How sweet it was by good camp-fire,
When summer's bloom was ripe, to lie
With upturned faces to the sky,
And talk the night away or drowse,
Be sung to sleep, and dreaming wake
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To view the moonlight on the lake
From couch soft spread with green spruce boughs!
For we were on the topmost spire;
The mountains near indeed were high,
But that whereon we lay was higher
Than all, save where the Northern Star
Looks down on Washington's gray dome,
Or, turning to the westward far,
The giant frame of Lafayette
With Cardigan against him set
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The Freshman Crew.
