Bring on the gathering storm, her fears prevail,
And o’er the plain, and o’er the mountain’s ridge
Away she flies; nor ships with wind and tide,
And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast.
Once more, ye jovial train, your courage try,
And each clean courser’s speed. We scour along
In pleasing hurry and confusion lost;
Oblivion to be wish’d. The patient pack
Hang on the scent unwearied; up they climb,
And ardent we pursue; our laboring steeds