Texts and Excerpts

“Bring forth the steed!” It was a level plain

Broad and unbroken as the mighty sea,

When in their prison caves the winds lie chained.

There Philip sat, pavilioned from the sun;

There, all around, thronged Macedonia’s hosts,

Bannered and plumed and armed – a vast array.

There too among an undistinguished crowd

Distinguished not himself by pomp, or dress,

Or any royal sign, save that he wore

A god-like aspect like Olympian Joe,

And perfect grace and dignity,—a youth—

A simple youth scared sixteen summers old,

With swift impatient step walked to and fro.

E’en from their monarch’s throne, they turned to view—

Those countless congregations—that young form;

And when he cried again, “Bring forth the steed!”

Like thunder rolled the multitudinous shout

Along the heavens—“Live, Alexander!”

Then Philip waved his scepter—silence fell

O’er all the plain.—‘Twas but a moment’s pause,

While every gleaming banner, helm, and spear

Sunk down like ocean billows, when the breeze

First sweeps along and bends their silvery crests.

Ten thousand trumpets run amid the hail

Of armies, as in victory—“Live the King!”

And Philonicus, the Pharsalian, kneeled:

From famous Thessaly a horse he brought,

A matchless horse. Vigor and beauty strove

Like rival sculptors carving the same stone

To win the mastery; and both prevailed.

His hoofs were shod with swiftness; where he ran

Gilded the ground like water; in his eye

Flashed the strange fire of spirits still untamed,

As when the desert owned him for its lord.

Mars! What a noble creature did he seem!

Too novel for a subject to bestride—

Worth gold in talents; chosen for a prince,

The most renowned and generous on earth.

“Obey my son, Pharsalian! Bring the steed!”

The Monarch spoke. A signal to the grooms,

And on the plain they led Bucephalus.

“Mount, vassal, mount! Why pales thy cheek with fear?

Mouth—ha! Art slain? Another! Mount again!”

‘Twas all in vain—No hand could curb a neck

Clothed with such might and grandeur, to the rein:

No thong or spur could make his fury yield—

No bounds he from the earth; and now he rears,

Now madly plunges, strives to rush away,

Like that strong bird—his fellow, king of air!

“Quick, take him hence,” cried Philip; “he is wild!”

“Stay, father, stay!—lose not this gallant steed,

For that base grooms cannot control his ire!

Give me the bridle!” Alexander threw

His light cloak from his shoulders, and drew nigh.

The brave steed was no courtier: prince and groom

Bore the same mien to him.—He started back,

But with firm grasp the youth retained and turned

His fierce eyes from his shadow to the sun,

Then with that hand, in after years which hurled

The bolts of war among embattled hosts:

Conquered all Greece, and over Persis, swayed

Imperial command—which on Fame’s Temple

Graved, Alexander, Victor of the World!—

With that same hand he smoothed the flowing mane,

Patted the glossy skin with soft caress,

Soothingly speaking in low voice the while.

Lightly he vaulted to his first great strife.

How like a Centaur looked the youth and steed!

Firmly the hero sat; his glowing cheek

Flushed with rare excitement; his high brow

Pale with a stern resolve; his lip as smiling

And his glance as calm, as if, in dalliance,

Instead of danger, with a girl he played.

Untutored to obey, how raves the steed!

Champing the bit, and tossing the white foam,

And struggling to get free, that he might dart,

Swift as an arrow from the shivering bow—

The rein is loosened. “Now, Bucephalus!”

Away—away! He flies; away—away!

The multitude stood hushed in breathless awe,

And gazed into the distance.

                                               Lo! A speck—

A darksome speck on the horizon! ‘Tis—

‘Tis he! Now it enlarges: now are seen

The horse and rider; now, with ordered pace,

The horse approaches, and the rider leaps

Down to the earth and bends his rapid pace

Unto the King’s pavilion.—The wild steed

Unled, uncalled, is following his subdue.

Philip wept tears of joy; “My son, go seek

A larger empire; for so vast a soul,

Too small is Macedonia!”