Hath an instinct what to do;
Her hope is near: no turn she makes;
But, like an arrow, to the river takes.
Deep the river was, and crusted
Thinly by a one night’s frost;
But the nimble hare hath trusted
To the ice, and safely crost;
She hath crossed, and without heed
All are following at full speed,
When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread,