perilous step. 
    The Moon alone was kind to the poor child,
    Shedding its softest lustre round her feet. 
    Near half way up the mount she may have passed
    When a fierce growl smote on her frightened ear,
    As, from the shadows bounding, came a beast,
    Grizzly, ferocious, snapping its sharp tusks:—­
    So close it came she felt the hungry breath
    Rushing in fiery vapor from its mouth,
    She sprang aside, then fled; but steep the path,
    And sinking fainting, to the ground, she sighed—­
    “This is the last!  BERTHO!  Ah, me! farewell!”

“Nay, not the last! thou’rt not dead yet, my dear! 
Look up, thou fairy, or thou mortal child—­
I scarce know which—­assure thyself of life. 
Look up! look up!  It cannot be I see
Before me, in this region of dispair,
A veritable mortal?”

                      By his voice

Recalled to life, the trembling girl arose. 
Before her stood a man; and in his hand
A spear that dripped with her pursuer’s blood. 
With still unconquered terror of the brute
She turned her head.

                      “Fear nothing, thou sweet child;

But if thou art what now thou dost appear,
A creature of that world from whence I come,
Let me but hear thy voice—­but hear one word
Of my blest country’s language, and I’ll deem
The service I have done thee with this spear
Naught in comparison.  Speak, quickly speak!”

“What shall I say, but thank thee for my life? 
I am a maiden from far Southern climes
Come searching for my lover.  Dost thou know
Where cruel OENE hast my BERTHO hidden? 
What do’est thou here?  It must be thou art come
In search of wife or child,—­what other fate
Could lead thee to such barren heights as these?”

    “Alas! dear child! there are other springs than love
    To move the human heart.  Ambition, may be;
    Or better, a desire to serve my Queen
    And my illustrious country, led me here.”

    He paused and sighed.  She saw his locks were thin;
    Some white with years, but more with troubled toil;
    And that he stood barefooted in the snow. 
    The pitying tears began within her eyes
    To gather into brightness as she gazed,
    Upon the grey, sublime, forlorn old man. 
    Coldly the moonlight glinted o’er the group
    Regarding each the other with surprise:—­
    She, sad at his abandonment of hope;
    He, struck with mingled wonder and delight
    To meet this woman, beautiful and young.

    “Dear friend,” she said, brushing away her tears,
    “If thou wilt rest thee on this smoothest rock
    And tell me who thou art, and whence did come,
    And wherefore lingering here, pleased will I listen.”