And be like one that struggleth

  And be like one that struggleth; then at last

  Challenge the winds to race him, and at speed

  Launched through the open, like a reinless thing,

  Scarce print his footsteps on the surface-sand.

  As when with power from Hyperborean climes

  The north wind stoops, and scatters from his path

  Dry clouds and storms of Scythia; the tall corn

  And rippling plains 'gin shiver with light gusts;

  A sound is heard among the forest-tops;

  Long waves come racing shoreward: fast he flies,

  With instant pinion sweeping earth and main.

    A steed like this or on the mighty course

  Of Elis at the goal will sweat, and shower

  Red foam-flakes from his mouth, or, kindlier task,

  With patient neck support the Belgian car.