Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood within doth boil,
And the dun hide glows, as if on fire, as he paws to the turmoil.
His eyes are jet, and they are set in crystal rings of snow;
But now they stare with one red glare of brass upon the foe.
Upon the forehead of the bull the horns stand close and near,
From out the broad and wrinkled skull, like daggers they appear;
His neck is massy, like the trunk of some old knotted tree,
Whereon the monster's shaggy mane, like billows curled, ye see.
His legs are short, his hams are thick, his hoofs are black as night,
Like a strong flail he holds his tail in fierceness of his might;
Like something molten out of iron, or hewn from forth the rock,
Harpado of Xarama stands, to bide the alcayde's shock.
Now stops the drum--close, close they come--thrice meet, and thrice give
back;
The white foam of Harpado lies on the charger's breast of black--
The white foam of the charger on Harpado's front of dun--
Once more advance upon his lance--once more, thou fearless one!
Once more, once more;--in dust and gore to ruin must thou reel--
In vain, in vain thou tearest the sand with furious heel--
In vain, in vain, thou noble beast, I see, I see thee stagger,
Now keen and cold thy neck must hold the stern alcayde's dagger!
They have slipped a noose around his feet, six horses are brought in,
And away they drag Harpado with a loud and joyful din.
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