Classic Poem

A little vessel smoothly
Adown the river goes;
The passengers are silent,
Not one the other knows.

What draws the brawny huntsman
From 'neath his deerskin guise?
A horn! He blows it clearly,
The echoing shore replies.

Then from his staff of travel
A youth unscrews the ends;
And with the horn's soft pealing
A flute's shrill music blends.

A maid, that sat so bashful,
She could not speak for fear,
With horn and flute now mingles
Her voice so sweet and clear.

In measured time the rowers
Swing back with steady sway;
By melody borne onward,
The vessel cleaves her way.

In diverse paths they wandered,
When all had leapt to shore—
Say, friends, on such a vessel
When shall we meet once more?