On Chenoweth's Run by Madison Cawein — Read

I thought of the road through the glen, / With its hawk's nest high in the pine; / With its rock, where the fox had his den, / 'Mid tangles of sumach and vine, / Where she swore to be mine.

I thought of the creek and its banks, / Now glooming, now gleaming with sun; / The rustic bridge builded of planks, / The bridge over Chenoweth's Run, / Where I wooed her and won.