Pleasant the echoes of his fast plied axe, Merrily rattling through the mountain-woods, To those who sought the old surveyor's road For shade and coolness; and amidst the sounds Would boom deep heavy shocks of falling trees, Like growls of thunder in the noontide-hush, So that the eye would glance impulsively Up to the tree-tops, to discern the peak Of the ascending cloud. His forest-life, Though rude, was joyous. When the mellow charm Of sunset on the smiling mountains lay, The creaking of his high-piled cart would blend With song or whistle blithe, as, dipping down The road, he sought the village in the midst Of the green hollow. This slight mountain-road Went slanting to the summit, with blazed trunks On either side, and soft delicious grass Spreading its carpet; one faint track alone Telling that wheel had e'er its beauty scarred. Close to the hut it passed, then downward plunged, And sought the level of the opposite side. 'T was at the close of one cold winter day That down this road I trod. My weary steps, With efforts vain, had tracked, for hours, the deer, And now, with empty flask and rifle, swift, I journeyed homeward. Nature's great bright eye Low beaming in the west, still poured sweet light Upon the mountain. The pure snow, all round, In delicate rose-tints glowed. The hemlocks smiled, Speckled with gold. The oak's sear foliage, still Tight clinging to the boughs, was kindled up To warm rich brown. The myriad trunks and sprays Traced their black lines upon the soft snow-blush Beneath, until it seemed a tangled maze. Upon the mountain's top, a thread of smoke From the low cabin rose, as though a streak Of violet had been painted on the air. I heard the ring of the wood-cutter's axe, And, through an opening, saw his instrument Flashing into a walnut's giant stem, Whose upborne mass, in the fast lowering light, Seemed cut in copper. A broad wind-fall near Let down my eyes upon the hollow. White In snow it lay, with long and dusky lines Of fences crossing--groups of orchard-trees-- Hay-barracks--barns and long low dwelling-roofs. Straight as an arrow ran the streak of road Athwart the hollow. As I looked, the eye In the red west sank lower, till half quenched Behind the upland, then a shred of light Glittered and vanished, and the sky was bare.