Thine active sinews never braced.
Bend ’gainst the steepy hill thy breast,
Burst down like torrent from its crest;
With short and springing footstep pass
The trembling bog and false morass;
Across the brook like roebuck bound,
And thread the brake like questing[192] hound;
The crag is high, the scaur is deep,
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap:
Parch’d are thy burning lips and brow,