THE ISLES OF HURON

Bright are the countless isles which crest

With waving woods wide Huron's breast,—

Her countless isles, that love too well

The crystal waters whence they rise,

Far from her azure depths to swell,

Or wanton with the wooing skies;

Nor, jealous, soar to keep the Day

From laughing in each rippling bay,

But floating on the flood they love,

Soft whispering, kiss her breast, and seek

No passions of the air above,

No fires that burn the thunder-peak.

Algoma o'er Ontario throws

Fair forest heights and mountain snows;

Strong Erie shakes the orchard plain

At great Niagara's defiles,

And river-gods o'er Lawrence reign,

But Love is king in Huron's isles.