Tennant's Anster Fair, XXXV

Borne after on the wings of the blast, Northward away, he speeds him fast, And his courser follows the cloudy wain Till the hoof-strokes fall like pattering rain. The clouds roll backward as he flies, Each flickering star behind him lies, And he has reached the northern plain, And backed his fire-fly steed again, Ready to follow in its flight The streaming of the rocket-light.