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Turning back was vain,
Soon his heavy mane
Bore them to the ground;
Then he stalk'd around,
Smelling to his prey,
But their fears allay
When he licks their hands
And silent by them stands.
They look upon his eyes
Filled with deep surprise;
And wondering behold
A spirit arm'd in gold.
On his head a crown,
On his shoulders down
Flow'd his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
'Follow me,' he said,
'Weep not for the maid;
'In my palace deep,
'Lyca lies asleep.'
Then they followèd
Where the vision led,
And saw their sleeping child
Among tigers wild.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell,
Nor fear the wolvish howl
Nor the lion's growl.
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