He laughs at fear, and is not frightened; nor does he turn back from the sword.
She treats her young harshly, as if not hers; her toil is in vain, without fear,
When she lifts herself on high, she laughs at the horse and its rider.
He paws in the valley, and rejoices in strength. He gallops into the clash of arms.
The quiver rattles against him, the glittering spear and lance.
No one on earth is like him – one made without fear.
The sound of a whip and the sound of rattling wheels, of galloping horses, of jolting chariots,