PROGRESS OF A NATURALIST. 431 



There, mark him now in Cambria's shades, 

 Panting up steeps through forest glades, 

 To woo thee in thy humblest seat, 

 Rarely disturb'd by mortal feet, 

 To view thee on thy mossy bed, 

 Where changeful agarics lift their head, 

 And riveted in rock, the oak 

 Scarcely has heard the woodman's stroke ; 

 Whilst his grey lichen, pendent there, 

 Looks like some hoary peasant's hair. 

 The staring woodcock wakes in fright 

 From leafy bed on alpine height, 

 And flutt'ring from her foliage sere, 

 Steals to some silent valley near ; 

 The squirrel peeps beside the tree, 

 Th' intruder on his haunts to see, 

 Then darts with agile leaps away 

 To watch him from some mossy spray. 

 The dark owl glares with moony eye, 

 As the lone wand'rer passes by, 

 And wonders what could bring him there, 

 To wake her in her beechen lair. 



But time a change to all must bring, 

 And wear the form of mortal thing, 

 The ardour of the fire decay 

 As its best fuel wastes away, 

 And things are lost, and heeded not 

 This is forsaken, that forgot. 



And where is he, that infant, fled, 

 Which wreath'd the wild flower round his head ? 



