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_
HUGO and ORION riding at speed on black horses.
Mountains in the distance. Night.
Hugo.
See! the sparks that fly from our hoof-strokes make
A fiery track that gleams in our wake;
Like a dream the dim landscape past us shoots,
Our horses fly.
Orion.
They are useful brutes,
Though somewhat skittish; the foam is whit'ning
The crest and rein of my courser "Lightning";
He pulls to-night, being short of work,
And takes his head with a sudden jerk;
Still heel and steady hand on the bit,
For that is "Tempest" on which you sit.
Hugo.
'Tis the bravest steed that ever I back'd;
Did'st mark how he crossed yon cataract?
From hoof to hoof I should like to measure
The space he clear'd.
Orion.
He can clear at leisure
A greater distance. Observe the chasm
We are nearing. Ha! did you feel a spasm
As we flew over it?
Hugo.
Not at all.
Orion.
Nathless 'twas an ugly place for a fall.
Hugo.
Let us try a race to yon mountain high,
That rears its dusky peak 'gainst the sky.
Orion.
I won't disparage your horsemanship,
But your steed will stand neither spur nor whip,
And is hasty and hard to steer at times.
We must travel far ere the midnight chimes;
We must travel back ere the east is grey.
Ho! "Lightning"! "Tempest"! Away! Away!
[They ride on faster.] _
Read next: Scene 17. A Peak in a Mountainous Country Overhanging a Rocky Pass
Read previous: Scene 15. Another Wayside House, Near the Norman Frontier
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