Sacramento Daily Record Union

DIALOGUE OF THE HORSES

FIRST HORSE
We are the pets of men—
The pampered pets of men.
There is naught for us too gentle and good
In the graceful days of our babyhood;
We frisk and caper in childish glee—
Oh, none so pretty and proud as we!
They cheer and cherish us in our play—
Oh, none so smilingly sweet as they
And when a little our lives have grown,
Each has a stable and room his own,
A waiter to fill his bill of fare,
A barber to clean and comb his hair.
Yes, we are the pets of men—
The pampered pets of men.
They show us, gayly dressed and proud,
To the eager eyes of the clamorous crowd;
They champion us in the rattling race,
They praise our beauty and praise our pace;
They keep for us our family trees—
They trumpet our name beyond the seas;
They hang our portraits on their walls,
And paint and garnish and gild our stalls.
Yes, we are the pets of men—
The pampered pets of men.

SECOND HORSE.
We are the slaves of men—
The menial slaves of men.
They lash us over the dusty roads,
They bend us down with murderous loads;
They fling vile insults on our track,
And know that we cannot answer back:
In winds of winter, or summer sun,
The tread of our toil is never done
And when we are weak, and old, and lame,
And labor-stiffened, and bowed with shame,
And hard of hearing, and blind of eye,
They drive us out in the world to die.
Yes, we are the slaves of men—
The slaves of selfish men.
They draft us into their bloody spites,
They spur us, bleeding, into their fights:
They poison our souls with their senseless ire,
And curse us into a storm of fire.
And when to death we are bowed and bent
And take the ball that for them was meant,
Alone they leave us to groan and bleed,
And dash their spurs in another steed.
Yes, we are the slaves of men—
The slaves of brutish men.
—[Will Carleton