A SONG FROM THE HILLS
Oh, the black bear on the mountain!Oh, the trout in stream and fountain!Oh, the bloodhound’s bay that echoes loud and clear!Oh, the buck, his proud head shaking,From the leafy covert breaking,As he scents the air that tells of danger near!Oh, the sunlight softly streaming,On the polished rifle gleamingAs we follow on the trail with stealthy tread!Oh, the camp-fire dimly glowing,Dusky, flickering shadows throwingO’er the piney boughs that form the hunter’s bed!Oh, the woodland life enchanting,Memory’s farthest chamber hauntingWith the mountain air and odor of the pine!Though a palace door stood waiting,I would pass its golden gratingWith a smile and never wish its splendors mine.For the forests with their shadows,Hidden springs and sunny meadows,And the mountains in their glory are my own:In the breeze the fir trees whisperMusic like a solemn vesper,And the pines take up the song in fuller tone.Life is freer here and fuller;All beside of earth grows duller;And the one whose soul this strong enchantment fillsLeaves all other things when dying,And like a homing pigeon flyingTurns him back to lie and rest among the hills.