He mocks at fear, and is not dismayed, neither does he turn back from the sword.
She deals harshly with her young ones, as if they were not hers. Though her labor is in vain, she is without fear,
When she lifts up herself on high, she scorns the horse and his rider.
He paws in the valley, and rejoices in his strength. He goes out to meet the armed men.
The quiver rattles against him, the flashing spear and the javelin.
On earth there is not his equal, that is made without fear.
The noise of the whip, the noise of the rattling of wheels, prancing horses, and bounding chariots,