I hear, as ’twere, the signal given;
Espy the creature madly driven,
Bounding off towards that Tor,[22]
Where, perchance, he’d been before,
And where the knave directs his nose,
In hopes again t’evade his foes.
Oh! tell me, tell me, Destiny—
Say, has the dark futurity
Aught so joyous yet in store
As those little rapids’ roar?—