THE FORESTERS. 



03 



Hail blest asylum ! happy country hail ! 



O'er thee may truth ; but never foe, prevail/' 



From neio-hborinor shores, and cliffs that o'er them rise, 



The listening spirit of the lake replies, 



And in responses sweet, and accents plain, 



Repeats each period of th' inspiring strain. 



Now like dull stars the lighted bridge(45) appears, 

 Beneath it soon our little vessel steers, 

 Where, snugly moored, we passed away the night, 

 And weighed next morning by the peep of light. 

 II ;e the clear lake contracts its straightened floods, 

 And winds a deepened stream, through level wood*; 

 In vain our tow'ring mast for soundings tries, 

 Beyond its utmost depth the bottom lies; 

 ^ et so transparent its pure waters fl 

 ^ e marked the smallest leaf that lay below. 

 Ducks, whistling past, like meteors fill the air, 

 Our fatal guns pursue them deadly there, 

 Glanced from the eye the thundering tubes rebound, 

 Fluttering they fall, and flap, and scream around. 

 Here from the shore, low marshes wide expand, 

 Where bare and bleak the little salt-works (46) stand, 

 There numerous pits their briny treasures yield, 

 And pumps and tunnels checker all the field; 

 Whether old Neptune these blest springs supplies, 

 Or deep below the massy substance lies, 

 Let idlers guess ; while nobler souls revere 

 The all providing Power who raised them here. 



Beneath mild sunshine as we onward glide, 



