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A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp
Thomas Moore
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- 01 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by ARB
A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by Thomas More Read for LibriVox.org by Agnes Robert-Bare They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved and who suddenly disappearing from his friends was never afterwards heard of, as he had frequently said in his ravings, that the girl was not dead but gone to the Dismal Swamp. It is supposed that
he wandered into that dreary wilderness and had died of hunger or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anonymous. They made her grave too cold and damp for a soul so warm and true, and she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, where all night long by a firefly lamp she paddles her white canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long and loving our
life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree when the footstep of death is near. Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds. His path was rugged and sore, through tangled juniper, beds of wreaths, through many a fen where the serpent fiends and man never trod before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay with a deadly vine-doth weep, its venomous tear and nightly steep, the flesh with blistering dew.
And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear, till he starting cried from his dream awake, Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake in a media bright, quick over its surface plain. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light, and the dim shore echoed for many a night, the name of the death-cold maid.
Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark, which carried him off from shore. Far, far he followed the meteor spark. The wind was high and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. But oft from the Indian hunter's camp, this lover and maid so true, are seen at the hour of midnight damp, to cross the lake by a firefly lamp and paddle their white canoe. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
- 02 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by BK
A Ballad The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by Thomas Moore Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Gachuck Written at Norfolk, in Virginia They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who,
suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of. As he had frequently said in his ravings that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anonymous
They made her a grave too cold and damp, for a soul so warm and true. And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, where all night long by a firefly lamp, she paddles her white canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long and loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, when the
footstep of death is near. Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds, his path was rugged and sore. Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, through many a fen where the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay where the
deadly vine doth weep, its venomous tear, and nightly steep the flesh with blistering dew. And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear, till he starting cried from his dream awake, Oh when shall I see the dusky lake and the white canoe of my dear?
He saw the lake, and a meteor bright, quick over its surface played. Welcome, he said, my dear ones, light! And the dim shore echoed for many a night, the name of the death-called maid, till he hollowed a boat of the birch and bark, which carried him off from shore. Far far he followed, the meteor spark, the wind was high, and the clouds were dark, and
the boat returned no more. And oft from the Indian hunter's camp this lover and maid so true are seen at the hour of midnight damp to cross the lake by a firefly lamp and paddle their white canoe.
- 03 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by BWC
A Ballad. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by Thomas More. Read for Librivox Doddle by B. Swaxcandall. Written at Norfolk in Virginia. They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who suddenly disappearing from his friends was never afterwards heard of. As he had frequently said in his ravings that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is
supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anon. They made her a grave too cold and damp, for a soul so warm and true, and she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, where all night long by a firefly lamp she paddles her white
canoe. And a firefly lamp I soon shall see, and a paddle I soon shall hear. Long and loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree when the footstep of death is near. Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds. His path was rugged and sore. Through tangled juniper beds of reeds, through many a fen where the serpent feeds, a man never trod before. And
on the earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew. He lay with a deadly vine doth weep its venomous tear, and nightly steeped the flesh with blistering dew. And near him the sheep-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear, till he starting cried from his dream awake, Now when shall I see the dusky lake and the white canoe of my dear?
He saw the lake and meteor bright quick over its surface plate. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light. And the dim shore echoed for many a night the name of the death-culled maid. Till he hollered a boat of the birch and bark, which carried him off from shore. Far, far he followed the meteor spark. The wind was high and the clouds were dark, and the boat
returned no more. But oft from the Indian hunter's camp, this lover and maid so true, as seen at the hour of midnight damped across the lake by a firefly lamp, and paddled their white canoe.
- 04 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by CLP
A BALOD. THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. BY THOMAS MOORE. READ FOR LIBERVOX.ORG. BY CHRIS PILE.
RIDDEN IN NORFOOC. IN VIRGINIA. They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of, as he had frequently said in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the dismal swamp.
It is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anonymous. They made her a grave too cold and damp for a soul so warm and true, and she's gone to the lake of the dismal swamp, where all night long by a firefly lamp she paddles her white
canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long and loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, when the footstep of death is near. Away to the dismal swampy speeds his path was rugged and sore, through tangled juniper,
beds of reeds, through many a fin, where the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. He went on the earth, he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew. He lay where the venomous vine doth weep its venomous tear, and nightly steeped the flesh with blistering dew. And near him the she-wolf stirred to break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear,
till he starting cried from his dream awake, Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake, and a meteor bright, quick over its surface played. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light! And the dim shore echoed for many a night, the name of the death-cold maid, till he hollered
a boat to the virgin bark, which carried him off from shore. Far, far he followed the meteor's spark, the wind was high, and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. But off from the Indian hunter's camp, this lover and maid so true, are seen at the hour of midnight damped across the lake by a firefly lamp and paddle their white canoe.
- 05 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by DC
A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp, by Thomas More. Written at Norfolk, in Virginia, they tell of a young man, who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who suddenly, disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of, as he had frequently said in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp.
It is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anonymous. They made her a grave too cold and damp, for a soul so warm and true. And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, where all night long, by a firefly lamp, she
paddled her white canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long and loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, when the footstep of death is near. Away to the Dismal Swamp, he speeds.
