 | Ballads and other verses |  |
131
IN THE FOREST.
Through the proud isles of old cathedral woodsWhat echoing voices break the solitudes!
At matin-hour go hear, on green hillside,
Bells of bird-music ringing far and wide,
While mountain streams that burst their prison crags
Run down the rocks and wave their snow-white flags.
[OMITTED]
| Ballads and other verses | |