Or while, disdainful of his rider’s strength,
The snorting courser cuts the distanc’d winds
With wing’d velocity——Too late, alas!
His rashness he repents, and headlong hurl’d
Through ether’s all-unfathomable void—
(Dreadful to think)—he falls—to rise no more!
H. R. E.
Chancery-Lane.
The New Lady’s Magazine, November, 1786.
