Dear child do not tremble for me!
I fear not if thou art secure;
I shall 'scape in the limbs of a tree."

He spoke, flying light as the breeze,
His cattle were scatter'd before,
Them he thought that the Lion would seize,
And for human food hunger no more.

But athirst for the blood of a man,
All the herd he in fury disdain'd;
And leapt at the bough, as he ran,
Which the peasant had rapidly gain'd.

He leapt, but he fail'd of his prey;
For the peasant was happily higher:
Beneath him, indignant, he lay,
And watch'd him with vigilant ire.

The boy had his father obey'd,
And ran for his rustic abode;
And oft turning, that father survey'd,
And hardly remember'd his road.

But when, with a burst of delight.
His father he saw in a tree,
He lost all his sense of affright,
And his terror was turn'd into glee.

Then quick to his mother he sped,