  Beautiful, beautiful Horicon! Over thy waters so blue, Sunshine and shadow in silence flit on, Painting fresh scenes on the ecstatic view. Blue are the skies that kiss the green tops Of sentinel mountains grand, Pure are the waters descending in drops, Or rushing in torrents from mountain to strand. Like emerald crowns thy islands rise, And mirrored back are doubly seen Gray rocks of the mountains, the cloud-flecked skies, Gorgeous adornments, and fringes of green. Silent and wild are the fairy shores Save song of the warbling bird, Or the glen wherein the cataract roars, Or the pine tree's branch by strong breezes stirred. When sunset purples the dark ravine And throws crimson on thy breast, Soft-tinged are the hues that e'er lie between Thy shores and the peaks that rise in the west. I see in my fancy days long past, I hear the brave soldier's song, The bugle that summoned hosts at its blast, Whose notes died in echoes the green shores along. I see in the past ten-thousand oars, And a thousand boats so grand, As they leave the marge of thy southern shores To meet the French foes of Montcalm's command. I see Abercrombie grandly brave With his fifteen thousand men, Glide swiftly, silently over the wave To contest from which many came not again. Beautiful, beautiful Horicon! How changed is the scene to-day, The pageant of war and carnage is gone Thy waters now bear the light-hearted and gay. Who loves devoutly Nature wild, And sees in her a Master's hand, Will seldom be a wayward child Though foul temptations round him stand. Magnetic forces draw him back From following low and slavish ways, His soul revolts at the attack That foe of Nature—Vice, displays. |
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