Not with the rage with which this whirlwind blows, Joust warring winds, north, south, and east, unpent.
1911, H. G. Wells, The Country of the Blind, And Other Stories:
And there, unpent by mountains, one saw the sky--the sky, not such a disc as one saw it here, but an arch of immeasurable blue, a deep of deeps in which the circling stars were floating...