Benighted thus our pilgrim groped his ground,
Half ’twixt the river’s and the cataract’s sound.
At last a sheep-dog’s bark informed his ear
Some human habitation might be near;
Anon sheep-bleatings rose from rock to rock,—
’Twas Luath hounding to their fold the flock.
Ere long the cock’s obstreperous clarion rang,
And next, a maid’s sweet voice, that spinning sang:
At last amidst the greensward (gladsome sight!)
A cottage stood, with straw roof golden bright.