XXV.
“The toils are pitch’d, and the stakes are set,
Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.
“It was a stag, a stag of ten,[266]
Bearing its branches sturdily;
He came stately down the glen,
Ever sing hardily, hardily.
“It was there he met with a wounded doe,
She was bleeding deathfully;
She warn’d him of the toils below,
Oh, so faithfully, faithfully!
“He had an eye, and he could heed,
Ever sing warily, warily;
He had a foot, and he could speed—
Hunters watch so narrowly.”[267]