Poems (Barker)/The Rapids of the St Mary
The Rapids of the St. Mary.
On the banks of the bright river, waiting for the light canoe,
Which was soon to safely bear us, the St. Mary's Rapids through;
How my heart a moment faltered as I watched the whirling waves,
Holding up their white arms to us, smiling over silent graves.
Which was soon to safely bear us, the St. Mary's Rapids through;
How my heart a moment faltered as I watched the whirling waves,
Holding up their white arms to us, smiling over silent graves.
But my fears as quickly vanished, and I mocked the waters whirl,
As I watched the radiant features of the bright-eyed Indian girl;
And her merry cry, exultant as the boatman came in view
Stealing noiselessly upon us, in his little birch canoe.
As I watched the radiant features of the bright-eyed Indian girl;
And her merry cry, exultant as the boatman came in view
Stealing noiselessly upon us, in his little birch canoe.
"You are not afraid, dear lady?" and she softly touched my hand,
Though it was a tone of pleading, there was in it a command,
And I gently reassured her, as we entered the canoe,
And were leaping, dancing, whirling, the St. Mary Rapids through.
Though it was a tone of pleading, there was in it a command,
And I gently reassured her, as we entered the canoe,
And were leaping, dancing, whirling, the St. Mary Rapids through.
Onward guided by the pilot—onward through the waters bright,
Flashing, dashing in the sunshine, leaping up to meet the light;
How the waters whirl and eddy—how they toss and foam and run,
Lifting up their joyous faces, for the kisses of the sun.
Flashing, dashing in the sunshine, leaping up to meet the light;
How the waters whirl and eddy—how they toss and foam and run,
Lifting up their joyous faces, for the kisses of the sun.
Whispering of the "big sea water"—asking of the briny deep:
Whither they are madly going—where they soon shall calmly sleep;
Or be wildly lashed to fury, by the raging of the storm;
Peering through the heavy darkness, at the tempest's dreaded form.
Whither they are madly going—where they soon shall calmly sleep;
Or be wildly lashed to fury, by the raging of the storm;
Peering through the heavy darkness, at the tempest's dreaded form.
Onward! onward, o'er the rapids, while they madly dance and whirl,
Echoing the merry laughter of the bright-eyed Indian girl;
Guided past the greatest danger—past each rock so sharp and wild,
By the fearless Indian Pilot, trusting in him as a child!
Echoing the merry laughter of the bright-eyed Indian girl;
Guided past the greatest danger—past each rock so sharp and wild,
By the fearless Indian Pilot, trusting in him as a child!
Oh! how bright the dancing water, and I almost held my breath,
As we whirled, and dashed, and glided, past the many gates of death;
And I never shall forget it, wildly, madly dancing through
The bright rapids of St. Mary, in that little birch canoe.
As we whirled, and dashed, and glided, past the many gates of death;
And I never shall forget it, wildly, madly dancing through
The bright rapids of St. Mary, in that little birch canoe.