His growing swiftness bore him along until he flew rather than ran.

The wind met and passed us like a tornado.
Across the evil hollow we sped like a bolt from an arblast.

No monster lifted its neck; all knew the hoofs that thundered over their heads! We rushed up the hills, we shot down their farther slopes; from the rocky chasms of the river-bed he did not swerve; he held on over them his fierce, terrible gallop.

The moon, half-way up the heaven, gazed with a solemn trouble in her pale countenance.

Rejoicing in the power of my steed and in the pride of my life, I sat like a king and rode.
We were near the middle of the many channels, my horse every other moment clearing one, sometimes two in his stride, and now and then gathering himself for a great bounding leap, when the moon reached the key-stone of her arch.