No meaner Poet than the whistling Blast,
And Desolation is thy Patron-saint![EXa]
She guards thee, ruthless Power! who would not spare
Those mighty forests, once the bison's screen,
Where stalked the huge deer to his shaggy lair[EY]
Through paths and alleys roofed with darkest[434] green
Thousands of years before the silent air
Was pierced by whizzing shaft of hunter keen!
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