Thus they continued through untrodden wilds,
Whose savage echoes never yet had learnt
To imitate the cordial voice of man:
— The churning boar, and howling midnight wolves,
Had taught them all the language that they knew.
At length the Sun, behind the western mountains,
Hid his pervading eye: the humid Eve
Led on her deep'ning shades, to quench the thirst,
The fev'rish orb had left, on plants and flow'rs.
The  now strain their wistful eyes,
To meet some woodland, or some shelt'ring cave,
In which to court their strength-restoring sleep.
The last they found — it seem'd t'have been the haunt
Of fierce banditti — or more peaceful home
Of some sequester'd hermit; for its floor
The chissel's edge had smooth'd, and its low roof
Was rudely fashion'd to a semi-dome.
Here the sad trav'lers were allow'd the rest
Which through the fervid day they'd ask'd in vain.
The Princess, whose soft limbs were not inur'd
To such extreme fatigue, sunk lifeless down,
Soon as her feet had touch'd the solid earth.
The aged King, with scarce  strength, approach'd
To catch his falling Child — The flinty floor
Receiv'd them both — OSMIDA and her Sire.