Ix

But where the path bent towards the wood, Across it hung a sombre screen, The deadly night-shade, leaden-hued; And there behind it, darkly seen, A Being stood:

The form, if any form it had, Was likest to a nightly vision In mantle of amazement clad, A terror-sense, without precision, Of something bad.

A tremble chilled the forest shade, A roving lion turned and fled, The birds cowered home in hush of dread; But Eve was not afraid.