Pokračování textu ze strany 174
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Now here are the chains of the Grouse’s trail;
They turn and they wind about;
And the Hunter crawls till the flock is sprung
And whirs from a snow-drift out,
Save two, which fall at the roar of the gun
And redden the dazzling snow.
(Stilt keeps the Owl his distance safe,
But follows now fast, now slow.)
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And here was the place of a poisoned bait,
Where naught but its print now lies,
For a Wolf has traced it up the wind
And swallowed the tempting prize.
Here ’t was griping his vitals and choking his breath —
That wolfskin is taken at last!
See! but a few steps, then he staggered and fell,
And writhed as his life went fast.
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