O haunted lake, from out whose silver fountains The mighty Susquehanna takes its rise; O haunted lake, among the pine-clad mountains, Forever smiling upward to the skies, -- Thrice blest art thou in every curling wavelet, In every floating water-lily sweet, -- From the old Lion at thy northern boundary, To fair Mount Vision sleeping at thy feet. A master's hand hath painted all thy beauties; A master's mind hath peopled all thy shore With wraiths of mighty hunters and fair maidens, Haunting thy forest glades forevermore. A master's heart hath gilded all thy valley With golden splendor from a loving breast; And in thy little churchyard, 'neath the pine-trees, A master's body sleeps in quiet rest. O haunted lake, guard well thy sacred story, Guard well the memory of that honored name! Guard well the grave that gave thee all thy glory And raises thee to long-enduring fame. |