38
ON A PAIR OF ANTLERS.
They brought the gift that I might hear
The music of the roaring pine,—
To fill again my charmèd ear
With echoes of the Rodenstein,—
With echoes of the silver horn,—
Across the wailing waters borne.
Trophies of spoil! henceforth your place
Is in this quiet home of mine;—
Farewell the busy, bloody chase,
Mute emblems now of "auld lang syne,"
When Youth and Hope went hand in hand
To roam the dear old German land.
