108
poems.
Amid the woods again to stray;
For e'en the flowers and songs of birds.
The dewy mead and lowing herds,
That he had met, could not prevail
With him to linger in the vale.
'Twas them that first at early day
Had call'd him from his home away;
But a new voice, new song, had broke,
And him from his first pleasure woke,
But as he wander'd in the wood.
So solemn in its solitude,
A darken'd cloud did seem to rise;
Its beauty faded from his eyes;
Wild rocks and briars chok'd the way,
And heavy branches hid the day;
Or blacken'd trees, half burn'd and dead.
Sway'd their dark boughs above bis head
While on the moaning, fearful air
A sound arose, and from its lair
Forth rush'd a furious beast of prey
But too intent to mark bis way!
Now wildly through each glen and brake,
Where oft leapt up the hissing snake,
On fled the weary wandering child,
No more by pleasure's voice beguil'd,
But lost among the stony wild!
For e'en the flowers and songs of birds.
The dewy mead and lowing herds,
That he had met, could not prevail
With him to linger in the vale.
'Twas them that first at early day
Had call'd him from his home away;
But a new voice, new song, had broke,
And him from his first pleasure woke,
But as he wander'd in the wood.
So solemn in its solitude,
A darken'd cloud did seem to rise;
Its beauty faded from his eyes;
Wild rocks and briars chok'd the way,
And heavy branches hid the day;
Or blacken'd trees, half burn'd and dead.
Sway'd their dark boughs above bis head
While on the moaning, fearful air
A sound arose, and from its lair
Forth rush'd a furious beast of prey
But too intent to mark bis way!
Now wildly through each glen and brake,
Where oft leapt up the hissing snake,
On fled the weary wandering child,
No more by pleasure's voice beguil'd,
But lost among the stony wild!
