Of old MacIntyre's wheel.

4  

High above the wind is moaning

In a lonely, fretful mood,

Through the lofty spreading branches

Of the elm and cottonwood.

Where the willows hide the fordway

With their fringe of lighter green,

Is the dam, decayed and broken,

Where the beavers once have been.

On the sycamore bent o'er it,

With its gleaming trunk of white,

Sits the barred owl, idly blinking

At the early morning's light,

While, within its spacious hollow,

Where the rotting heart had clung

Till removed by age and fire,

Sleeps the wild cat with her young.

5  

Plunging through the sluggish water,

 Prev. P 30/103 next