Who can describe the youth's surprise,
When by the moon-beam he descries
The source of his escape!
That aid, who crush'd his murd'rous foes,
To meet his gratitude now rose.
And in a serpent's shape.

"My Zoe!" (hear him now exclaim)
The child had by that fondling name,
Been used his snake to call:
The reptile heard, and at the sound
Began, with pitying care, around
His wounded foot to crawl.

The blood she staunch'd, with tender tongue,
Then higher to his hand she sprung,
And lick'd with fond caress!
Her gestures all this truth declare,
"Thy Zoe makes thy life her care,
And joys in her success!"

The wasting night now wears away;
The youth's fond mother at his stay,
To fear maternal yields;
And doubting of some dire mischance,
She hurries, ere the morn's advance,
To seek him in the fields.

With what delight, with what amaze,