Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur: But, in the madness of delight, forget Your fears! Far o’er the rocky hills we range, And dangerous our course; but, in the brave, True courage never fails: in vain the stream In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch, Wide-gaping, threatens death: the craggy steep, Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care, And clings to every twig, gives us no pain; But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold To pounce his prey: then up the opponent hill, By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft. So ships, in winter seas, now sliding, sink Adown the steepy wave, then, toss’d on high, Ride on the billows, and defy the storm. What lengths we pass! where will the wandering chase Lead us, bewilder’d! smooth as swallows skim The new-shorn mead, and far more swift, we fly. See, my brave pack! how to the head they press, Justling in close array; then, more diffuse, Obliquely wheel, while, from their opening mouths, The vollied thunder breaks. So, when the cranes Their annual voyage steer, with wanton wing Their figure oft they change, and their loud clang [Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 109-132.] From cloud to cloud rebounds. How far behind The hunter-crew, wide-straggling o’er the plain! The panting courser now, with trembling nerves, Begins to reel; urged by the goring spur, Makes many a faint effort: he snorts, he foams; The big round drops run trickling down his sides, With sweat and blood distain’d. Look back, and view The strange confusion of the vale below, Where sour vexation reigns: see yon poor jade; In vain the impatient rider frets and swears, With galling spurs harrows his mangled sides; He can no more; his stiff unpliant limbs, Rooted in earth, unmoved and fix’d he stands, For every cruel curse returns a groan, And sobs, and faints, and dies! who, without grief, Can view that pamper’d steed, his master’s joy, His minion, and his daily care, well clothed, Well fed with every nicer cate; no cost, No labour, spared; who, when the flying chase Broke from the copse, without a rival led The numerous train; now, a sad spectacle Of pride brought low, and humbled insolence, Drove like a pannier’d ass, and scourged along! While these, with loosen’d reins and dangling heels, [Sidenote: BOOK III THE CHASE v. 133-155.]