SONNET.—LAKE SUPERIOR.

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BY WM. ALEXANDER.

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Superior! wondrous lake! compared with thee,

What tiny lakelets doth earth’s face disclose!

Thy bright blue waters never know repose,

But, sea-like, fret, foam, rage continually—

High “pictured rocks” still battlement thy shore,

Around thee woods their sombre shadows cast,

Where Red-man pitched his wigwam in time past,

Or danced his war-dance to the music of thy roar—

Now on thy surface no canoe is seen,

For ’mid the wild-flowers which anigh thee bloom,

Sleeps the bold Indian, death-cold in his tomb;

Remembered as the things that once had been,

While wild-birds o’er him do his requiem sing,

Or flying o’er thee dip their sparkling wing.