Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/55

Fair lakes my own dear land can boast,
From inland glades to ocean coast,
Through woven copse or thicket green,
Their blue eyes deeply fringed are seen,
On hillock's side they scoop a nest,
Like dew-drop nursed in lily's breast,
By Seneca and lone St. Clair,
The mirrored maiden braids her hair,
And guileless to the searching sun
Turns crystal-breasted Horricon.

Yet couldst thou see our mighty chain
From red Algonquin to the main,
Those seas on seas, which thundering leap
O'er strong Niagara's mountain-steep,
And bid St. Lawrence hoarsely pour
Round Anticosti's trembling shore,
Thou, at their side, bright gem, wouldst be
Like timid brooklet to the sea,
And highest swoln and tempest-tost,
Still, as a noteless speck, be lost.

But o'er thy brow deep memories glide,
And spirit-voices stir thy tide,
For thou of her art pleased to tell
Queen of the lyre, who loved thee well,
And in the Dove's Nest by thy side,
Sought from the gazing throng to hide,
The laurel o'er her casement darkening,