H4 I* 1 Touch with Nature. 



put it, " better minded to go 'round the hill o* 

 nights than go over it." I am happy to say I 

 slept unguarded upon its summit, nor came to 

 grief. My only sorrow was that of leaving so 

 soon. The Indians were right about the wind, 

 perhaps, but it was not always the trees that were 

 bowed before it ; to-day it was the clouds. 



Swift as the swallow, on its deadly quest, 



The fleecy clouds of summer hurry by, 

 Borne by the breeze : as by great fear oppressed 



They onward rush where sounds the warning cry ; 

 'Tis said a curse upon the hill doth rest 

 For crime of ages gone ; by Nature still unblest. 



But brave of heart in these sad latter days 



The woodland bird forgives the deed once done ; 



He shouts at break of day his hymn of praise, 

 And trills a soothing song at set of sun ; 



No fear of harm to him his tongue betrays, 



Then, lingering here, why stand in dread amaze? 



No blanched and trembling blossom starred the grass, 

 No feathery fern shrank curled upon its stem ; 



Though restless breezes through their petals pass, 

 The forest flowers looked boldly back at them. 



Why then, unmeaning dread, our minds harass ? 



Despite our pride and strength, a coward still, alas ! 



