AIREY-FORCE VALLEY
——NOT a breath of air Ruffles the bosom of this leafy glen. From the brook’s margin, wide around, the trees Are stedfast as the rocks; the brook itself, Old as the hills that feed it from afar, Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm Where all things else are still and motionless. And yet, even now, a little breeze, perchance Escaped from boisterous winds that rage without, Has entered, by the sturdy oaks unfelt, 10 But to its gentle touch how sensitive Is the light ash! that, pendent from the brow Of yon dim cave, in seeming silence makes A soft eye-music of slow-waving boughs, Powerful almost as vocal harmony To stay the wanderer’s steps and soothe his thoughts. 1842.