The lines below are founded on a legend, that is as well authenticated as any superstition of the kind; and as current in the place where it originated, as could be expected of one that possesses so little interest.
'How cold, how beautiful, how bright,
The cloudless heaven above us shines;
But this is a howling winter's night—
That would freeze the very forest pines.
'The winds are up, while mortals sleep;
The stars look forth when eyes are shut;
The bolted snow lies drifted deep
Around our poor and lonely hut.
'With silent step and listening ear,
With bow and arrow, dog, and gun,
We'll mark his track, for his prowl we hear,
Now is our time— come on, come on.'
The many a fence, through many a wood,
Following the dog's bewildered scent,
In anxious haste and earnest mood,
The Man and his canine companion went.
The gun is cocked, the bow is bent,
The dog stands with uplifted paw,
And ball and arrow swift are sent,
Aimed at the prowler's very jaw.
— The goal, to kill that fox, Vulpine is running
through a forest a Black fox with green eyes jumping from rock to
rock trying to elude his captors.

For black-vulpine