch'd the fragment of a breath, Not vital air enough to frame one short and feeble sigh, Yet even that I loath'd because it would not let me die.

Oh! slowly, slowly, slowly on, from starry night till morn, Time flapp'd along, with leaden wings, across that waste forlorn!

I cursed the hour that brought me first within this world of strife-- A sore and heavy sin it is to scorn the gift of life-- But who hath felt a horse's weight oppress his laboring breast?

Why, any who has had, like me, the NIGHT MARE on his chest.

AGRICULTURAL DISTRESS.

A PASTORAL REPORT.

One Sunday morning--service done-- 'Mongst tombstones shining in the sun, A knot of bumpkins stood to chat Of that and this, and this and that; What people said of Polly Hatch-- Which side had won the-cricket match; And who was cotch'd, and who was bowl'd;-- How barley, beans, and 'taters sold-- What men could swallow at a meal-- When Bumpstead Youths would ring a peal-- And who was taken off to jail-- And where they brew'd the strongest ale-- At last this question they address, "What's Agricultural Distress?"

HODGE.

"For my peart, it's a thought o' mine, It be the fancy farming line, Like yonder gemman,--him I mean, As took the Willa nigh the Green,-- And turn'd his cattle in the wheat; And gave his porkers hay to eat; And sent his footman up to town, To ax the Lonnon gentry down, To be so kind as make his hay, Exactly on St. Swithin's day;-- With consequences you may guess-- That's Hagricultural Distress."

DICKON.

"Last Monday morning, Master Blogg Com'd for to stick our bacon-hog; But th' hog he cock'd a knowing eye, As if he twigg'd the reason why, And dodg'd and dodg'd 'un such a dance, He didn't give the noose a chance; So Master Blogg at last lays off, And shams a rattle at the trough, When swish! in bolts our bacon-hog Atwixt the legs o' Master Blogg, And flops him down in all the muck, As hadn't been swept up by luck-- Now that, accordin' to my guess, Be Hagricultural Distress."

GILES.

"No, that arn't it, I tell 'ee flat; I'ze bring a worser case nor that!"

"Last Friday week, I takes a start To Reading, with our horse and cart; Well, when I'ze set the 'taters down, I meets a crony at the Crown; And what betwixt the ale and Tom, It's dark afore I starts for home; So whipping hard, by long and late, At last we reaches nigh the gate, And, sure enough, there Master stand, A lantern flaring in his hand,-- 'Why, Giles,' says he, 'what's that 'un thear?

Yond' chestnut horse bean't my bay mear!

He bean't not worth a leg o' Bess!'

There's Hagricultural Distress!"

HOB.

"That's nothin yet, to Tom's mishap!

A-gooing through the yard, poor chap, Only to fetch his milking-pails, When up he shies like head or tails; Nor would the Bull let Tom a-be, Till he had toss'd the best o' three;-- And there lies Tom with broken bones, A surgeon's job for Doctor Jones; Well, Doctor Jones lays down the law, 'There's two crackt ribs, besides a jaw,-- Eat well,' says he, 'stuff out your case, For that will keep the ribs in place;'

But how was Tom, poor chap, to chaw, Seeing as how he'd broke his jaw?

That's summut to the pint--yes, yes, That's Hagricultural Distress!"

SIMON.

"Well, turn and turn about is fair: Tom's bad enough, and so's the mare; But nothing to my load of hay-- You see, 'twas hard on quarter-day, And cash was wanted for the rent; So up to Lonnon I was sent, To sell as prime a load of hay, As ever dried on summer's day.

"Well, standing in Whitechapel Road, A chap comes up to buy my load, And looks, and looks about the cart, Pretending to be 'cute and smart; But no great judge, as people say, 'Cause why? he never smelt the hay.

Thinks I, as he's a simple chap, He'll give a simple price mayhap, Such buyers comes but now and then, So slap I axes nine pun' ten.

'That's dear,' says he, and pretty quick He taps his leathers with his stick.

'Suppose,' says he, 'we wet our clay, Just while we bargin 'bout the hay.

So in we goes, my chap and me; He drinks to I, and I to he; At last, says I, a little gay, 'It's time to talk about that hay,'

'Nine pund,' says he, 'and I'm your man, Live, and let live--for that's my plan.'

'That's true,' says I, 'but still I say, It's nine pun' ten for that 'ere hay,'

And so we chaffers for a bit, At long and last the odds we split; And off he sets to show the way, Where up a yard I leaves the hay.

Then, from the pocket of his coat, He pulls a book, and picks a note.

'That's Ten,' says he--'I hope to pay Tens upon tens for loads of hay.'

'With all my heart, and soon,' says I, And feeling for the change thereby; But all my shillings com'd to five-- Says he, 'No matter, man alive!

There's something in your honest phiz I'd trust, if twice the sum it is;-- You'll pay next time you come to town.'

'As sure,' says I, 'as corn is brown.'

'All right,' says he.--Thinks I 'huzza!

He's got no bargain of the hay!'

"Well, home I goes, with empty cart, Whipping the horses pretty smart, And whistling ev'ry yard o' way, To think how well I'd sold the hay-- And just cotch'd Master at his greens And bacon, or it might be beans, Which didn't taste the worse sure_ly_, To hear his hay had gone so high.

But lord! when I laid down the note, It stuck the victuals in his throat, And chok'd him till his face all grew Like pickling-cabbage, red and blue; With such big goggle eyes, Ods nails!

They seem'd a-coming out like snails!