SONG OF THE HUNTER'S BRIDE.
323
The eagle sails in darkness past,
The watchful chamois bounds;
But what I look for comes not near,—
My Ulric's hawk and hounds.
Three times I thus have watched the snow
Grow crimson with the stain
The setting sun threw o'er the rock,
And I have watched in vain.
I love to see the graceful bow
Across his shoulder slung,—
I love to see the golden horn
Beside his baldric hung.
