But fast we fled, away, away,
       And I could neither sigh nor pray;
       And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain
       Upon the courser’s bristling mane;
       But, snorting still with rage and fear,
       He flew upon his far career: 
       At times I almost thought, indeed,
       He must have slacken’d in his speed;
       But no—­my bound and slender frame
          Was nothing to his angry might,
       And merely like a spur became;
       Each motion which I made to free
       My swoln limbs from their agony
          Increased his fury and affright: 
       I tried my voice,—­’t was faint and low. 
       But yet he swerved as from a blow;
       And, starting to each accent, sprang
       As from a sudden trumpet’s clang: 
       Meantime my cords were wet with gore,
       Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o’er;
       And in my tongue the thirst became
       A something fiercer far than flame.

       “We near’d the wild wood—­’t was so wide,
       I saw no bounds on either side;
       ’T was studded with old sturdy trees,
       That bent not to the roughest breeze
       Which howls down from Siberia’s waste,
       And strips the forest in its haste,—­
       But these were few and far between,
       Set thick with shrubs more young and green. 
       Luxuriant with their annual leaves,
       Ere strown by those autumnal eves
       That nip the forest’s foliage dead,
       Discolour’d with a lifeless red,
       Which stands thereon like stiffen’d gore
       Upon the slain when battle’s o’er,
       And some long winter’s night hath shed
       Its frost o’er every tombless head,
       So cold and stark the raven’s beak
       May peck unpierced each frozen cheek: 
       ’T was a wild waste of underwood,
       And here and there a chestnut stood,
       The strong oak, and the hardy pine;
          But far apart—­and well it were,
       Or else a different lot were mine—­
          The boughs gave way, and did not tear
       My limbs; and I found strength to bear
       My wounds, already scarr’d with cold;
       My bonds forbade to loose my hold. 
       We rustled through the leaves like wind,
       Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;
       By night I heard them on the track,
       Their troop came hard upon our back,
       With their long gallop, which can tire
       The hound’s deep hate, and hunter’s fire: 
       Where’er we flew they follow’d on,
       Nor left us with the morning sun. 
       Behind I saw them, scarce a rood,
       At day-break winding through the wood,
       And through the night had heard their feet
       Their stealing, rustling step repeat.

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