What has become of the time when I used to bestride a swimmer,
With black eye, wide nostrils,
Clean limbs, and a faithful heart!
It was a sparrow-hawk for carnage,
And life was nothing worth to me
When the bridle was out of my hands.
I was then young; I went in search of danger,
I mocked at the ill-omened ravens;
The distant always seemed to me close at hand,
And my tent overflowed with plunder.