“God’s hand,” he said, “in this I trace.
Lead, daughter, lead me to the place.”
I led him back across the rath,
The thorn-trees all but closed the path,
And once methought a sound—“Soggarth!”
I heeded not, and hurried by,
My soul afire lest she should die
Unshriven; help being now so nigh!
Cold and wide in open day
The plain spread under that narrow way,