A PATTERING rush like the rattle of hail
When the storm king's wild coursers are out on the trail,
A long roll of hoofs,— and the earth is a drum!
The centaurs! See! Over the prairies they come!
A rollicking, clattering, battering beat;
A rhythmical thunder of galloping feet;
A swift-swirling dust-cloud — a mad hurricane
Of swarthy, grim faces and tossing, black mane;
Hurrah! in the face of the steeds of the sun
The gauntlet is flung and the race is begun!
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