My true love’s paddle glistened.
Joyous thus his light canoe, would the silver ripples wake,
But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;
Ah me! it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake.
“I see the fallen maple,
Where he stood his red scarf waving,
Though waters nearly bury
Boughs they then were merely laving,
I heard his last farewell, as it echoed from the lake,
But no, it is the loon alone, the loon upon the lake;