The boundless forests now our Founder trod,
And due southwestwardly his course he took;
The lofty pines and cedars round him nod,—
Loud roars the tempest through the leafless oak;
The snow lies deep upon the frozen sod,
And still the storm’s descending torrents choke
The heavens above; and only fancy could,—
So dim the view,—conceive the solitude
XXXVIII.
Of the wide forests that before him lay: