The Forest Home

Just as the heart its primal secret holds,
A cottage small the circling hills conceal;
If raging tempests bear it down the vale,

The frail and straw-thatched roof no harm doth

feel.

'Neath foliage dense of whispering forests cool,
This straw-thatched roof doth nestle in the shade,
While on the trees the piping bullfinch swings.
The wild dove coos and sighs throughout the

glade.
And as hunted chamois, swift doth run
A little brook down from the hills above;

Like maidens coy, who in smooth water gaze,
Fair flow ers bloom on either side thereof.
Unto these flower-maidens gallants come;

With ardent passion do the wild bees haste,
Enjoy — yet in the stream how many fall,
Intoxicated with the love they taste!

The sun and zephyr pity as they see;
The kind breeze bears a loose leaf from on high,
And when the lover-bee has gained his raft,

The sun with gracious ray his wings doth dry.

The she -goat, over on the mountain's brow,
With udder full and sportive kids goes round;

From her and from the wild bees' golden store
All that the cottage table needs is found.

The piping bullfinch and the plaintive- dove,
They fear no traps by any dweller there;

Those who inhabit scenes like this, know well
How sweet and glad is Liberty's pure air.

Xo serfdom here; no tyranny there is

To give command with harsh and thunderous
word;
Only, at times, the heaven's artillery loud.
Reminding people to fear God, is heard.
And God is good; He is not wroth for long;
Since when the ominous clouds their ire have
spent,
He smiles forth in forgiveness once again

In the arched rainbow where all hues are blent.