Oh! pleasant it is through the forest to stray
In the gladsome month of June;
To list to the scream of the merry blue jay,
And the chirp of the squirrel so blithe and gay,
And the sigh of the soft south winds that play
In the top of the pine trees tall and grey
A sweet regretful tune.
And pleasant it is o’er a forest lake
Through the cool white mists to glide,
Ere the bright warm day is half awake,