64 THE FORESTERS. 



Flat moss-clad forests rise on either side; 

 High 'midst the leafless multitude is seen 

 The dark majestic pine in deepest green; 

 The snow white sycamores, that love to drink 

 The passing stream and skirt the river's brink, 

 Wide o'er the flood their arms, capacious, throw. 

 To meet their softened forms that lie below. 

 Still files of ducks in streaming thousands pour, 

 At every bend their rising torrents roar, 

 Till near Musquito point their flocks decrease 

 AVherc night o'ertook us, and we moored in peace. 

 High rose its banks, and on its rugged height, 

 A small log hovel shone with glimmaring light, 

 Here one lone woman and a boy we found, 

 The trapper absent on his usual round, 

 On board his skiff had sailed, six days ago, 

 To try his luck some twenty miles below. 

 This solitary hut, small, cheerless, rude, 

 Amid vast swamps and wildernesses stood, 

 Where nightly horrors banished oft repose. 

 Such savage cries from wolves and panthers rose ; 

 Fven round the bolted door the woman said, 

 At midnight frequent she could hear their tread. 

 The fire blazed bright; around us we surveyed 

 The pendent furs with which it was arrayed ; 

 A sacred horse-shoe, guardian of the whole, 

 Terror of sprites profane, and witches foul, 

 Dread, powerful talisman, 'gainst imps unknown ! 

 Nailed o'er the door in silent mystery shone. 

 Just as the dame her glowing hearth had cleared, 

 The ragged owner of tho hut appeared, 



