SONG.
Soon as the glaz’d and gleaming snow
Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear,
The hunter of the west must go
In depth of woods to seek the deer.
His rifle on his shoulder plac’d,
His stores of death arrang’d with skill,
His mocasins and snow-shoes lac’d,
Why lingers he beside the hill?
Far in the dim and doubtful light,
Where woody slopes a valley leave,
He sees what none but lover might,
The dwelling of his Genevieve.
And oft he turns his truant eye
And pauses oft and lingers near.
But when he marks the brightening sky
He bounds away to hunt the deer.