Scarce a breeze on the lake, with four oars to our boat;
The landscape no pencil could paint!
I thought of her fate, the midst of this scene,
When a boar puts us all in a fright.
Confusion and terror, my heart beat my breast,
Neither castle nor bower could I see;
The beautiful Queen who once made her escape
Was scarcely so frighted as me.
The house—and the trees—the town and the spire;
The hills—and the cottages round;
The water—the wind—and the flight of the birds;
Did only my senses confound.
No thought was distinct—or but lost in myself;
I prayed—and our fate did deplore;
When Serff, that good saint, from his peaceful retreat
Came quickly, and brought us to shore.