ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
185 
VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 
P LEASANT it was, when woods were green, 
And winds were soft and low, 
To lie amid some sylvan scene, 
Where, the long drooping boughs between, 
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen 
Alternate come and go. 
Or where the denser grove receives 
No sunlight from above. 
But the dark foliage interweaves 
In one unbroken roof of leaves, 
Underneath whose sloping eaves 
The shadows hardly move. 
Beneath some patriarchal tree 
I lay upon the ground : 
His hoary arms uplifted be, 
And all the broad leaves over me 
Clapped their little hands in glee, 
With one continuous sound. 
The green trees whispered low and mild 
It was a sound of joy! 
They were my playmates when a child, 
And rocked me in their arms so wild ! 
Still they looked at me and smiled, 
As if I were a boy ; 
And ever whispered, mild and low, 
“ Come, be a child once more ! ” 
And waved their long arms to and fro. 
And beckoned solemnly and slow ; 
O, I could not choose but go 
Into the woodland’s hoar,— 
Into the blithe and breathing air 
Into the solemn wood, 
Solemn and silent everywhere ! 
Nature with folded hands seemed there. 
Kneeling at her evening prayer ! 
Like one in prayer I stood. 
Before me rose an avenue 
Of tail and sombrous pines ; 
Abroad their fan-like branches grew, 
And, where the sunshine darted through. 
Spread a vapor soft and blue, 
In long and sloping lines. 
