Came stag and timid hind, on silver hoof and drank.
The pen of voiceful narrative may well
That solemn congress in the forest call
A thrilling and romantic spectacle:
The trunks of oaken monarchs, huge and tall,
Were the rough columns of their council hall;
Thick boughs were interwoven overhead,
And winds made music with their leafy pall:
Below a tangled sea of brushwood spread,
Through which, to far-off wild, the beaten war-path led.