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[21]

On receiving an eagle's quill from lake Superior.

all day the darkness and the cold
     Upon my heart have lain,
Like shadows on the winter sky,
     Like frost upon the pane;

But now my torpid fancy wakes,
     And, on thy Eagle's plume,
Rides forth, like Sindbad on his bird,
     Or witch upon her broom!

Below me roar the rocking pines,
     Before me spreads the lake
Whose long and solemn-sounding waves
     Against the sunset break.

I hear the wild Rice-Eater thresh
     The grain he has not sown;
I see, with flashing scythe of fire,
     The prairie harvest mown!

I hear the far-off voyager's horn;
     I see the Yankee's trail,—
His foot on every mountain-pass,
     On every stream his sail.

By forest, lake, and waterfall,
     I see his pedler show;
The mighty mingling with the mean,
     The lofty with the low.

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