In the clearings of the forest 
Hearing far the axe’s sweep, 
Through the charcoal-burner's cabin 
While the shadows onward creep, 
Not for winter’s worst mood caring, 
Proudly recking nought for men, 
Flies a dwarf with queenly bearing —• 
Pygmy-queen, — the bustling wren. 
Through the pillared vistas strolling, 
Red with needles from the firs, 
Hear we melodies aerial 
Sigh o’erhead, though nothing stirs, 
Music from the world-soul gushing, 
Through our hearts its full tides 
swell, 
Sinking now,—ill passions hushing,— 
. Soothes it who with nature dwell. 
N- High above, their call-notes 
blending 
Hang the gold-crests, flutter, 
swing; 
Dropping empty 
woodlands 
With their slender voices ring ; 
Happy creatures ! blithe, uncumbered 
With our myriad wants, ye fly ; 
Joys are yours untold, unnumbered, 
t Sunshine, freedom, open sky! 
cones. 
