In our modes to those of the new-world kind.
Hunters all, by virtue of speed of foot,
Patience no less, they ran down any brute;
Hands as dexterous hurled a storm of stones,
And wielded clubs that crashed through flesh and bones.
Rarely were they baulked, or had to lie low,
Hunted, the hunters, by a stronger foe!
Sometimes night surprised them, led by the chase
Far from their customary haunts. Small case
They made of that; strewed leaves, and on the heap