His path was rugged and sore, through tangled juniper beds of reeds, through many a fen feats, and man never trod before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, his slumber his eyelids knew, he lay with a deadly vine doth weep, its venomous tear, and nightly steep, the flesh with blistering dew. And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear,
Till he starting cried from his dream awake, Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake, and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake, and a meteor bright, quick over its surface bled. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light. And the dim shore echoed for many a night, the name of the death cold made, till he hollowed
a boat of the virgin bark, which carried him off from shore. Far, far he followed the meteors' spark, the wind was high and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. But oft from the Indian hunter's camp, this lover and maid so true, are seen at the hour of midnight dam, to cross the lake by a firefly lamp, and paddle their white canoe.
- 06 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by DL
A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp, by Thomas Moore. Read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence. Written at Norfolk, in Virginia. They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterward heard of.
As he had frequently said in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp. It is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anonymous.
They made her a grave, too cold and damp, for a soul so warm and true. And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, where, all night long, by a firefly lamp, she paddles her white canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long and loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, when the
footstep of death is near. Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds, his path was rugged and sore. Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, through many a fen, were the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay where the
deadly vine doth leap, its venomous tear, and nightly steep the flesh with blistering dew. And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear. Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake, and the white canoe of my dear?
He saw the lake, and a meteor bright, quick over its surface played. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light, and the dim shore echoed, for many a night, the name of the death cold maid. Till he hollowed a boat of the virgin bark, which carried him off from shore. Far far he followed the meteor spark, the wind was high, and the clouds were dark, and
the boat returned no more. But oft from the Indian hunter's camp, this lover, and maid so true, are seen at the hour of midnight damp to cross the lake by a firefly lamp and paddle their white canoe.
- 07 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by EL0
A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp, by Thomas More. Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist. Written at Norfolk in Virginia. They tell of a young man, who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of.
As he had frequently said, in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anonymous. They made her a grave, too cold and damp for a soul so warm and true, and she's gone to
the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, where, all night long, by a firefly lamp, she paddles her white canoe, and her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long in loving her life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, when the footstep of death is near. Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds, his path was rugged and sore, through tangled juniper,
beds of reeds, through many a fen where the serpent feeds, and man never trolled before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay where the deadly vine-dolph weep its venomous tear, and nightly steep the flesh with blistering dew. And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear,
till he starting cried from his dream awake, oh, when shall I see the dusky lake, and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake, and a meteor bright, quick over its surface, played. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light. And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, the name of the death-cold maid.
Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark, which carried him off from shore. Far, far he followed the meteor spark, the wind was high, and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp, this lover and maid so true, are seen at the hour of midnight damp, to cross the lake by a firefly lamp, and paddle their white canoe.
End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Happy Halloween.
- 08 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by GR
A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by Thomas Moore. Written at Norfolk in Virginia. They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of. As he had frequently said in his ravings that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal
Swamp, it is supposed that he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anon. They made her a grave too cold and damp, for a soul so warm and true. And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, where all night long, by a firefly
lamp, she paddles her white canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long and loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, when the footstep of death is near. Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds, his path was rugged and sore.
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay where the deadly vine doth weep, its venomous tear and nightly steep, the flesh with blistering dew. And near him the she-wolf stirred in the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear,
cried from his dream awake, Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake and a meteor bright, quick over its surface played. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light. And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, the name of the death cold maid.
Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark, which carried him off from shore. Far far he followed the meteor spark, the wind was high and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. But oft from the Indian hunter's camp, this lover and maid so true, are seen at the hour of midnight damp, to cross the lake by a firefly lamp and paddle their white canoe.
- 09 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by JBW
A Ballad. The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by Thomas Moore. Read for LibriVox.org by Jennifer Beckett-Wood. They made her a grave, too cold and damp for a soul so warm and true. And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, where all night long by a fire-fire lamp, she paddles her white canoe. And her fire-fire lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear, long and loving our life shall be.
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree when the footstep of death is near. Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds, his path was rugged and sore, through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, through many a fen where the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay, where the deadly vine doth weep its venomous tear, and nightly steep the flesh with blistering dew.
And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear, till he starting cried from his dream awake, Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake, and a meteor bright quick over its surface played. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light. And the dim shore echoed for many a night the name of the death cold maid.
Till he hollowed a boat of the birch and bark, which carried him off from shore. Far, far he followed the meteor spark. The wind was high, and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. But oft from the Indian hunters' camp, this lover, and maid so true, has seen at the hour of midnight damp to cross the lake by a fire-fly lamp and paddle their white canoe.
