BALLAD OF THE BLACK FOX SKIN
The river writhed beneath the ice; it groaned like
one in pain, And yawning chasms opened wide, and closed and
yawned again; And sheets of silver heaved on high until they split
in twain
From out the road-house by the trail they saw a
man afar Make for the narrow river-reach where the swift
cross-currents are; Where, frail and worn, the ice is torn and the angry
waters jar.
But they did not see him crash and sink into the
icy flow; They did not see him clinging there, gripped by
the undertow, Clawing with bleeding finger-nails at the jagged
ice and snow.
They found a note beside the hole where he had
stumbled in: "Here met his fate by evil luck a man who lived
in sin, And to the one who loves me least I leave this
black fox skin."
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