By its marge the wolf had found a lair,
He roamed through each lonely spot;
That deep designer, the beaver, there
Built his palace; the shaggy bear
In the tall tree had his cot.

And voices sweet were heard on the bank
Of the river's gentle flow;
The whip-poor-will sang when the sun had sank,
And the hum-drum bee to his home had shrank,
When the wind of eve did blow.

The tree-frog joined with his sonorous call,
The grasshopper chirped along,
The dormice came out of their underground hole,
The squirrels peeped over their pine-tree wall,
To list to the revel song.

Nothing disturbed the murmur deep
Of the river broad and fair;
No one awoke it from peaceful sleep,
Save when floating mice o'er its breast would creep,
Or the rusty-coated bear.

One morn the sound of an axe was heard
In the forest, dark and lone;
Then started with fear the beasts disturbed,
Their reign was broke at the woodman's word,
And they scowled with anger on.