XII.
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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 breezeWhich howls down from Siberia's waste,And strips the forest in its haste,--But these were few and far between, 470Set thick with shrubs more young and green,Luxuriant with their annual leaves,Ere strown by those autumnal eyesThat nip the forest's foliage dead,Discoloured with a lifeless red[bu],Which stands thereon like stiffened goreUpon the slain when battle's o'er;And some long winter's night hath shedIts frost o'er every tombless head--So cold and stark--the raven's beak 480May 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 tearMy limbs; and I found strength to bearMy wounds, already scarred with cold;My bonds forbade to loose my hold. 490We 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 tireThe 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, 500And through the night had heard their feetTheir 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 510Had nerved him like the mountain-roe--Nor faster falls the blinding snowWhich whelms the peasant near the doorWhose 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 childBalked of its wish; or--fiercer still--A woman piqued--who has her will! 520
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