But now, what next? With look turned to the skies,
And unaccustomed with firm hoof the ground to beat,
He leaves the sure track of the wheels,
True to the stronger nature which he feels,
And runs through marsh and moor, o’er planted field and plain;
And the same fury seizes all the train.
No call will help, no bridle hold them in,
Till, to the mortal fright of all within,
The coach, well shaken and well smashed, brings up
In sad plight on a steep hill’s top.