A pack of wolves. Through many a whirlpool then
He comes to foxes in deceit so deep
They fear no catching by more crafty men.
What though o'erheard, no silence will I keep!
And well for this man, if in mind he bear
What my true spirit unfolds. One of thy blood
Shall hunt those wolves. I see thy grandson there
Harrowing the borders of that savage flood;
All fly before him, all are in despair:
He makes a market of their living flesh,