So scented the grim Feature, and upturn'd

His nostril wide into the murky air,

Sagacious of his quarry from so far.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book x. Line 279.

The canvas glow'd beyond ev'n Nature warm,

The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Traveller. Line 137.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan which moves

To that mysterious realm where each shall take

His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave

Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878): Thanatopsis.