Through icy leagues my sole unceasing friend,
Without one word to mark our long good-bye,
Without a line to paint that wintry dream,
When day by day, old Husky, thou, and I,
Toiled o’er the great Unchagah’s frozen stream.
For now, when it is time to go, strange sights
Rise from the ocean of the vanish’d year,
And wail of pines, and sheen of northern lights,
Flash o’er the sight and float on mem’ry’s ear.
We cross again the lone, dim shrouded lake,