Listened in every spray,
While the whole camp, with “Nell” on English meadows
Wandered and lost their way.
And so in mountain solitudes—o’ertaken
As by some spell divine—
Their cares dropped from them like the needles shaken
From out the gusty pine.
Lost is that camp and wasted all its fire;
And he who wrought that spell?—
Ah! towering pine and stately Kentish spire,