The Dead and Dying Horses

Among many sorrowful things of that midnight field, the dead and dying horses were not least. It moved me to compassion to hear their pain fraught whinnies on every hand. And as i looked, i saw his tasselled mane had been plaited not long before by some soft, skilful fingers. At every point was a bow of ribbon, such as might well be taken from a lady's hair to honour the war horse of a favourite knight. With a single shiver, the great war horse died,. in truth, twas a melancholy place. On the midnight wind came the wail of women seeking for their kindred and the howl and fighting of hungry