Of this enough. But if the silvan youth
Whose fervent blood boils into violence,
Must have the chace; behold, despising flight,
The rous'd-up lyon, resolute, and slow,
Advancing full on the protended spear,
And coward-band, that circling wheel aloof.
Slunk from the cavern, and the troubled wood,
See the grim wolf; on him his shaggy foe
Viudictive fix, for murder is his trade:
And, growling horrid, as the brindled boar
Grins near destruction, to the monster's heart
Let the dart lighten from the nervous arm.