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XII
`We neared the wild wood - `twas so wide,
I saw no bounds on either side;
`Twas studded with old sturdy trees,
That bent not to the roughest breeze
Which howls down from Siberia`s waste,
And strips the forest in its haste, -
But these were few and far between,
Set thick with shrubs more young and green,
Luxuriant with their annual leaves,
Ere strown by those autumnal eves
That nip the forest`s foliage dead,
Discoloured with a lifeless red,
Which stands thereon like stiffened gore
Upon the slain when battle`s o`er,
And some long winter`s night hath shed
Its frost o`er every tombless head,
So cold and stark, the raven`s beak
May peck unpierced each frozen cheek:
`Twas a wild waste of underwood,
And here and there a chestnut stood,
The strong oak, and the hardy pine;
But far apart - and well it were,
Or else a different lot were mine -
The boughs gave way, and did not tear
My limbs; and I found strength to bear
My wounds, already scarred with cold -
My bonds forbade to loose my hold.
We rustled through the leaves like wind,
Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;
By night I heard them on the track,
Their troop came hard upon our back,
With their long gallop, which can tire
The hound`s deep hate, and hunter`s fire:
Where`er we flew they followed on,
Nor left us with the morning sun;
Behind I saw them, scarce a rood,
At day-break winding through the wood,
And through the night had heard their feet
Their stealing, rustling step repeat.
Oh! how I wished for spear or sword,
At least to die amidst the horde,
And perish - if it must be so -
At bay, destroying many a foe
When first my courser`s race begun,
I wished the goal already won;
But now I doubted strength and speed:
Vain doubt! his swift and savage breed
Had nerved him like the mountain-roe -
Nor faster falls the blinding snow
Which whelms the peasant near the door
Whose threshold he shall cross no more,
Bewildered with the dazzling blast,
Than through the forest-paths he passed -
Untired, untamed, and worse than wild;
All furious as a favoured child
Balked of its wish; or fiercer still
A woman piqued - who has her will.
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