The only one remaining now
Of all the many Indian tales
That should have filled these hills and vales.
How waked the world from its long sleep!
How did the misty coverings creep
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From every little pond, and rise
To join their sisters in the skies!
How fresh the green the valley through,
Sparkling with myriad drops of dew!
How clear the towns for many a mile
Where darkness only lay before!
The lake! I wonder now no more
The Indian almost worshipped it.
There is no earthly thing more fit
For one to call "the Spirit's Smile."
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The Freshman Crew.
