Chapter 29 No.29

Ruello, Ruello, devour the way!

On your breath bear us with you, O winds, as ye swell!

My darling, she lies near her death to-day,-

Gallop, gallop, gallop, Ruel!

That my spurs have torn open thy flanks, alas!

With thy long, sad neighing, thou need'st not tell;

We have many a league yet of desert to pass,-

Gallop, gallop, gallop