XXVII.

Quiet? Ye bet! The mustang scrounch'd, His neck stretch'd out an' his nostrils wide, The moonshine swept, a white river down, The black of the mighty mountain's side, Lappin' over an' over the stuns an' brush In whirls an' swirls of leapin' light, Makin' straight fur the herd, whar black an' still, It stretch'd away to the left an' right