THE FORESTERS. 53 



Their mirrors, carpets, tapestry, and state, 

 The nameless toys that Fashion's fools create, 

 To this resplendent dome of earth and sky, 

 Immensely stretched ! immeasurably high ! 

 Those yellow forests, tinged with glowing red, 

 So rich around in solemn grandeur spread, 

 Where, here and there, in lazy columns rise, 

 The woodman's smoke, like incense to the skies ! 

 This heaven-reflecting Lake, smooth, clear, profound, 

 And that primaeval peace that reigns around ! 

 As well may worms compare with souls divine, 

 As Art, O Nature ! match her works with thine. 



Now high in heav'n the hastening sun had sped, 

 My comrades, too, were trudging far ahead, 

 Piled at my feet enough for carnage lay, 

 So slow to shore we cut our liquid way, 

 There, where a hill the level marsh confines, 

 Lifts its rough front, and o'er the Lake reclines, 

 Where glittering through the trees that rise below, 

 A brawling cataract falls in sheets of snow, 

 Prone from the precipice, and steals unseen, 

 Through birchen thickets to the lake serene, 

 "\\ hile softened echoes join in cadence sweet, 

 And sheltering scenery form a blest retreat ; 

 There on the slaty shore, my spoils I spread, 

 Ducks, plover, teal, the dying and the dead ; 

 Two snow-white storks,(40) a crane of tawny hue, 

 Stretched their long necks amid the slaughtered crew. 

 A hawk,(41) whose claws, white tail, and dappled 

 breast, 



