Written in the chateau of M * * *
Across the large disk of the moon the cloudsRan like the smoke across a bonfire's blaze;And to the farthest limits of the skyThe woods grew dark. We marched, in silence all,Upon the humid turf, in dense low furze,Or higher heath, when under stunted pinesLike those that stud the moors, we dimly tracedThe big marks of the claws of wandering wolvesWe had already tracked. We stopped and heldOur breath to listen. Neither in the wood,Nor in the plain far off, nor in the air,The faintest sound or sigh was audible;Only the distant village weathercockCreaked to the firmament as if it mourned;For high uplifted soared above the earthThe wind, and it grazed only with its wingsThe solitary towers and dim-seen spires.While ancient oaks and other lofty trees.That leaned their brows against the rocks below.Seemed wrapt in slumber peaceful and profound.Amid this silence suddenly crouched downThe oldest of us-- hunters on the search --More closely to regard the sand we trod,For sand it was at present. Soon he roseAnd in a low voice said, that thrilled through all --For never had he been in error yetOn such a subject -- that the recent marksAnnounced the steady gait and powerful clawsOf two wolves full-grown, followed by two cubs.We then got ready our broad-bladed knivesAnd polished guns, and striving to concealThe flashing lustre of the steel that shoneToo white in the surrounding darkness, movedStep after step, pushing the boughs asideThat stretched across our path. Three stopped, -- and thenWhile straining to find out what they had seen,At once I saw two blazing eyes like coals.And then four forms, agile, and lithe, and gaunt.That danced in the faint moonlight on the furzeLike joyous greyhounds, such as oft are seenClamorous around their master from the chaseAt eve returned. Similar was their formAnd similar the dance ; only the wolvesAnd cubs gambolled in silence, as though they feltThe neighbourhood of man, their mortal foe.The male stood on his feet, and farther on,Against a tree the female wolf rech'ned --A marble image, like the one adoredBy the old Romans as the heaven-sent nurseOf Romulus and Remus, demi-gods,Who from her shaggy side drew nourishmentA slight noise, and the male wolf was alert.His hooked nails buried in the sand, he lookedIntent around, then judged himself for lostHe was surprised, and all retreat cut off!Then sudden springing forth with flaming jaws,He pounced upon the palpitating throatOf the bold dog that rashly had drawn near;Nor did he loose his terrible iron grip,Though rapid shots traversed his heaving flanks,And sharp knives in his monstrous entrails plungedLike lightnings crossed, and with each other clashed,Until faint, gasping, dead, the strangled houndRolled at his feet. He left his vanquished foeAnd gazed at us. The knives still in his sidesRested, both buried to their very hilts.He had been well nigh pinned unto the turfWhich his blood deluged. Still, around our gunsMenaced him, levelled ominously close,A sinister crescent, but he heeded not.He looked at us again, and then lay down.Licking the blood bespattered round his mouth,And deigning not to know whence death had come,Shut his large eyes, and died without a cry.I leaned my forehead on my empty gunAnd fell into a train of random thought.Unwilling, it may be, or unresolvedThe she-wolf and her cubs to sacrifice.These three had waited for the wolf, now dead;But for her cubs, I verily believe,The fair and sombre female had done more;She never would have let him die alone.But to her heart her duty now was plain:Her mother's instinct told her she must saveThe offspring of her bowels with her lifeIf need should be, that she might teach them, grownTo wolfs estate, the duties of a wolf;To suffer without shrinking hunger's pangs,Never to enter into terms with man,(Such as exist between him and the tribesOf servile animals that bear his yoke,Or chase the first possessors of the woodsAnd rocks before him, to obtain a placeTo sleep in, and a pittance from his hand,)And to hold freedom dearer far than life.
III.
Alas! I thought, in despite of the name,Believed so great, the lofty name of man,How weak we are, how abject! And I feltA shame for all our race. Life to forsake.And all its weight of sorrows and of ills,With dignity, mute, touching and sublime,Is known alone to animals contemned.To sec what man, their lord, achieves on earthAnd what he leaves untouched, inspires this thought,-- Silence is great alone, and all the restIs vanity and weakness here below.Ah ! I have learnt the lesson thou hast taught.Thou savage denizen of the forests wild.And thy last look has entered to my heart ;It said: - "If thou canst do it, mortal, striveSo that thy soul attain, through constant thoughtAnd patient study, to the lofty heightOf stoic pride that cares not for events;That height to which, bom free in pathless woods,I, without effort, from the first have reached.To groan, to cry, to seek for any aidIs cowardice. With energy and strengthPerform the long and often heavy task.And walk in singleness of heart alongThe way where fate has placed thee, whether smoothOr rough it be. Fulfil thy calling high;Then after that, like me, without complaint.Suffer and die, nor care to leave a name."
