St. Lawrence and the Saguenay, The - Part 25
The storm is lulled; the heaving waves subside;
The lightning's flash grows fainter; and the eye
Can just perceive the silver girdle tied
About the groups of pleasant Isles that lie
Before us. Down the hurrying stream we fly,
Like a white dove unto its nest. The eve
Has closed around us, and the brightening sky
Yearns for the coming stars. Nobly we leave
The Lake, and glide through scenes that Fairy hands might weave.
The lightning's flash grows fainter; and the eye
Can just perceive the silver girdle tied
About the groups of pleasant Isles that lie
Before us. Down the hurrying stream we fly,
Like a white dove unto its nest. The eve
Has closed around us, and the brightening sky
Yearns for the coming stars. Nobly we leave
The Lake, and glide through scenes that Fairy hands might weave.
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