Iii

O distant, terrible forests of Maine, With huge trees numberless as the rain That falls on your lonely lakes! (It falls and sings through the years, but wakes No answering echo of joy or pain.)

Your tangled wilderness was tracked With struggle and sorrow and vengeful act 'Gainst Puritan, pagan, and priest. Where wolf and panther and serpent ceased, Man added the horrors your dark maze lacked.

The land was scarred with deeds not good, Like the fretting of worms on withered wood. What if its venomous spell Breathed into Arnold a prompting of Hell, With slow empoisoning force indued?