50 THE FORESTERS. 



Provoke the white man to the bloody strife, 

 And bid the Indian draw his deadly knite ; 

 The glory ours, in victory to save, 

 His, still to glut with every foe the grave ; 

 Nor age, nor sex, his country's foe avails, 

 So strong his passion o'er the rest prevails ; 

 And equal woes must wring his manly heart, 

 From native shades forever forced to part. 



Through this sweet vale, that wooded hills enclose, 

 A clear deep stream in glassy silence flows ;(33) 

 There sportive trout disturb the dimpling tide, 

 And shoals of salmon, pike and suckers glide; 

 Thick vines and sycamores in rich array, 

 Bend o'er its banks, and mark its winding way ; 

 Gigantic walnuts, bare and blasted rise (34) 



And stretch their bleached arms midway to the skies, 

 There sits the hawk, (35) inured to feasts of blood, 

 Watching the scaly tenants of the flood ; 

 Or listening, pensive, to the distant roar 

 01' yon white falls that down the mountain pour; 

 Thence to the lake broad level marshes spread, 

 Where close rank reeds conceal the muskrat's bed ; 

 Above, around, in numerous flocks are seen 

 Long lines of ducks o'er this their fav'rite scene; 

 Some to the lake in wedged divisions bend ; 

 Some o'er the creek in lengthening showers descend. 

 Ah, how could sportsmen such a sight survey 

 Nor seek to share the pleasures of the day ? 

 Do well-drest beauties shun theatric walls'? 

 Or sleeps the swain when his own sweetheart calls T 



