THE WOODS. 



189 



As we stand again near the path leading into it, 

 with the woods in its full panoply of green, and the 

 wild melody of the wood thrush sounding, toward the 

 twilight, at the entrance to this minster of the beau- 

 tiful old forest, with the crosses and antlered spires 

 above it piercing the sunset sky, and with its dingles 

 beckoning back to us so that we can not leave it, we 

 feel ourselves influenced anew, and spiritually uplifted, 

 by the strange, mystic druidism of the trees. 



There recur to memory the opening lines of Bryant's 

 familiar ode. We, too, say that 



" The groves were God's first temples." 



O 



STACHORNS. 



