Like bits of broken glass is scattered wide.
The fierce wolf prowls around thee—there it stands
Listening,—not fearful, for he nothing fears:
His red eyes burn like fury-kindled brands,
Like bristles o’er him his coarse fur he rears;
Howling, thy dreadful roar he oft repeats,
And, more ferocious, hastes to bloodier feats.
The wild stag hears thy falling waters’ sound,
And tremblingly flies forward,—o’er her back
She bends her stately horns, the noiseless ground