The Gipsy Praises his Horse

THE GIPSY PRAISES HIS HORSE

're admiring my horse, sir, I see. He 's so light that you 'd think it 's a bird&mdash; Say a swallow. Ah me! He 's a prize! It 's absurd To suppose you can take him all in as he passes With the best pair of eyes, Or the powerful aid Of your best pair of glasses: Take 'em off, and let 's trade.

What! “Is Selim as good as he seems?” Never fear, Uncle dear, He 's as good as the best of your dreams, And as sound as your sleep. It 's only that kind that a gipsy would keep. The emperor's stables can't furnish his mate. But his grit and his gait, And his wind and his ways, A gipsy like me does n't know how to praise. But (if truth must be told) Although you should cover him over with gold He 'd be worth one more sovereign still.

“Is he old?” Oh, don't look at his teeth, my dear sir! I never have seen 'em myself. Age has nothing to do with an elf; So it 's fair to infer My fairy can never grow old. Oh, don't look&mdash;(Here, my friend, Will you do me the kindness to hold For a moment these reins while I 'tend     To that fly on his shanks?)... As I said&mdash;(Ah&mdash;now&mdash;thanks!) The longer you drive The better he 'll thrive. He 'll never be laid on the shelf! The older that colt is, the younger he 'll grow. I 've tried him for years, and I know.

“Eat? Eat?” do you say? Oh, that nag is n't nice About eating! Whatever you have will suffice. He takes everything raw&mdash; Some oats or some hay, Or a small wisp of straw, If you have it. If not, never mind&mdash; Selim won't even neigh. What kind of a feeder is he? That 's the kind!

“Is he clever at jumping a fence?” What a question to ask! He 's immense At a leap! How absurd! Why, the trouble 's to keep Such a Pegasus down to the ground. He takes every fence at a bound With the grace of a bird; And so great is his strength, And so keen is his sense, He goes over a fence Not across, but the way of its length!

“Under saddle?” No saddle for Selim! Why, you 've only to mount him, and feel him Fly level and steady, to see What disgrace that would be. No, you could n't more deeply insult him, unless You attempted to guess And pry into his pedigree.

Now why should you speak of his eyes? Does he seem like a horse that would need An eye-glass to add to his speed Or, perchance, to look wise? No indeed. Why, not only 's the night to that steed Just the same as the day, But he knows all that passes&mdash; Both before and behind, either way. Oh, he does n't need glasses!

“Has he any defect?” What a question, my friend! That is why, my dear sir, I am willing to sell. You know very well It is only the horse that you give or you lend That has glanders, or springhalt, or something to mend: 'T is because not a breath Of defect or of death Can be found on my Selim that he's at your pleasure. Alas! not for gipsies the care of such treasure.

And now about speed. “Is he fast?” I should say! Just listen&mdash;I'll tell you. One equinox day, Coming home from Erdout in the usual way, A terrible storm overtook us. 'T was plain There was nothing to do but to run for it. Rain, Like the blackness of night, gave us chase. But that nag, Though he 'd had a hard day, did n't tremble or sag. Then the lightning would flash, And the thunder would crash With a terrible din. They were eager to catch him; but he would just neigh, Squint back to make sure, and then gallop away. Well, this made the storm the more furious yet, And we raced and we raced, but he was n't upset, And he would n't give in! At last when we got to the foot of the hill At the end of the trail, By the stream where our white gipsy castle was set, And the boys from the camp came a-waving their caps, At a word he stood still, To be hugged by the girls and be praised by the chaps. We had beaten the gale, And Selim was dry as a bone&mdash;well, perhaps, Just a little bit damp on the tip of his tail.