THE FOREST.
"We stand, though years on years have rolled
And finished their weary length;
And our dark leaves glitter, our branches fold,
Proud in their native strength.
We lift up our heads towards the azure sky,
Glistening in pale moonlight,
When is heard the night-bird's piercing cry,
Through the trembling silence of night.
And finished their weary length;
And our dark leaves glitter, our branches fold,
Proud in their native strength.
We lift up our heads towards the azure sky,
Glistening in pale moonlight,
When is heard the night-bird's piercing cry,
Through the trembling silence of night.
"On our bosom a sign of gloom we wear,
Through which as the dim mists stray,
The graceful forms of the bounding deer
Vanish in beauty away;
And the deep, clear notes of the forest-bird
Melt through the shadowy space,
Where never the sounding axe was heard
Felling our ancient race.
Through which as the dim mists stray,
The graceful forms of the bounding deer
Vanish in beauty away;
And the deep, clear notes of the forest-bird
Melt through the shadowy space,
Where never the sounding axe was heard
Felling our ancient race.
"We stand, though year hath followed year,
And finished a weary length,
And, feeling of storm and time no fear,
Exult in our lusty strength.
And finished a weary length,
And, feeling of storm and time no fear,
Exult in our lusty strength.
