The Lake Of The Dismal Swamp

They made her a grave, too cold and damp

For a soul so warm and true;

And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp

Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp

She paddles her white canoe."

"And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see

And her paddle I soon shall hear;

Long and loving our life shall be

And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree

When the footstep of death is near."

Away to the Dismal Swamp, he speeds -

His path was rugged and sore

Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds

Through many a fen where the serpent feeds

And the man never trod before.

And when on the earth he sunk to sleep

If slumber his eyelids knew

He lay where the deadly vine doth weep

Its venomous tear and nightly steep

The flesh with blistering dew!

And near him, the she-wolf stirr'd the brake

And the copper-snake breathed in his ear

Till he starting cried, from his dream awake

"Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake

And the white canoe of my dear?"

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright

Quick over its surface play'd -

"Welcome," he said, "my dear one's light!"

And the dim shore echoed for many a night

The name of the death-cold maid.

Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark

Which carried him off from shore;

Far, far he follow'd the meteor spark

The wind was high and the clouds were dark

And the boat return'd no more.

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp

This lover and maid so true

Are seen at the hour of midnight damp

To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp

And paddle their white canoe!