That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft

a balm

To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men And made thee loathe thy life. The primal

curse

Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,

But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence these shades

Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof
Of
green and stirring branches is alive
And musical with birds, that sing and sport
In wantonness of spirit; while below

The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,
Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade
Try their thin wings and dance in the warm
beam

That waked them into life. Even the green

trees

Partake the deep contentment; as they bend To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene. Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to

enjoy

Existence, than the winged plunderer

That sucks its sweets.

selves,

The mossy rocks them

And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate

trees

That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude,
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark

roots,

With all their earth upon them, twisting high,
Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet
Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its
bed

Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,
Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
In its own being. Softly tread the marge,

Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, That stirs the stream in play, shall come to

thee,

Like one that loves thee nor will let thee pass Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.

SONG.

SOON as the glazed and gleaming snow Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear,

The hunter of the west must go

In depth of woods to seek the deer.

His rifle on his shoulder placed,

His stores of death arranged with skill, His moccasins and snow-shoes laced,

Why lingers he beside the hill ?

Far, in the dim and doubtful light, Where woody slopes a valley leave, He sees what none but lover might, The dwelling of his Genevieve.

And oft he turns his truant eye,
And pauses oft, and lingers near;
But when he marks the reddening sky,

He bounds away to hunt the deer.