Mai-0-chae — /. 11
1% /TY days among these wilds are spent In restful, calm repose; No carking cares or discontent
Disturb life's fitter close. Beyond these wooded hills 1 hear
The world's unceasing roar, As breaks upon some mland ear, The tumult of a shore.
To me these are no solitudes;
For, all by memory tinged, From somber shadows ot" the woods
To meadows willow-fringed, Are peopled with the forms 1 lost
And loved so long ago. Ere on life's ocean tempest tossed
I tasted of its woe.