But not by him—a sadder tale I tell!
One eve—it was the fourth—he threw him down,
Fatigued and foot-sore, on the mountain brown;
No wolf as yet had crossed his anxious way,
Although, where'er he roamed, he heard his bay;
Loth to return until the wolf he slew,
Yet, ah! his heart, to love, to feeling, true,
Led him to where his lover's hut arose,
As if her vicinage could soothe his woes.
There for awhile he lingered, and he wept