CHAPTER XI.
THE MOUNTAIN MARCH.
“Onward amid the copse ’gan peep,
A narrow inlet still and deep,
Affording scarce such breadth of brim
As served the wild duck’s brood to swim;
Lost for a space through thickets veering,
But broader when again appearing,—
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face
Could in the dark-blue mirror trace;
And farther as the hunter strayed,