I'll gain my love's unsullied heart, and then I'll gain her hand.
THE LOVE OF THE FOREST.
To rove with the wild bird, and go where we will,
Oh, this is the charm of the forest-life still!
With our houses of bark, and our food on the plain,
We are off like an eagle, and back there again.
No farms can detain us, no chattels prevent;
We live not by ploughing—we thrive not by rent;
Our herds rove the forest, our flocks swim the floods,