Dauntless at empty noises; lofty necked; Sharp-headed, barrel-bellied, broadly backed; Brawny his chest, and deep; his colour gray; } For beauty, dappled, or the brightest bay: } Faint white and dun will scarce the rearing pay. } The fiery courser, when he hears from far The sprightly trumpets, and the shouts of war, Pricks up his ears; and, trembling with delight, Shifts place, and paws, and hopes the promised fight. On his right shoulder his thick mane reclined, Ruffles at speed, and dances in the wind. His horny hoofs are jetty black and round; } His chine is double; starting with a bound } He turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground. } Fire from his eyes, clouds from his nostrils, flow: He bears his rider headlong on the foe. Such was the steed in Grecian poets famed, Proud Cyllarus, by Spartan Pollux tamed: Such coursers bore to fight the god of Thrace; And such, Achilles, was thy warlike race. In such a shape, grim Saturn did restrain His heavenly limbs, and flowed with such a mane, When, half-surprised, and fearing to be seen, The lecher gallopped from his jealous queen, Ran up the ridges of the rocks amain, And with shrill neighings filled the neighbouring plain. But, worn with years, when dire diseases come, Then hide his not ignoble age at home, In peace to enjoy his former palms and pains; And gratefully be kind to his remains. For, when his blood no youthful spirits move, He languishes and labours in his love; And, when the sprightly seed should swiftly come, Dribbling he drudges, and defrauds the womb. In vain he burns, like hasty stubble-fires, And in himself his former self requires. His age and courage weigh; nor those alone, But note his father's virtues and his own: Observe, if he disdains to yield the prize, Of loss impatient, proud of victories. Hast thou beheld, when from the goal they start, The youthful charioteers with heaving heart Rush to the race; and, panting, scarcely bear The extremes of feverish hope and chilling fear; Stoop to the reins, and lash with all their force? The flying chariot kindles in the course: And now alow, and now aloft, they fly, As borne through air, and seem to touch the sky. No stop, no stay: but clouds of sand arise, Spurned, and cast backward on the followers' eyes. The hindmost blows the foam upon the first: Such is the love of praise, an honourable thirst. Bold Erichthonius was the first who joined Four horses for the rapid race designed, And o'er the dusty wheels presiding sate: The Lapithæ, to chariots, add the state Of bits and bridles: taught the steed to bound, To run the ring, and trace the mazy round; To stop, to fly, the rules of war to know; To obey the rider, and to dare the foe. To chuse a youthful steed with courage fired,