While every gasp with sobs he drew,
The laboring stag strained full in view.
The Lady of the Lake. Sir Walter Scott.
The man who rode on the horse performed the whip and an instrument made of steel alone with strong ardor not diminishing, for, being tired from the time passed with hard labor overworked with anger and ignorant with weariness, while every breath for labor he drew with cries full of sorrow, the young deer made imperfect who worked hard filtered in sight.
To him who in the love of nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language. For his gayer hours
She has a smile and eloquence of beauty,
And she steals into his darker musings