light in the saddle

Your "almost happiness!" — and "burden," of life did you mean? for I never saw one lighter mounted on a finer horse!
(April 1852, Scenes Beyond the Western Border;
and Scenes and Adventures in the Army)

The Hospital Steward -- even he
(Sacred in person as a priest),
And on his coat-sleeve broidered nice
Wore the caduceus, black and green.
No wonder he sat so light on his beast;
This cheery man in suit of price
Not even Mosby dared to slice. (The Scout Toward Aldie)

"Pathetic grow'st thou," Derwent said:
And lightly, as in leafy glade,
Lightly he in the saddle sat.   (Clarel 2.8)

good mornings with horses

December 1850

Do you want to know how I pass my time? — I rise at eight— thereabouts — & go to my barn — say good-morning to the horse, & give him his breakfast.  (It goes to my heart to give him a cold one, but it can’t be helped) Then, pay a visit to my cow....

-- Herman Melville, writing to Evert Duyckinck on 13 December 1850; letter transcribed in the 1993 Northwestern-Newberry Edition of Melville's Correspondence, edited by Lynn Horth, page 172.

Herman Melville, letter to Evert A. Duyckinck dated December 12, 1850
via The New York Public Library Digital Collections

 Pierre, 1852

Now, this grand old Pierre Glendinning was a great lover of horses. . .He said that no man loved his horses, unless his own hands grained them. Every Christmas he gave them brimming measures. "I keep Christmas with my horses," said grand old Pierre. This grand old Pierre always rose at sunrise; washed his face and chest in the open air; and then, returning to his closet, and being completely arrayed at last, stepped forth to make a ceremonious call at his stables, to bid his very honorable friends there a very good and joyful morning. 

Scenes Beyond the Western Border, August 1853

August 4th.[1845]—We marched at half-past 6 o'clock. That means that two hours earlier a trumpet had called us all from sleep to sudden labours; first, arms in hand,—there is an inspection,—then a "stable call," which the poor horses know well, although they have perhaps forgotten what a stable is, or have despaired ever to see one again; possibly they retain a vague memory of the grain, which, on a time, was served to them at that signal.  Now they whinny a morning greeting to their masters, and seem grateful for a little rubbing of their stiffened limbs, and removal to fresh grass.