The valleys rest in shadow and the hum
Of gentle sounds and two-tone melodies
Are stilled, and twilight spreads her misty wing
In broader sadness oer their happy scene
And creeps along the distant mountain sides
Until the setting sun's last lingering beams
Wreathe up in golden glorious ring
Around the highest Catskill peak. 1
"On seeing that a favorite tree of the Author's had been cut down—"
And is the glory of the forest dead?
Struck down? Its beauteous foliage spread
On the base earth? O! ruthless was the deed
Destroying man! What demon urg'd the speed
Of thine unpitying axe? Didst thou not know
My heart was wounded by each savage blow?
Could not the lovliness that did begird
These boughs disarm thine hand and save the bird
Its ancient home and me a lasting joy!
Vain is my plaint! All that I love must die.
But death sometimes leaves hope—friends may yet meet
And life be fed on expectation sweet—
But here no hope survives; again shall spread o'er me
Never the gentle shade of my beloved tree— 2