’Tis vain—her noontide strength has fled—
She falls upon the shore.
One eager bound—the Hunter’s knife
Sank deep to end her struggling life;
Yet, e’en as flashed the murd’rous blade,
There came a shrill and plaintive cry:
The Hind was not—a beauteous maid
Lay gasping with upbraiding eye.
The glossy head and neck were gone,
The snowy furs that clasped her round;