Lake Erie

These lovely shores! how lone and still,
A hundred years ago,
The unbroken forest stood above,
The waters dash'd below —
The waters of a lonely sea,
Where never sail was furl'd,
Embosom'd in a wilderness,
Which was itself a world.
A hundred years! go back, and lo!
Where, closing in the view,
Juts out the shore, with rapid oar
Darts round a frail canoe —
'T is a white voyager, and see,
His prow is westward set
O'er the calm wave: Hail to thy bold,
World-seeking barque, Marquette!
The lonely bird, that picks his food
Where rise the waves and sink,
At their strange coming, with shrill
scream,
Starts from the sandy brink;
The fishhawk, hanging in mid sky,
Floats o'er on level wing,
And the savage from his covert looks,
With arrow on the string.
A hundred years are past and gone,
And all the rocky coast
Is turreted with shining towns,
An empire's noble boast;
And the old wilderness is changed
To cultured vale and hill;
And the circuit of its mountains
An empire's numbers fill! „-