Piercing the dark pine-forest through,
With its long too-hoo, too-hoo!
IV
Swifter and swifter, on we go;
For though the breeze but feigns to blow,
Its kisses catch us, soft and low.
But with us now, and side by side,
Striving awhile for place of pride,
A silent, dusky form doth glide.
Though swift and light the birch canoe,