A hundred years! go back, and, lo!

Where, closing in the view,

Juts out the shore, with rapid oar

Darts round a frail canoe:

’Tis a white voyager, and see,

His prow is westward set

O’er the calm wave! Hail to thy bold,

World-seeking bark, Marquette!

The lonely bird, that picks his food

Where rise the waves and sink,