[100]That scorned the hounds, and dared the barbèd strokes;
'Twas called Rivelount, not distant far
From Starley, of that shire the metro-star.
The neighbouring swains were palled with coaches' thunder,
And loud curvettings of their foaming steeds,
Whose ironed hoofs did crash the rocks in sunder;
Happy was he, who (sheathed in costly weeds)
Could win admission to this happy place,
Where Nature's wealth was locked up in a face.
Each glance she sent the object did engem,