Quitting the plains, they pass where awful stood,
Grown thick with age, a wild majestic wood,
Where lofty trees their solemn branches spread,
And winds loud whistling sung around their head;
Th' autumnal blight the wither'd leaves had strow'd,
And bright the moon her awful visage show'd:
Rugged and long the way, and late the night,
But pleasing converse made the journey light.