WOOD WALK AND HYMN.
43
Stamp'd on the reverential soul of man
In visionary days; and thence thrown back
On the fair forms of nature. Many a sign
Of the great sacrifice which won us Heaven,
The woodman and the mountaineer can trace
On rock, on herb, and flower. And be it so!
They do not wisely that, with hurried hand,
Would pluck these salutary fancies forth
From their strong soil within the peasant's breast,
And scatter them—far, far too fast!—away
As worthless weeds:—Oh! little do we know
When they have soothed, when saved!
But come, dear boy!
My words grow tinged with thought too deep for thee.
Come—let us search for violets.
Child. Know you not
More of the legends which the woodmen tell
Amidst the trees and flowers?
Father. Wilt thou know more?
