Nor ever hound or hunter knew,
Whose flying footprint dashed the dew
In nameless forests, long since dead.

And ever thus in ceaseless roll
The wheels of Destiny and Time
Through changing form and age and clime
Bear onward the undying Soul:

Till now a Sense, confused and dim,
Dawns in a shape of nobler mould,
Less beast, scarce human; uncontrolled,
With free fierce life in every limb;

A savage youth, in painted gear,
Foot fleeter than the summer wind;
Scant speech for scanty needs designed,
Content with sweetheart, spoil and spear

And, passing thence, with burning breath,
A fiery Soul that knows no fear,
The armed hosts of Odin hear
Her voice amid the ranks of death;

There, where the sounds of war are shrill,
And clarion shrieks, and battle roars,
Once more set free, she leaps and soars
A Soul of flame, aspiring still!

Till last, in fairer shape she stands