And he snuffled responsive and rattled his curb.
Then a thick fog crawled to us and shut up the moon,
And the stars too; nor did I a minute too soon,
With compass and chart, once more strike the trail,
And shake the staunch pony together to sail—
Like a stout ship, keen watch at the bows, and steered small
Mid berg and mid mist—to a guessed-at landfall.
Well, we fetched it at last; nor did I refuse
A draught of good wine in return for my news.
The battle was fought, and the tidings were brought