SPUING MORNING OF A BEREAVED MAN 345
Fair forests ! Once in happier days how sweet ye seemed
when sere ! Ye mind me now of vanished joys ; ah, why were ye so dear ?
��And the merry trout shall sport about within our favorite
brook, Where oft we sat on leafy mat to ponder o'er our book, While the partridge roamed the forest and the squirrel chat- tered shrill. And over head the boughs hung dead, and all the winds were
still. When the flowerless clematis, grown old, has gained a bristly
beard, And the crow screams loud, from leafy shroud of the dark
pine groves heard ; When, hushed around, all other sound is silent as the grave. And asters blue shall mock the hue that gleams beneath the
wave. All I shall see that gladdened me, except one well-known face ; When autumn weaves our couch of leaves, thy seat is empty
space.
��I shall tread back the well-known track, the book shall be
forgot ; My feet shall pass through rustling grass to reach our lonely
cot; The light shall spill o'er every hill in showers of dazzling rays, And from each sod the golden-rod in every field shall blaze ; And katydid, through daylight hid, at eve his song shall sing, And full of mirth before the hearth shall make the twilight
ring; While in the orchard the red owl mews from his apple-tree. And the gray one in the deep pine wood sits neighing mourn- fully ;
�� �
