The red with rage and mad with fear
They charge into the roaring ring;
Against the mockery most near
Of human might their hate they fling,
In futile, blind blood-boltering.
"The Bulls" by Robert W Service
Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun,
Her baleful eyes where sorrow rolls around;
Where gloom-enamour'd mischief loves to dwell
And murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound.
"Parody of a Translation from the Medea of Euripides" by Samuel Johnson