Analysis of The Blood Horse

GAMARRA is a dainty steed,  
Strong, black, and of a noble breed,  
Full of fire, and full of bone,  
With all his line of fathers known;  
Fine his nose, his nostrils thin,
But blown abroad by the pride within!  
His mane is like a river flowing,  
And his eyes like embers glowing  
In the darkness of the night,  
And his pace as swift as light.

Look,—how ’round his straining throat  
Grace and shifting beauty float!  
Sinewy strength is on his reins,  
And the red blood gallops through his veins;  
Richer, redder, never ran
Through the boasting heart of man.  
He can trace his lineage higher  
Than the Bourbon dare aspire,—  
Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph,  
Or O’Brien’s blood itself!

He, who hath no peer, was born  
Here, upon a red March morn:  
But his famous fathers dead  
Were Arabs all, and Arab bred,  
And the last of that great line
Trod like one of a race divine!  
And yet,—he was but friend to one  
Who fed him at the set of sun,  
By some lone fountain ’fringed with green:  
With him, a roving Bedouin,
He liv’d,—(none else would he obey  
Through all the hot Arabian day,)—  
And died untam’d upon the sands  
Where Balkh amidst the desert stands!