7

Ye, my old friends! Look! Ye turn pale, filled o’er With love and fear! Go! Yet not in wrath. Ye could ne’er live here. Here in the farthest realm of ice and scaur, A huntsman must one be, like chamois soar.

8

An evil huntsman was I? See how taut My bow was bent! Strongest was he by whom such bolt were sent⁠— Woe now! That arrow is with peril fraught, Perilous as none.⁠—Have yon safe home ye sought!

9

Ye go! Thou didst endure enough, oh, heart;⁠— Strong was thy hope; Unto new friends thy portals widely ope, Let old ones be. Bid memory depart! Wast thou young then, now⁠—better young thou art!