LXXVI.

Sudden he stops--his eye is fixed--away-- Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear: Now is thy time, to perish, or display The skill that yet may check his mad career! With well-timed croupe[91] the nimble coursers veer; On foams the Bull, but not unscathed he goes; Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear: He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes; Dart follows dart--lance, lance--loud bellowings speak his woes.