In a firm voice, inspiring awe,
"Cornelia I must be obeyed."

"True love is brave, whate'er may chance--
Behind this tree's protecting bole
Stand thou--nor fear the Stag's advance,
But trust to thy Fortunio's soul!"

The faithful maid, in double dread,
Fear'd to offend him more than death;
And now, as near the fierce foe sped,
Behind the tree, she pants for breath.

Yet peeping thence in fond alarm,
Most trembling for her guardian's life,
She looks, expecting that his arm
Would brandish his defensive knife.

Amazement kept the trembler mute,
To see him hurl it far away,
And from his bosom pluck his flute,
And fearlessly begin to play.

The furious parent of the dead,
Marking him near his blood-stain'd young,
Aim'd at his breast with hostile head,
As near the dauntless boy he sprung.

But ere the branching horns could reach,
That object of ill-founded ire,