ON THE OTTAWA
THE sun has gone down in liquid goldOn the Ottawa's gleaming breast;And the silent night has softly rolledThe clouds from her starry vest;Not a sound is heard—Every warbling birdHas silenced its tuneful lay,As with calm delight,In the moon's weird light,I noiselessly float away.As down the river I dreamily glide—The sparkling and moonlit river—Not a ripple disturbs the glassy tide,Not a leaf is heard to quiver;The lamps of nightShed their trembling light,With a tranquil and silvery glory,Over river and dell,Where the zephyrs tellTo the night their plaintive story.I gently time my gleaming oarTo music of joy-laden strains,Which the silent woods and listening shoreRe-echo in soft refrains:—Let holy thoughtFrom this tranquil spotFloat up through the slumbering air;For who would profaneWith fancies vainA scene so ineffably fair!
THE sun has gone down in liquid goldOn the Ottawa's gleaming breast;And the silent night has softly rolledThe clouds from her starry vest;Not a sound is heard—Every warbling birdHas silenced its tuneful lay,As with calm delight,In the moon's weird light,I noiselessly float away.As down the river I dreamily glide—The sparkling and moonlit river—Not a ripple disturbs the glassy tide,Not a leaf is heard to quiver;The lamps of nightShed their trembling light,With a tranquil and silvery glory,Over river and dell,Where the zephyrs tellTo the night their plaintive story.I gently time my gleaming oarTo music of joy-laden strains,Which the silent woods and listening shoreRe-echo in soft refrains:—Let holy thoughtFrom this tranquil spotFloat up through the slumbering air;For who would profaneWith fancies vainA scene so ineffably fair!
THE sun has gone down in liquid goldOn the Ottawa's gleaming breast;And the silent night has softly rolledThe clouds from her starry vest;Not a sound is heard—Every warbling birdHas silenced its tuneful lay,As with calm delight,In the moon's weird light,I noiselessly float away.
THE sun has gone down in liquid gold
On the Ottawa's gleaming breast;
And the silent night has softly rolled
The clouds from her starry vest;
Not a sound is heard—
Every warbling bird
Has silenced its tuneful lay,
As with calm delight,
In the moon's weird light,
I noiselessly float away.
As down the river I dreamily glide—The sparkling and moonlit river—Not a ripple disturbs the glassy tide,Not a leaf is heard to quiver;The lamps of nightShed their trembling light,With a tranquil and silvery glory,Over river and dell,Where the zephyrs tellTo the night their plaintive story.
As down the river I dreamily glide—
The sparkling and moonlit river—
Not a ripple disturbs the glassy tide,
Not a leaf is heard to quiver;
The lamps of night
Shed their trembling light,
With a tranquil and silvery glory,
Over river and dell,
Where the zephyrs tell
To the night their plaintive story.
I gently time my gleaming oarTo music of joy-laden strains,Which the silent woods and listening shoreRe-echo in soft refrains:—Let holy thoughtFrom this tranquil spotFloat up through the slumbering air;For who would profaneWith fancies vainA scene so ineffably fair!
I gently time my gleaming oar
To music of joy-laden strains,
Which the silent woods and listening shore
Re-echo in soft refrains:—
Let holy thought
From this tranquil spot
Float up through the slumbering air;
For who would profane
With fancies vain
A scene so ineffably fair!