Where stunted cedars bend before the blast;
Again the camp is made amidst the brake,
The pine-log’s light upon thy face is cast.
We talk together, yes—we often spent
An hour in converse, while my bit thou shared.
One eye, a friendly one, on me was bent;
The other, on some comrade fiercely glared.
Deep slept the night, the owl had ceased his cry,
Unbroken stillness o’er the earth was shed;
And crouch’d beside me thou wert sure to lie,