 | Snow-berries. A book for young folks |  |
HUNTER'S SONG.
I know a mountain high,
With its head against the sky,
Where the stormy eagles fly
East and west;
There, at morning's ruddy gleam,
And in evening's purple beam,
I have heard the nursling scream
From the nest!
With its head against the sky,
Where the stormy eagles fly
East and west;
There, at morning's ruddy gleam,
And in evening's purple beam,
I have heard the nursling scream
From the nest!
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O, I love that mountain high,
With its head against the sky,
And the hungry nurslings' cry,
All forlorn;
For as winds went to and fro,
Cutting furrows through the snow,
In a hunter's hut so low,
I was born.
With its head against the sky,
And the hungry nurslings' cry,
All forlorn;
For as winds went to and fro,
Cutting furrows through the snow,
In a hunter's hut so low,
I was born.
O, I love the rocky glade,
Where my little brothers played,
Where together they are laid
In green beds;
With a water murmuring nigh
Its eternal lullaby,
And a blue strip of the sky
At their heads.
Where my little brothers played,
Where together they are laid
In green beds;
With a water murmuring nigh
Its eternal lullaby,
And a blue strip of the sky
At their heads.
| Snow-berries. A book for young folks | |