Thee, too, and they our darlings.

[She proceeds towards the beech ridge, but is stayed at the foot by a rapid-running stream.

Nor bridge, nor stone, nor log, how shall I cross?

Yon o'erturned hemlock, whose wide-spreading root

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Stands like a wattled pier from which the bridge

Springs all abrupt and strait, and hangs withal

So high that hardihood itself looks blank—

I scarce may tempt, worn as I am, and spent.

And on the other bank, the great green head