And its exulting song it joyous pours,
Where thick embowering leaves conceal its nest.
Hast thou not marked, when autumn’s gorgeous glory
Fled in the rushing of the hurrying blast,
The deep’ning pathos of the moral story
Sighed in each cadence, as it onward passed.
Hast thou not heard the ancient forests, bending
To the far sweeping of the mighty wind,
Send forth a solemn sound, as though responding
To voices deep that secret powers unbind?