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IN my Indian canoe
There was room enough for two.
So it happened scarce a spot
On the river we knew not.
Every inlet where we came
Answered to its Indian name.
Oft I paddled up the stream,
Where in summer willows dream.
Hid in shadows we would sing
For the echoing shores to fling
Broken words to us again,
But the music in a strain
As if Dryads in the wood
All its meaning understood.
Or in moonlight would we drift
(Watching hazel-bushes shift
Into shapes unknown and strange,
And the drooping elm-trees change
Into giants tall and fierce,
Fighting with their giant spears),
Till the sweet tones of the bell
On the solemn stillness fell,
And the yellow moon looked down
On the shadow-haunted town.
Then, on other days we'd go
To the islands miles below,
And spend joyous afternoons,
Listening to the laughing loons,
Watching black-winged crows flap by,
Or the long-legged heron fly,
Slowly rising from his nook
In some winding, weedy brook.
On the elms the locust shrilled,
And the balmy air was filled
With the breath of new-mown hay
Brought from meadows far away.
And when low the red sun sank,
And the maples on the bank
Long shadows cast athwart the stream,
Then we'd see gold windows gleam,
Then the housewife's horn we'd hear,
Mocked by echoes far and near,
Followed by the answering call
Made by distance musical.
Often would we with our book
Seek a hidden, shady brook.
While the sunbeams flecked the stream
Would we dream and read and dream.
On the banks blue hairbells hung,
And sweet honeysuckles swung
Loaded down by buzzing bees.
Robins sang among the trees,
And the shadows lurked below,
Waiting for the day to go.
In my Indian canoe
There was room enough for two;
I was one; the other - who?
Tell me, don't you wish you knew?
N. H. D.ERRATUM. - In the "American Notes," last week, under the heading "Harvard College," for "letting the Memorial Hall for a common stable" read "common's table," - a very material difference. - London Inquirer.
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