There he arose and he struggled anew,
And staggered again? — but no!
The strength that is born of his wild, free life
Has conquered this deadly foe;
And the steps of the Wolf grow steady and strong
Till he ’s spurning the prairie again.
(Still the White Owl, following far behind,
Winnows low o’er the distant plain.)
Now this is the place of another bait,
With Fox tracks here and there:
Both bait and Fox are gone, and the tracks
The power of the poison declare.
Still he follows and scans as he onward runs;
But see! by the bushes ahead
There ’s a yellow fur — ’t is the Fox himself:
In the snow he lies stark and dead!
(From a neighboring tree, the Owl’s great eyes
Take in the scene below;
And he bides till the carrion furless lies.
And waits till the Hunter takes up his prize
And takes up his gun to go.
This is the chance that the Owl foresaid
When he followed afar on the snow.)