Which leads the steps through woods of dwarfish pines,
Where dwells unscared the solitary jay,
And sings the cricket, sole inhabitants.
In these sweet solitudes the soul becomes
Tranquil as seas mid happy isles embayed;
Here weary hearts a balsam for their woes,
In whispering boughs and silent skies can find.
And here, amid the calm and liberal air,
The heated brain grows cool from contact free;
How sweet to live a sylvan eremite,