On its flight these dear beings depend,
Whose kindness, by danger uncheck'd,
Has deserv'd to find Heaven their friend.

See the beast! Lo! his eye-balls yet burn,
On his prey he still gloats, with a yawn,
Yet the woman he does not discern;
And her bow is undauntedly drawn.

O love! it is thine to impart
Such force, as none else can bestow--
She has shot with the strength of her heart,
She has pierced her infuriate foe.

While his jaws were enormously spread,
(The truth of her archery see!)
Thro' his cheek her sure arrow has sped;
It fastens his flesh to the tree.

Too soon of her conquest secure,
She runs within reach of his claw,
But in tortures he cannot endure,
He has struck her to earth with his paw.

Lo! anxious the peasant descends:
Good peasant no more be afraid!
Heaven sent her the bravest of friends,
In the boy who has rush'd to her aid.

Before thou couldst spring to the ground,