THE FORESTERS. 43 



There ploughmen chant, and mowers sweep the soil, 

 And taverns shine and rosy damsels smile. 

 Thanks to the brave, who through these forests bore 

 Columbia's vengeance on the sons of gore ; 

 Who drove them howling through th' affrighted waste, 

 Till British regions sheltered them at last. 

 Here, on the heights, where suddenly arrayed, 

 These hordes their last despairing eilbrt made,(26) 

 Where still the moulderincr breastwork meets the view, 

 From whose defence as suddenly they flew, 

 Here on the approach of night we lodgings found, 

 And buried all our toils in sleep profound. 



The lingering night still hung in drowsy gloom, 

 Mustering our loads we pace the darkened room, 

 With tedious groping we find at last the door, 

 And down the narrow stair our way explore; 

 Dull foors and darkness o'er the country la}-; 

 But guiding fences pointed out the way. 

 In cheerful chat we marched along, till morn, 

 On dewy wings from easter.i regions borne, 

 'Rose on the world, and o'er the landscape gay, 

 'Midst sono-s of joyous birds, led on the day. 

 Two whirring pheasants swept across our path, 

 And swift as lightning flew the fiery death. 

 A cloud of quails in rising tumult soar; 

 Destruction follows with resounding roar. 

 From bough to bough the scampering squirrels bound, 

 But soon, in smoky thunders, bite the ground ; 

 Life's oTishino* streams, their sable furs defile, 

 And Duncan's stick sustains the bloody spoil. 



