Skimming the waters swift and true,
The Indian passed, sad-browed and calm,
As if his spirit drank the balm
Breathed by an ancient holy shrine.
The Indian passed, sad-browed and calm,
As if his spirit drank the balm
Breathed by an ancient holy shrine.
Flinging a spray of jewels bright,
With changing stroke from left to right,
He saw the shadow of his plume
Floating in pride where twin keels kist
In swinging spheres of amethyst,
And lilies waving fragrant bells
Across the lips of fainting swells
By broidered shores of song and bloom.
With changing stroke from left to right,
He saw the shadow of his plume
Floating in pride where twin keels kist
In swinging spheres of amethyst,
And lilies waving fragrant bells
Across the lips of fainting swells
By broidered shores of song and bloom.
On fair Willamette's bosom, yet
Sweet with unsullied violet,
Portentous lights and shadows played;
And waking in the vesper breeze
With music as of marching seas,
The firs, of priestly mien austere,
Waved their wild harps with gestures drear,
And sang of destinies delayed.
Sweet with unsullied violet,
Portentous lights and shadows played;
And waking in the vesper breeze
With music as of marching seas,
The firs, of priestly mien austere,
Waved their wild harps with gestures drear,
And sang of destinies delayed.
At dawn, on yonder royal hill,
The crested deer, a monarch still,
Looked forth upon a matchless realm,
As wide and wild as ocean's breast
Tossed in a fury of unrest,
And thus struck still, eternal, grand—
A tempest of untrodden land
Bowing to Hood's refulgent helm!
The crested deer, a monarch still,
Looked forth upon a matchless realm,
As wide and wild as ocean's breast
Tossed in a fury of unrest,
And thus struck still, eternal, grand—
A tempest of untrodden land
Bowing to Hood's refulgent helm!
