Thomas Cogswell Upham
The moon hath bowed her orb of light,
And here we'll rest, till morn is bright;
The mountain deer were swift to-day,
And far have led our feet astray.
The cottage fire is out; afar
The watch-dog bays the lingering star;
Upon the mount springs up the deer,
And lifts his antlered head to hear.
But he shall rest again his eye
Beside the brook, that murmurs by;
And those in dreams and soft repose
The sense of weariness and woes.
The Hunters too shall sink to sleep,
With burning pines their watch to keep;
While far and near the wakeful trees
Make music in the nightly breeze.
But soon again the sun shall fling
The daylight from his golden wing;
And hills, and woods, and waters far,
Resound with horn and sylvan war.
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