Upon whose wooded verge the sunlight smiles
To meet the glittering wave, know scarce a tread,
Save of the lonely huntsman. Yet ’tis said,
One hero on their shore has found a grave.
He died in fight the death that fits the brave,
And sleeps unheeded there:—the mound which swells
So greenly near, his place of burial tells.
Peaceful thou art—the tempests wild that sweep
The lake, are powerless to disturb thy sleep.
Thou hear’st the voices of thy parent main,