I say, enclosed in skins that wind he gave, Which in such fury blows at noon, on high I moves the shifting plain in many a wave, And fills the eddying sand the troubled sky, To carry with them, and from scathe to save Their squadrons, lest the dusty whirlwind fly;
And bids them, when arrived at home, unnoose The bladder's vent, and let their prisoners loose.
