And when the plume moth skims the shoal, the kingly trout comes in With golden bronze and ruby gems and leopard-mantled back; There, rippling, wades the lordly buck, and with wide echoing din Salutes the loon the hunter’s moon along its sparkling track. And ofttimes too there rounds to view, where spreads the grassy park, A reckless crew in birch canoe, with chorus rolling round, To set the camp, to trim the lamp, and, by the margin dark, Float for the deer with eye and ear on every sight and sound. There undulates the water-shield, up points the pennoned grass; The rocking swallow seeks the gnat, the night-hawk rumbles o’er; The water-spider’s globule shoots in silver through the glass And floats the fire-fly’s throbbing torch of gold along the shore. [Illustration] THE LOWER SARANAC. LIGHTLY flies my fleet bark across the glittering water, Sweetly talk the ripples before the furrowing prow, Mellow streams the sunset within the skirting forest, Mellow melts the west wind in kisses on my brow. Oh this life is glorious, this life within the wild-wood! Far, oh, far away flee the troubles of our lot! Wide expands the bosom, a boyish heart is dancing, Dancing with the gladness o’erflowing every spot! Dreamy like the past stands-the distant blue Tahawhus; Gleamy like the present, old Moosehead rears his crest; Filmy like the future in front the bowery island; Sparkling like our wishes the water’s ripply breast. Look, a wandering snowflake, the white gull in the distance! Indian pink on pinions, the red-bird’s darting glow! Upward leaps the trout, and afar the loon is floating, Dotting dark the sun-gleam, then flashing bright below. Turn the buoyant bark through the elm’s cathedral archway! Nestles cool the cove filled with babble of the brook, Sunny specks, and spice from the lily’s pearly scallops; So from glare of life hides some sweet domestic nook. Onward then again, for the sunset now has kindled Higher his grand camp-fire, and shines our tent before! Crimson clouds are painting the purpled lake’s enamel, Golden gauzes gleam in the glades along the shore. Onward, onward, thus do we press upon our journey, Moved by restless longing, Heaven calling us away;-- Oh, may fading life be illumined like the sunset, Beaming brighter, brighter, till darkness veils the day! [Illustration] THE WATERFALL. WHEN the fir-tree dreams in the drowsy haze Of the motionless August hour; When even the eager-leafed aspen droops, And asleep is the bird in its bower; Wakeful alone sends the waterfall then Its mellow, melodious hum, Wafting a coolness where all is heat, And music where all is dumb.