Wake the dark woods of stormy Labrador,
And o’er Canadian wilds and ocean-lakes,
Down Mississippi’s vales in fury howl.
By Huron’s flood the savage wrapped in furs
Gathers his tent of skins beneath the snow,
And ’mid the smoke, for days, securely waits
For the encrusting rain to plate the drift
With glittering ice, that cracks not at his tread,
Where he may chase the moose, whose hoofs break thro’
And leave upon the trail a track of blood.