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,— feeds, And man never trod before! And when on earth he sunk to sleep, He lay where the deadly vine doth weep The flesh with blistering dew! And near him the she-wolf stirred the brake, And the copper-snake breathed in his ear, Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, "O 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,— Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark, Far he followed the meteor spark, The wind was high and the clouds were dark, And the boat returned no more. 30 35 But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp, Are seen, at the hour of midnight damp, 1806. 40 Thomas Moore. |