While Lok began the meat to baste,
And feed the fire, and mix the broth.
Lo! from the wood the peasant’s son,
Laden with faggots, now appears;
He piles them on the hearth: anon
The smoking flesh the trav’llers cheers:
No dish had they; Thor’s buckler broad
This want supplied: and now they feed
With hearty zest, while the goats’ blood
Furnish’d, as wont, delicious mead.