And so were caught and caged—all through one trip.

One touch of fool in Guido the astute!

He curses the omission, I surmise,

More than the murder. Why, thou fool and blind,

It is the mercy-stroke that stops thy fate,

Hamstrings and holds thee to thy hurt,—but how?

On the edge o' the precipice! One minute more,

Thou hadst gone farther and fared worse, my son,

Fathoms down on the flint and fire beneath!

Thy comrades each and all were of one mind,