At point above the quarry’s flight,
And balanced in air, and made his stoop;
But the swift heron shunned the swoop,
And, wheeling aside, a moment stayed,
Just over the gazing cavalcade;
A wild-eyed, terror-stricken bird
The Kentish hawk had canceliered,
But now drove back upon his prey,
Ire-whetted for the fresh assay.
The lady’s heart with pity filled,