"How now? What, you still head the race, Your eyes and tongue and teeth crave fresh food, Satan-face? Flash again? There and there! Plain I struck green fire out! All a poor fist can do to damage eyes proves vain! My fist--why not crunch that? He is wanton for ... O God, Why give this wolf his taste? Common wolves scrape and prod The earth till out they scratch some corpse--mere putrid flesh! Why must this glutton leave the faded, choose the fresh? Terentiì--God, feel!--his neck keeps fast thy bag Of holy things, saints' bones, this Satan-face will drag Forth, and devour along with him, our Pope declared The relics were to save from danger!
"Spurned, not spared! 'T was through my arms, crossed arms, he--nuzzling now with snout, Now ripping, tooth and claw--plucked, pulled Terentiì out, A prize indeed! I saw--how could I else but see?-- My precious one--I bit to hold back--pulled from me! Up came the others, fell to dancing--did the imps!-- Skipped as they scampered round. There 's one is gray, and limps: Who knows but old bad Màrpha--she always owed me spite And envied me my births--skulks out of doors at night And turns into a wolf, and joins the sisterhood, And laps the youthful life, then slinks from out the wood, Squats down at the door by dawn, spins there demure as erst --No strength, old crone--not she!--to crawl forth half a verst!
"Well, I escaped with one: 'twixt one and none there lies The space 'twixt heaven and hell. And see, a rose-light dyes The endmost snow: 't is dawn, 't is day, 't is safe at home! We have outwitted you! Ay, monsters, snarl and foam, Fight each the other fiend, disputing for a share,-- Forgetful in your greed, our finest off we bear, Tough Droug and I,--my babe, my boy that shall be man, My man that shall be more, do all a hunter can To trace and follow and find and catch and crucify Wolves, wolfkins, all your crew! A thousand deaths shall die The whimperingest cub that ever squeezed the teat! 'Take that!' we 'll stab you with,--'the tenderness we met When, wretches, you danced round,--not this, thank God--not this! Hellhounds, we balk you!'
"But--Ah, God above!--Bliss, bliss,-- Not the band, no! And yet--yes, for Droug knows him! One-- This only of them all has said 'She saves a son!' His fellows disbelieve such luck: but he believes, He lets them pick the bones, laugh at him in their sleeves: He's off and after us,--one speck, one spot, one ball Grows bigger, bound on bound,--one wolf as good as all! Oh, but I know the trick! Have at the snaky tongue! That 's the right way with wolves! Go, tell your mates I wrung The panting morsel out, left you to howl your worst! Now for it--now! Ah me, I know him--thrice-accurst Satan-face,--him to the end my foe!