XLII.
Vast mantle hoar. And he began to hear,
At times, the fox's bark, and the fierce howl
Of wolf, sometimes afar—sometimes so near,
That in the very glen they seemed to prowl
Where now he, wearied, paused—and then his ear
Started to note some shaggy monster's growl,
That from his snow-clad rocky den did peer,
Shrunk with gaunt famine in that tempest drear,
XLIII.
And scenting human blood:—yea, and so nigh,
Thrice did our northern tiger seem to come,
He thought he heard the fagots crackling by,
And saw, through driven snow and twilight gloom,
Peer from the thickets his fierce burning eye,
Scanning his destined prey, and through the broom,
Thrice stealing on his ears, the whining cry
Swelled by degrees above the tempest high.
XLIV.
Wayworn he stood—and fast that stormy night
Was gathering round him over hill and dale;
He looked around and by the lingering light,
Found he had paused within a narrow vale;
On either hand a snow-clad rocky height
Ascended high, a shelter from the gale,
Whilst deep between them, in thick glooms bedight,
A swampy dingle lay before his sight.
XLV.
Through the white billows thither did he wade,
And deep within its solemn bosom trod;
Then on the snow with oft repeated tread
Hardened a flooring for his night's abode;—
