To wilderness or solitude,
I fled, to leave my past behind.
I loved a maid, both fair and true,
Just where, it matters not, nor who.
For forty years, with silent tread,
Have silvered many a raven head,
Since on her wealth of auburn hair
The moonlight shimmered, soft and fair,
As where the pine and hemlock stood
And sighed in answer to the breeze,