52 THE FORESTERS. 



Now all again is silent and serene, 

 Slow glides our skiff al©ng the glassy scene, 

 O'er the flat marsh we mark the plovers(37) sweep, 

 And, clustering close, their wheeling courses keep, 

 Till like a tempest, as they past us roar, 

 Whole crowds descend, to rise again no more ; 

 Prone on the sand, the snowy tribe are spread, 

 Then hove on board, and piled among the dead. 

 Beyond a point, just opening to the view, 

 A fleet of ducks(38) collect their scattered crew, 

 Part, soon alarmed, with sudden splattering soar, 

 The rest remaining seek the farther shore ; 

 There, 'cross a neck, concealed by sheltering vines, 

 Down the smooth tide I view their floating lines, 

 With sudden glance the smoky vengeance pour, 

 And death and ruin spread along the shore ! 

 The dead and dying mingling, float around, 

 And loud the shoutings of my guides resound. 



But now the Lake(39) wide opening spreads below, 

 Bright o'er its smooth expanse the sun-beams glow, 

 There downward skies in concave vast appear, 

 And circling wide complete one boundless sphere ; 

 Far spreading forests from its shores ascend ; 

 And tow'ring headlands o'er the flood impend ; 

 These, deep below, in softened tints are seen, 

 Where Nature smiles upon herself serene, 

 O lovely scenes ! In ecstacy I cried, 

 That sink to nothing all the works of pride ! 

 What are the piles that puny mortals rear, 

 Their temples, towers, however great or fair, 



