But a bold, artful, surly savage race.
Their sport was not cricket or wrestling on the village green, but smuggling.
Beneath yon cliff they stand
To show the freighted pinnace where to land,
To load the ready steed with guilty haste,
To fly with terror o’er the pathless waste,
Or, when detected in their straggling course,
To foil their foes by cunning or by force,
Or yielding part (which equal knaves demand)
To gain a lawless passport through the land.