_Quarterly_, 1854.

[Footnote 1: Died 1881.]




IN THE FOREST


ANON.

We lie beneath the forest shade
Whose sunny tremors dapple us;
She is a proud-eyed Grecian maid
And I am Sardanapalus;
A king uncrowned whose sole allegiance
Resides in dusky forest regions.

How cool and liquid seems the sky;
How blue and still the distance is!
White fleets of cloud at anchor lie
And mute are all existences,
Save here and there a bird that launches
A shaft of song among the branches.

Within this alien realm of shade
We keep a sylvan Passover;
We happy twain, a wayward maid,