And now the voice was still: and lo,
With eyes that stared on naught but night,
He saw?—what none on earth shall know!—
Was it the face that far from sight
Had lain here, buried long ago?
But men who found him,—thither led
By the wild fox,—within that place
Read in his stony eyes, 'tis said,
The thing he saw there, face to face,
The thing that left him staring dead.
THE MAN HUNT
The woods stretch deep to the mountain side,
And the brush is wild where a man may hide.
They have brought the bloodhounds up again
To the roadside rock where they found the slain.
They have brought the bloodhounds up, and they
Have taken the trail to the mountain way.
Three times they circled the trail and crossed;
And thrice they found it and thrice they lost.
Now straight through the trees and the underbrush
They follow the scent through the forest's hush.
And their deep-mouthed bay is a pulse of fear
In the heart of the wood that the man must hear.
The man who crouches among the trees
From the stern-faced men who follow these.