And rocky and rude is the mountain’s brow,
And dark is the forest’s frown.
Ha! ha! the dens and brambled fens
My wild eyes laugh to greet,
And over the clifts and rocky rifts
Right merrily dance my feet.
Pure is the gale, and odors rise
From the wild woodland hill;
Wo-hoo! Wo-hoo! the dark owl cries,
And shrilly the whip-poor-will;