- 10 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by LCW
A BALOD, THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP by Thomas Moore Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson RETINATE NORFECK IN VIRGINIA They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who suddenly disappearing from his friends was never afterwards heard of, as he had frequently
said in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the dismal swamp. It is supposed that he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. ANONYMOUS They made her a grave too cold and damp for a soul so warm and true. And she's gone to
the lake of the dismal swamp, where all night long, by a firefly lamp, she paddles her white canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long in loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, when the footstep of death is near. Away to the dismal swamp he speeds. His path was rugged and sore. Through tangled juniper
beds of reeds, through many a fen where the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, his slumber his eyelids knew. He lay where the deadly vine doth weep, its venomous tear at nightly steep, the flesh with blistering dew. And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear, till he starting cried from his dream awake,
Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake, and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake, and a meteor bright quick over its surface played. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light. And the dim shore echoed for many a night the name of the death cold maid. Till he hollered a boat from the birchen bark, which carried him oft from shore. Far, far
he followed the meteor spark. The wind was high, and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned, no more. But off from the Indian hunter's camp, this lover and maid so true are seen at the hour of midnight damp to cross the lake by a firefly lamp, and paddle their white canoe.
- 11 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by LS
A BALOD, THE LAKE OF THE DISIMLE SWAMP, by Thomas Moore. Written at Norfolk, in Virginia. They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who suddenly, disappearing from his friends, was never afterward heard of, as he had frequently said in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the dismal swamp.
It is supposed that he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or had been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anonymous. They made her a grave too cold and damp, for a soul so warm and true. And she's gone to the lake of the dismal swamp, where all night long, by a firefly
lamp, she paddles her white canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long and loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, when the footstep of death is near. Away to the dismal swamp he speeds, his path was rugged and sore.
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, through many a fen were the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. And when on earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay where the deadly vine doth weep, its venomous tear and nightly steep, the flesh with blistering dew. And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear,
till he starting cried from his dream awake, O when shall I see the dusty lake, and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake and a meteor bright, quick over its surface played. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light, and the dim shore echoed for many a night, the name of the death-cold maid.
Till he hallowed a boat of the birchen bark, which carried him off from shore. Far, far he followed the meteor spark, the wind was high and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. But oft from the Indian hunter's camp this lover and maid so true, are seen at the hour of midnight damp to cross the lake by a firefly lamp and paddle their white canoe.
End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
- 12 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by MJH
A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by Thomas Moore Read for LibriVox.org by Megan Horton Texas October 26, 2023 Written at Norfolk, in Virginia They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who,
suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of. As he had frequently said in his ravings that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anonymous
They made her a grave too cold and damp for a soul so warm and true, and she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, where all night long by a firefly lamp she paddles her white canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear, long and loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maiden a cypress tree when the footstep of death
is near. Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds, his path was rugged and sore, through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, through many a fen where the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay where the deadly vine doth weep its venomous tear, and nightly steep the flesh with blistering dew.
And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear, till he starting cried from his dream awake, Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake, and a meteor bright quick over its surface played, Welcome, he said, my dear one's light!
And the dim shore echoed for many a night the name of the death cold maid, till he hollowed a boat of the birch and bark which carried him off from shore. Far far he followed the meteor spark, the wind was high and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. But oft from the Indian hunter's camp this lover, and maid so true, are seen at the hour
of midnight damp to cross the lake by a firefly lamp and paddle their white canoe. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
- 13 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by MS
A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismos Swamp, by Thomas Moore. Read for Librivox.org by Mark Shellhammer. Written at Norfolk in Virginia. They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of.
As he had frequently said in his ravings that the girl was not dead but gone to the Dismos swamp, it is supposed that he had wandered into that dreary wilderness and had died of hunger or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anonymous. They made her a grave, too cold and damp, for a soul so warm and true.
And she's gone to the lake of the Dismos swamp, where all night long by a firefly lamp, she paddles her white canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long in loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, when the footstep of death is near.
Away to the Dismos swamp he speeds, his path was rugged and sore. Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, too many a fen were the serpent feeds, and man never tried before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay with a deadly vine-doth-weep, its venomous tear, and nightly steeped aflash with blistering dew.
And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear, till he starting cried, from his dream awake, Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake, and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake, and a meteor bright, quick over its surface played, Welcome, he said, my dear one's light.
And the dim shore echoed for many a night, the name of the death cold maid, till he hollered a boat of the virgin bark, which carried him off from shore. Far, far he followed the meteor spark, the wind was high and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp, this leper and maid so true, are seen at the hour
of midnight damp to cross the lake by a firefly lamp, and paddle the white canoe.
- 14 - A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp - Read by SWS
A Ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by Thomas More. Read for Librivox.org by Scotty Smith. Written at Norfolk in Virginia. They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who suddenly, disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of.
As he had frequently said in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses. Anon. They made her a grave too cold and damp, for a soul so warm and true.
And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, where all night long by a firefly lamp, she paddles her white canoe. And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, and her paddle I soon shall hear. Long and loving our life shall be, and I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, when the footstep of death is near.
Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds, his path was rugged and sore. Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay where the deadly vine doth weep, its venomous tear and nightly steep, the flesh with blistering dew.
And near him the she-wolf stirred the break, and the copper snake breathed in his ear. Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake and the white canoe of my dear? He saw the lake and the meteor bright, quick over its surface played. Welcome, he said, my dear one's light.
And the dim shore echoed for many a night, the name of the death-cold maid. Till he hollered a boat of the birch and bark, which carried him off from shore. Far far he followed the meteor spark, the wind was high and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. But oft from the Indian hunter's camp this lover and maid so true are seen at the hour
of midnight damp to cross the lake by a firefly lamp and paddle their white canoe.
