There was a little silver moon—Diana's moon, the crescent of the huntress.
But to her, at last, there came a day when she was no longer the huntress but the hunted.
She symbolized Diana the Huntress, and was followed by her faithful hounds.
"There is no ship like a privateer, and no privateer like the Huntress," he was saying.
Beyond them, the lights of the Huntress showed where she was getting up sail.
Mark my words, there will no good come to the Huntress from setting sail of a Friday.
It is the angel of the desert, no longer in huntress garb, but dressed as a lady.
All this the quick eye of the huntress takes in at a glance, resolving her how to act.
Hunter and huntress, pillars and wrought iron, are for sale.
We soon reached the scene of my encounter with the huntress.
