Came brightening,
From storm skies, and frightening
The wandering birds that were tossed by the breeze,
And tilted like ships on black, billowy seas;
But they flew to my breast,
And I rocked them to rest,
While the trembling vines clustered and clung to my knees.
"But how soon," said the wood,
"Fades the memory of good!
For the forester came, with his axe gleaming bright,