Now sank the sun, but lingering gave
Last looks of love each rising wave,
That wooed his smile—when suddenly
A rifle rang, and, bounding high
In baffled rage, as, with a yell,
By death-bolt at the lover sped,
Another than his victim fell,
The father, minister of dread,
Whom wrath had rescued from the dead,
Dashed through the revel—seized his child—