4 Metaphors for flee

Gone is the flow'r that did adorn our fields; Fled are those sweet reflections of delight: Dead is my father!

Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields, And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race Their sunny robes resign; even what remained Of stronger fruits fall from the naked tree; And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around, The desolated, prospect thrills the soul.

Fled are those times when, in harmonious strains, The rustic poet praised his native plains; No shepherds now, in smooth alternate verse, Their country's beauty or their nymphs' rehearse: Yet still for these we frame the tender strain; Still in our lays fond Corydons complain, And shepherds' boys their amorous pains reveal The only pains, alas!

This fleeing to the Indians, by the way, was a feat often performed by the worst criminalsfor the renegade, the man who had "painted his face" and deserted those of his own color, was a being as well known as he was abhorred and despised on the border, where such a deed was held to be the one unpardonable crime.

4 Metaphors for  flee