Forsaking the meadows and marshlands, the while of herdsman or herd
He taketh no heed, pressing on in his wild course now without check,
Now making a moment’s stand, and uplifting his massive neck,
He uttereth bellowings, mad with the sting of the cruel breese;
So he in his frenzy now would be plying his strong swift knees {1270}
Unresting, and now from his toil would he cease for a moment’s space,
And shouted:—the mighty voice rang far through the lonely place.
Eftsoons the morning-star rose over the mountain’s crest,
And the winds swept down from the gorges; and Tiphys cried on the rest
To get them aboard in haste, and to hearken the wind’s behest.