thee. But mark—if, when the time be sped, Thou fail'st—thy surety dies instead. His life shall buy thine own release; Thy guilt atoned, my wrath shall cease."     He sought his friend—"The king's decree Ordains my life the cross upon Shall pay the deed I would have done; Yet grants three days' delay to me, My sister's marriage-rites to see; If thou, the hostage, wilt remain Till I—set free—return again!"     His friend embraced—No word he said, But silent to the tyrant strode—     The other went upon his road. Ere the third sun in heaven was red, The rite was o'er, the sister wed; And back, with anxious heart unquailing, He hastes to hold the pledge unfailing. Down the great rains unending bore, Down from the hills the torrents rushed, In one broad stream the brooklets gushed. The wanderer halts beside the shore, The bridge was swept the tides before—    The shattered arches o'er and under Went the tumultuous waves in thunder. Dismayed he takes his idle stand—     Dismayed, he strays and shouts around; His voice awakes no answering sound. No boat will leave the sheltering strand, To bear him to the wished-for land; No boatman will Death's pilot be; The wild stream gathers to a sea! Sunk by the banks, awhile he weeps, Then raised his arms to Jove, and cried,     "Stay thou, oh stay the maddening tide; Midway behold the swift sun sweeps, And, ere he sinks adown the deeps, If I should fail, his beams will see My friend's last anguish—slain for me!"     More fierce it runs, more broad it flows, And wave on wave succeeds and dies And hour on hour remorseless flies; Despair at last to daring grows—    Amidst the flood his form he throws; With vigorous arms the roaring waves Cleaves—and a God that pities, saves. He wins the bank—he scours the strand, He thanks the God in breathless prayer; When from the forest's gloomy lair, With ragged club in ruthless hand, And breathing murder—rushed the band That find, in woods, their savage den, And savage prey in wandering men.     "What," cried he, pale with generous fear;     "What think to gain ye by the strife? All I bear with me is my life—    I take it to the king!"—and here He snatched the club from him most near:    And thrice he smote, and thrice his blows Dealt death—before him fly the foes! The sun is glowing as a brand; And faint before the parching heat, The strength forsakes the feeble feet:    "Thou hast saved me from the robbers' hand, Through wild floods given the blessed land; And shall the weak limbs fail me now? And he!—Divine one, nerve me, thou!" 

      Hark! like some 

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