In forest shade my couch is made.
And there I calmly lie,
With thought confined in pensive mind,
And contemplate the sky;
I wonder if the frowning cliff,
The valley and the wood,
Or rugged freaks of mountain peaks,
Enjoy their solitude.
The heavens hold a sphere of gold,
A full and placid moon,
Suspended high, in cloudless sky,
With constellations strewn;
Its mellow beam, on rill and stream,
In silvery sheen I see;
Before its light, the shades of night
As evil spirits, flee.
In space afar, a shooting star,
With swift, uncertain course,
In dazzling sparks its passage marks,
As it expends its force;
The mountains bare reflect its glare
Of weird, unearthly light,
And e'en the skies, in glad surprise,
Behold its gorgeous flight.
The spruce and pine, at timber-line,
In straggling patches strewn,
Surcharge the breeze with melodies,
The forests' plaintive tune;
As they descend, the waters blend
In babbling harmony,
And soothe to rest my tranquil breast,
With Nature's lullaby.
[Illustration: "Where the torrent falls o'er the mountain wall."