As through the furzy brakes they drive
The trembling coverts seem alive.
Thus by the winds o’er bending corn
Loose waves of light and shade are born.
Now winding up yon steep they strain;
Now wheel in silence on the plain:
Again they catch the tainted wind;
No hound disgraceful lurks behind:
All striving with confederate aim,
Their size, their power, their speed the same,