Hast thou beheld, when from the jail they start,
The youthful charioteers with beating heart
Rush to the race: and panting scarcely bear,
The extremes of feverish hopes and chilling fear;
Stoop to the reins and lash with all their force;
The flying chariot kindles in the course.
And now a-low and now a-loft they fly,
As borne through air and seem to touch the sky:
No stop no stay; but clouds of sand arise,
Spurned and cast backwards on the viewers eyes:
The hindmost blows the foam upon the first:
Such is the love of praise and honourable thirst.

18th century translation of Virgil’s Georgics chpt iii, 103