“Tt is a quiet glen, as you may see, 
Shut in from all intrusion by the trees 
That spread their giant branches, broad and free, 
The silent growth of many centuries ; 
And makes a hallowed time for hapless moods, 
A Sabbath of the woods, 
* * * * * * * * * 
“ And still the waters trickling at my feet 
Wind on their way with gentlest melody, 
Yielding sweet music, which the leaves repeat 
Above them to the gay breeze gliding by; 
Yet not so rudely as to send one sound 
Through the thick copse around.” —SIMMs, 
