Whilst interrupted zephyrs bear
Hoarse murmurs from the distant wear;
And at each pause is heard the swell
Of Echo’s soft symphonius shell.
Nor the dread night my mind alarms,—
Night, and her horrors have their charms.
O’er the wide forest oft I roam,
What time the trav’ler, far from home,
Bewilder’d in the pathless brakes,
There his cold bed despairing makes;