NOVEMBER, 1918.

O sun-browned boy with the wondering eyes,

Do you see the blue of the summer skies?

Do you hear the song of the drowsy stream,

As it winds by the shore where the birches gleam?

Then come, come away

From the shadowy bay,

And we'll drift with the stream where the rapids play;

For we are two pirates, fierce and bold,

And we'll capture the hoard of the morning's gold.

A roving craft is our red canoe,

O pirate chief with the eyes of blue;

So hoist your flag with the skull on high,

And out we'll sail where the treasures lie.

For in days of old

Came pirates bold,

With a Spanish galleon's captured gold;

And their boat was wrecked on the river strand,

And its treasures strewn on the silver sand.

Now steady all as we dash along,

The rapids are swift but our paddles are strong;

And soon we'll drift with the water's flow

Where the treasure lies hid in the shallows below.

O, cool and dim,

‘ Neath its foam-flecked brim,

Is the pool where the swallows dip and skim;

So we'll plunge by the prow of our red canoe

For the treasure that lies in the quivering blue.

Now home once more to the shadowy bay,

For we've captured the gold of the summer's day,

And emeralds green from the banks along,

And silver bars from the white-throat's song.

No pirates bore

Such a glittering store

From the treasure ships of the days of yore,

As the spoils we have won on the shining stream,

While we drifted along in a golden dream.