Over THE Trappine LINE. 241 

He is safe from fisher there, 
The black cat cannot harm him now-; 
For a ball of needles sharp and bare, 
Would penetrate his cheek and brow. 
Now they cross an ancient pine road, 
Where it passes over streamlet ; 
’Tis said a lifetime since ’twas used, 
When mostly pine was cut for market. 
Wet and miry where it crosses, 
Needed bridging, bridge in view ; 
Once juniper logs, now level mosses, 
Yet underneath as sound as new. 
And the oldest stump of mosses free, 
Plainly shows the axe blows given; 
Where are the men that cut the pine tree? 
Where the men that drove the oxen? 
Far above, the whispering pine tree 
Seemed the answer, high in ether ; 
** Here are all that ever left thee, 
Here man and pine tree live on ever.” 
‘*All are here in happiest bands, 
Where all is joy and love forever ; 
In these bright golden forest lands, 
Our silvery lakes are ruffled never.” 
Now the streamlet hastening downward, 
Falls in many a pebbly pool ; 
Where cronies stealing softly forward, 
See smallest trout in waters cool. 
