On an old oak with star-moss overgrown,
And reft of branch and bark;
While the fierce hawk forsakes his realm aloft,
And settles on the blasted pine, his throne.
Where the broad banks slope gently downward, grow
The sassafras and other fragrant trees;
And the bright lilies of the wave below,
Give nods of recognition to the breeze.
In mild accordance with the quiet scene,
Beat tranquilly the pulses of my heart;