Artful Codger mentioned this earlier. It's not a song, but a poem:

From Prairie Songs by Hamlin Garland (Cambridge: Stone and Kimball, 1893), page 125:


LADRONE
Hamlin Garland

And what of Ladrone, do you ask?
Ah, friend, I am sad at the name!
My splendid fleet roan!—the task
You require is a hard one at best.
Swift as the spectral coyote, as tame
To my voice as a sweetheart—an eye
Like a pool in the woodland asleep,
Brown, clear and calm, with color down deep
Where his brave, proud soul seemed to lie.

Ladrone! There's a spell in the name,
The dank walls fade on my eye—the roar
Of the city grows dim, as a dream;
My spirit leaps up as to soar;
Once more I'm asweep on the plain,
The summer wind sings in my hair;
Once again I hear the wild crane
Crying deep in the shimmering air;
White clouds are adrift on the breeze,
The flowers nod under our feet,
And under my thighs—'twixt my knees,
Again, as of old, I can feel
The roll of Ladrone's vast muscles, the reel
Of his chest—see the thrust of fore-limb
And hear the dull trample of heel!

We thunder behind the wild herd,
My singing whip swirls like a snake;
Hurrah! we swoop on like a bird,
With Ladrone's proud record at stake—
For the shaggy, swift leader has stride
Like the last of a long kingly line.
Her eyes flash fire through her hair,
She tosses her head in disdain,
Her mane streams abroad in the air—
She leads the mad herd of the plain
As a wolf leader leads his gaunt pack
On the slot of the desperate deer—
Their exultant eyes savagely shine!

But down on the leader's broad back
Stings my lash like a rill of red flame—
Huzza, my wild beauty, your best!
Will you teach my Ladrone a new pace?
Will you break his proud heart with a shame
By spurning the dust in his face?

The herd falls behind and is lost
As we race neck and neck, stride and stride—
Again the long whip hisses hot
Along the gray mare's glossy side—
Aha, she is lost! She does not respond—
The storm of her speed's at its best-
Now I lean to the ear of my roan
And shout, letting fall the tight rein:
Like a hound from the leash my Ladrone
Swoops ahead—
       We're alone on the plain!

                         *       *       *

Yes, alone on the wide, solemn prairie
I ride with my rifle in hand,
My eyes on the watch for the wary
And beautiful antelope band;

Or, sleeping at night in the grasses, I hear
Ladrone grazing near in the gloom.
His listening head on the sky
Comes back, etched complete to the ear.
From the river below comes the boom
Of the bittern, the trill and the cry
Of frogs in the pool, and shrill crickets' chime,
Making ceaseless and marvelous rhyme.

But what of his fate? Did he die
When that terrible tempest was done?
When he staggered with you to the light,
And the fight with the Norther was won?
Did he live like a guest at your door?

No, friend, not so, I—sold him outright.

What, sold your preserver? He who
Through wind and wild snow and deep night
Brought you safe to a shelter at last!
Did you, when the danger had ended,
Forget your dumb hero, your friend?

Forget? No, nor shall I—why, man!
It's little you know of such love
As I felt for him—you think that you feel
The same deep regard for your span,
Blanketed, shining, and clipped to the heel.
But my horse was companion and friend,
My playmate, my ship on the sea
Of dun grasses; in all kinds of weather,
Unhoused and hungry sometimes, he
Served me for love, he needed no tether!

No, I cannot forget; but who
Is the master of fortune or fate?
Who does as he wishes and not as he must?
When I sold my preserver, my mate,
My faithfulest friend, man, I wept—
Yes, I own it! His beautiful eyes
Seemed to ask what it meant, and he kept
Them fixed on me in startled surprise,
As another hand led him away,
And the last that I heard of my roan
Was the sound of his shrill, pleading neigh.

O magic west wind of the mountain!
O steed with the stinging mane!
In sleep I draw rein at the fountain,
But wake with a shiver of pain;
For the heart and the heat of the city
Are walls and prison and chain.
Lost my Ladrone, gone the wild living—
I dream, but my dreaming is vain.