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18 What service have ye paid them,

Oh jealous steeds and strong?

Save we that throw their weaklings,

Is none dare work them wrong;

While thick around the homestead

Our snow-backed leaders graze—

A guard behind their plunder,

And a veil before their ways.

With march and countermarchings—

With weight of wheeling hosts—

Stray mob or bands embattled—

We ring the chosen coasts:

And, careless of our clamour

That bids the stranger fly,

At peace within our pickets

The wild white riders lie.

Trust ye the curdled hollows—

Trust ye the neighing wind—

Trust ye the moaning groundswell—

Our herds are close behind!