THE FORESTERS. 19 



Huge pines that towered for centuries on high, 



Crushed by each others ruins prostrate lie, 



Black with devouring flames, of branches bare, 



Their ragged roots high tilted frown in air; 



While shivered trunks, like monuments of wrath, 



Add deeper horror to the wreck beneath. 



Cut through this chaos rude, the narrow road, 



Alone by solitary traveller trod, 



Winds through the wilds of this forlorn domain 



Where ruin drear and desolation reign. 



Here as we loitered on, with restless gaze, 



Absorbed in silence, musing and amaze, 



The rustling bushes and the snorting sound 



Of startled bruin fixed us to the ground ! (13) 



With levelled guns we momentary stood — 



He 's gone loud crashing through the distant wood ; 



Sad disappointment throbs in every breast, 



And vengeance dire is threatened on the rest. 



And now each passing stump, and bush, and nook, 



Is eyed with eager and suspicious look; 



But one deep solitude around prevails, 



And scarce a cricket, eye or ear assails. 



Thus many a tedious mile we travelled o'er, 

 Each passing scene more rueful than before ; 

 Till night's dull glooms descending o'er our path, 

 We took up lodgings at the Shades of Death. (11) 

 The blazing fire, where logs on logs were laid, 

 Through the red hut a cheerful radiance spread ; 

 Large horns of deer the owner.' s sports reveal ; 

 The active housewife turns her buzzing wheel ; 



