(But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds,
And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop,
And seem to plow the ground! then all at once,
With greedy nostrils, snuff the fuming steam
That glads their fluttering hearts. As winds let loose
From the dark caverns of the blustering god,
They burst away and sweep the dewy lawn.
Hope gives them wings, while she’s spurred on by fear.
The welkin rings—men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods
In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths,