We roamed ’neath the arch of the drowsy larch,
Where the beaver bred in the inky pool,
We splashed in the foam of the cataract,
In the frothing spume and the ripples cool.
We hid ’neath the pine of the Serpentine,
As the red fox barked to his sleek-fed mate;
We ate of the birch of the Restigouche,
Where the goldfinch whisper and undulate.
Oh, bright were the days, with surcease of care,
As we fed and grew from our clumsy birth;