HOLBAIN, a youth benighted in his course,
Led o'er the marshy plains his fiery horse;
Involving treacherous mists delude his sight,
While lost he wander'd through the dreary night.
With speed his blood grew warm, his pulses beat,
The spirits to his panting heart retreat;
Where tyrant fear with thrilling horror press'd,
Till now a stranger to his daring breast.
An unknown, trackless waste before him lay,
And boggy marshes intercept his way;
His eager pace is check'd by dangerous swamps,
Or stopping he is chill'd by mizzling damps.
Alone, his active mind conspir'd with fear,
And fancied forms impregnated the air:
Lightly he stepp'd, of every sound afraid,
And often startled by the steed he led,
Which as he curb'd unruly rear'd and neigh'd.
Clearing the clouds, a sudden gust arose,
Sigh'd through the woods, and shook the wat'ry boughs
Alarm'd, his hand his courser's rein forsook,
Which free, impetuous o'er the meadows broke;
In bounding circles strove to heave along,
Clogg'd 'mid the slimy mud, and fiercely strong;
Snorting with direful rage, he madd'ning flies,
Then plung'd, and smother'd in a quagmire dies.