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On the ski they stand but at shoulder-height
Of their rescuer’s frame, as, wild with fright,
They fare forspent,
While on safety bent,
Strikes he still onward, as were he alone.
How they go hurrying,
How they go scurrying!
Through the deep-drifted snow in their headlong flight,
Lost to men’s view as they flee through the night,
Past wild beast and troll,
Now they speed toward their goal—
Halt! Yonder a hovel half-hid in the forest.
How they went hurrying,
How they went scurrying!
In they crept, kindled fire ’gainst the winter’s rigor,
Food he set forth, and restored them to vigor,
Then landed with a leap
On the loft for sleep,
Heaving men and weapons up before him.
How they went hurrying,
How they went scurrying!
Then came the Iamtlanders’ footsore pack,
Leaping and yelping, the hounds in their track,
The bones found and pawed,
Nosed them and gnawed,
Men and dogs soon were all snoring in sleep.
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