Classic Poem

The air is still, the night is dark,
No ripple breaks the dusky tide;
From isle to isle the fisher's bark,
Like fairy meteor, seems to glide,—
Now lost in shade, now flashing bright;
On sleeping wave and forest tree.
We hail with joy the ruddy light,
Which far into the darksome night
Shines red and cheerily.

With spear high poised and steady hand,
The centre of that fiery ray,
Behold the skilful fisher stand,
Prepared to strike the finny prey.
“Now, now!” the shaft has sped below,—
Transfixed the shining prize we see;
On swiftly glides the birch canoe,
The woods send back the long halloo
In echoes loud, and cheerily!

Around yon bluff, whose pine crest hides
The noisy rapids from our sight,
Another bark! another glides!
Red spirits of the murky night!
The bosom of the silent stream
With mimic stars is dotted free;
The tall woods lighten in the beam,
Through darkness shining cheerily.