Chapter XI

Oft on the lofty banks, from jutting rocks
The buck looked wildly on the swift canoe;
Oft o’er the bramble leaped the wary fox,
With bushy tail and fur of ruddy hue;
Or wheeling high and gathering still in flocks,
The dark-winged crows did by their clamors shew
Where the lone owl, upon his moss-grown seat,
Maintained, unvanquished yet, his drear retreat.