On Lac Sainte Ireneé

ON Lac Sainte Ireneé the morn Lay rimmed with pine and roped with mist. The old moon hid her silver horn In shadow that the sun had kissed. One went by like a wandering soul, And followed ever, By reed and river, The silent canoe of the lake patrol. On Lac Sainte Ireneé the noon Lay wolf-like waiting by her hills. No voice was heard but the sad loon And the wild-throated whip-poor-wills. But one went by on the bitter flaw, And followed ever, By rapid and river, The swift canoe of the white man's law. On Lac Sainte Ireneé the moose Broke from his balsams, breathing hot. The bittern and the great wild goose Pled south before the sudden shot. One fled with them like a hunted soul, And followed ever, By ford and river, The little canoe of the lake patrol. On Lac Sainte Ireneé the blue Vast arch of night was starred and deep. No footsteps scared the caribou Nor waked the wolverine from his sleep. Loosed indeed was the hunted soul, And homeward ever, By rapid and river, Slipped the canoe of the lake patrol.