Classic Poem

'Twas morn — a beautiful morn of May;
I sought to refresh an exhausted mind;
And I led from the stable my faithful bay,
And toward the deep forest I took my way,
Leaving men and their haunts behind.

My path was lonely and rude; it wound
A devious way over hill and through glen;
Of the tree-felling axe there was heard no sound,
But the grandeur of nature unmarred I found.
As if Eden had bloomed again.

I pause and listen! and hark the sigh
Of the soft wind stealing among the trees;
And see! the pine waves 'mid the clear blue sky,
And the fir as it lifts its proud head on high,
Just nods to the passing breeze.

There a mountain stream down a deep ravine
Leaps babbling by like a child at play —
O'erbending the old moss oak is seen,
Like age over youth — as the rocks between,
It rushes with foam and spray.

From the wanton school-boy's eye remote,
The birds here nurture their unfledged young;
And the Robin, the Thrasher, the Blue Jay's note,
Like a chorus of angels seems to float
The wild forest boughs among.

The squirrel peeps from his snug retreat,
In the hollow trunk of an aged tree,
And along the bough trips with his fairy feet,
And frisks his tail as he takes his seat,
As if to contemplate me!

Where yonder cliff lifts its bald blue head,
On a leafless branch sits an eagle proud;
Scared at the sound of the horse's tread,
His broad brown pinions are slowly spread,
And he soars to the floating cloud.

O nature! how pure, how majestic thou!
I joy to behold thee thus lonely and wild;
And whene'er I gaze on thy beauty as now,
To the Fountain of Beauty my soul would bow, —
And love like a dutiful child.