Page:The Forest Sanctuary.pdf/66

The rolling clouds!—they have the whole blue space
Above to sail in—all the dome of sky!
My soul shot with them in their breezy race
O'er star and gloom!—but I had yet to fly,
As flies the hunted wolf. A secret spot,
And strange, I knew—the sunbeam knew it not;—
Wildest of all the savage glens that lie
In far sierras, hiding their deep springs,

Ay, and I met the storm there!—I had gain'd
The covert's heart with swift and stealthy tread;
A moan went past me, and the dark trees rain'd
Their autumn foliage rustling on my head;
A moan—a hollow gust—and there I stood
Girt with majestic night, and ancient wood,
And foaming water.—Thither might have fled
The mountain Christian with his faith of yore,