I.

The Moor spread wild and far, In the sharp whiteness of a wintry shroud; Midnight yet moonless; and the winds ice-bound: And a grey dusk--not darkness--reign'd around, Save where the phantom of a sudden star Peer'd o'er some haggard precipice of cloud:-- Where on the wold, the triple pathway cross'd, A sturdy wanderer wearied, lone, and lost, Paused and gazed round; a dwarf'd but aged yew O'er the wan rime its gnome-like shadow threw; The spot invited, and by sleep oppress'd, Beneath the boughs he laid him down to rest. A man of stalwart limbs and hardy frame, Meet for the ruder time when force was fame, Youthful in years--the features yet betray Thoughts rarely mellow'd till the locks are grey: Round the firm lips the lines of solemn wile Might warn the wise of danger in the smile; But the blunt aspect spoke more sternly still That craft of craft--THE STUBBORN WILL: That which,--let what may betide-- Never halts nor swerves aside; From afar its victim viewing, Slow of speed, but sure-pursuing; Through maze, up mount, still hounding on its way, Till grimly couch'd beside the conquer'd prey!