Now in the west wind shake and writhe.
And oak and elm and aspen frail
Like arrows shot from out the ground,
Bear on their furrow'd trunks a tale
That in no written book is found.
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Beneath them once the timid deer
Would start at eventide to hear
The wild hollo of Indian foe
At wassail in his wigwam near.
But now a fairer day is nigh, -
A day of wealth in teeming fields, -
And hope in richer harvest yields:
Great banks of clouds skim o'er the sky.