Through the white billows thither did he wade, And deep within its solemn bosom trod; Then on the snow with oft repeated tread Hardened a flooring for his night’s abode;-- All there was calm, for the thick branches made A screen above, and round him closely stood The trunks of cedars and of pines arrayed,-- To the rude tempest a firm barricade. XLVI. And now his hatchet, with resounding stroke, Hewed down the boscage that around him rose, And of dry pine the brittle branches broke, To yield him fuel for the night’s repose: The gathered heap an ample store bespoke; He smites the steel--the tinder brightly glows; Fired by the match forth burst the kindling flame, And light upon night’s seated darkness came. XLVII. High branched the pines, and far the colonnade Of tapering trunks stood glimmering through the glen; And then rejoiced he in that lonely glade So far away from persecuting men, That he might break of honesty the bread, And blessing crave in his own way again;-- Of up-piled brush a seat and board he made, Spread his plain fare, and piously he prayed. XLVIII. “Father of mercies! thou the wanderer’s guide In this dire storm along the howling waste, Thanks for the shelter thou dost here provide, Thanks for the mercies of the day that’s past; Thanks for the frugal fare thou hast supplied; And O! may still thy tender mercies last; And may thy light on every falsehood shine, Till man’s freed spirit owns no law but thine!” XLIX. Our father ceased, and with keen relish he Refreshed his wearied frame in that lone dell; Ah! little can his far posterity Conceive the pleasures of that frugal meal; For naught he knew of lavish luxury, And toil and fast had done their office well; No costliest viands culled from land and sea Could half so sweet to pampered palates be. L. His hunger sated with his simple fare, He would, in weariness, have sought repose; But at the kindling blaze, heard wide and far, The howlings drear of forest monsters rose; And, lured around him by the vivid glare, Came darkling with light foot along the snows Whole packs of wolves, from their far mountain lair, And the fierce cat, which scarce the blaze might scare. LI. Growling they come, and in dark groups they stand, Show the white fang, and roll the brightening eye; Till urged by famine’s rage, the shaggy band Seemed even the flame’s bright terrors to defy; Then mid the group he hurled the blazing brand; Swift they disperse, and raise the scattered cry; But, rallying soon, back to the siege they came, And in their rage scarce faltered at the flame. LII.