Till, mindful of exhausted strength,
At the cross-roads I paused at length.
Mid pine-trees sighing overhead,
There stood a school-house staring red;
Ugly enough itself, I ween;
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And had not Nature clothed the scene
With charms from out her copious store,
It had remained forevermore
An eyesore unto old and young, -
By painter spurned, by poet unsung.
A ledge of rocks rose sharp behind,
O'er which the ivy dark entwined.
In the deep grove beyond I heard
The shrill note of some forest bird.
A tiny brooklet danced along,
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