Forest scene.
163
There o'er the fair leaf-laden rill
The laurel sheds its clustered bloom,
And throned upon the rock-wreathed hill,
The rowan waves his scarlet plume.
The laurel sheds its clustered bloom,
And throned upon the rock-wreathed hill,
The rowan waves his scarlet plume.
No huntsman's call, no baying hound,
Scares from his rest the light-limbed stag,
But following faint his airy bound
Glad echo leaps from crag to crag;
From morn till eve the wood-birds sing,
And, by the wild wave's glittering play,
The pheasant plumes her glossy wing,
The doe lies couched at close of day.
Scares from his rest the light-limbed stag,
But following faint his airy bound
Glad echo leaps from crag to crag;
From morn till eve the wood-birds sing,
And, by the wild wave's glittering play,
The pheasant plumes her glossy wing,
The doe lies couched at close of day.
From slippery ledge, from moss-grown rock,
Dash the swift waters at a bound,
And from the foam that veils the shock
Floats every wavelet sparkle-crowned.
By brake, and dell, and lawny glade,
O'er gnarled root, o'er mossy stone,
Beneath the forest's emerald shade
The brook winds murmuring, chiding on.
Dash the swift waters at a bound,
And from the foam that veils the shock
Floats every wavelet sparkle-crowned.
By brake, and dell, and lawny glade,
O'er gnarled root, o'er mossy stone,
Beneath the forest's emerald shade
The brook winds murmuring, chiding on.
