XLVI.
Straight to the blaze they moved, and, dashing down
The 'eafy branches on the mounting flame,
Put out the light, and smoke and shadow brown,
In total darkness, all the glade o'ercame;
The mother shrieked; the father, with a groan,
Heard the wild cry, and stayed her sinking frame;
And both now felt that, with that smothered ray,
The last faint trembling hope had died away.
XLVII.
A fearful growl, close to the cavern's vent,
First broke the thrall of horror and surprise;
And, by the gleam the smouldering embers sent,
That canine hybrid, shooting from his eyes
A baleful glare, crouched seemingly intent
On the scared infants as his famine's prize;
The father drove the hatchet to his brains,
One yell he gave, and writhed in dying pains.
XLVIII.
Seeking the cavern's mouth along the rock,
Some groping hand the vine's thick foliage stirred;
"Where art thou Waban!" and the war-whoop broke;
Palsied with fear the trembling mother heard;
"Where art thou, Waban!" and, with horrid look,
A giant savage through the foliage stared;
But, at that moment, from his rocky mound
'Twanged Waban's bow with sudden sharpest sound.
XLIX.
Back reeled the savage with a dismal howl,
And on the earth like stricken bullock fell.
But still new terrors filled the father's soul;
He heard another and more fearful yell;
