When the white frost gilds the valleys, the cold congeals the flood; When many men have naught to do to earn their families bread; When the swollen streams are frozen, and the hills are clad with snow, O! we'll range the wild woods over, and a lumbering we will go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering, &c. When you pass through the dense city, and pity all you meet, To hear their teeth chattering as they hurry down the street; In the red frost-proof flannel we're incased from top to toe, While we range the wild woods over, and a lumbering we go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering, &c. You may boast of your gay parties, your pleasures, and your plays, And pity us poor lumbermen while dashing in your sleighs; We want no better pastime than to chase the buck and doe; O! we'll range the wild woods over, and a lumbering we will go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering, &c. The music of our burnished ax shall make the woods resound, And many a lofty ancient Pine will tumble to the ground; At night, ho! round our good camp-fire we will sing while rude winds blow: O! we'll range the wild woods over while a lumbering we go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering, &c. When winter's snows are melted, and the ice-bound streams are free, We'll run our logs to market, then haste our friends to see; How kindly true hearts welcome us, our wives and children too, We will spend with these the summer, and once more a lumbering go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering we will go, We will spend with these the summer, and once more a lumbering go. And when upon the long-hid soil the white Pines disappear, We will cut the other forest trees, and sow whereon we clear; Our grain shall wave o'er valleys rich, our herds bedot the hills, When our feet no more are hurried on to tend the driving mills; Then no more a lumbering go, so no more a lumbering go, When our feet no more are hurried on to tend the driving mills. 'When our youthful days are ended,' we will cease from winter toils, And each one through the summer warm will till the virgin soil; 'We've enough to eat,' to drink, to wear, content through life to go, Then we'll tell our wild adventures o'er, and no more a lumbering go; And no more a lumbering go, so no more a lumbering go, O! we'll tell our wild adventures o'er, and no more a lumbering go." Our winter quarters and employments not unfrequently bring us into collision with wild animals of a formidable character. Of these the "Indian devil," or a species of the catamount, is chief. We often track animals of whom we have never gained sight.