With the keen sense of danger that is joy,
Galloping down the steep and stony path,
Abreast, where a false step would ruin all,
As if we played a game of chance with Fate;
And Merow smiled at me and I at him.
“Soon the woods thinned where many trees lay felled,
And slopes of pasture rolled toward the Loire,
Enchanted with the moonlight; and we saw,
Black on the silver sky, the new-built tower
Of Tours unfinished, with its beacon fire.