Some boundless contiguity of shade.

No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry, Of bugles going by.

The shad-bush, white with flowers, Brightened the glens; the new leaved butternut And quivering poplar to the roving breeze Gave a balsamic fragrance.

Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs No school of long experience, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares, To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart.

The groves were God's first temple. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.