When the velvet shades of the forest glooms
Were lit with the light of thy golden plumes,
And angel eyes as they passed were turned
To the place where thy plumy glory burned.
But Sin, that with curse upon all hath lain,
Has dimmed thy gloss with many a stain;
And the summer’s heat, and the winter’s storm
Have blighted and blasted thy early form.
Bird of the forest, thy song is sweet
As breezes that summer wavelets greet,