As when a shipwright with his wimble bores

Tough oaken timber, placed on either side

Below, his fellow-artists strain the thong

Alternate, and the restless iron spins,

So, grasping hard the stake pointed with fire,

We twirl'd it in his eye; the bubbling blood

Boil'd round about the brand; his pupil sent

A scalding vapour forth that sing'd his brow,

And all his eye-roots crackled in the flame.

As when the smith an hatchet or a large axe

Tempr'ing with skill, plunges the hissing blade

Deep in cold water, (whence the strength of steel)

So hiss'd his eye around the olive-wood.