Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/176

 I rested not at even or at dawn, But journeyed all the dark and daylight through— Until I reached the Lakes, and, hurrying on, I launched upon their bosom my canoe.

Of sleep or hunger then I took no heed, But hastened o'er their leagues of waterways; But my hot heart outstripped my paddle's speed And waited not for distance or for days, But flew before me swifter than the blade Of magic paddle ever cleaved the Lake, Eager to lay its love before the maid, And watch the lovelight in her eyes awake.

So the long days went slowly drifting past; It seemed that half my life must intervene Before the morrow, when I said at last— "One more day's journey and I win my queen!" I rested then, and, drifting, dreamed the more Of all the happiness I was to claim,— When suddenly from out the shadowed shore, I heard a voice speak tenderly my name.

"Who calls?" I answered; no reply; and long I stilled my paddle blade and listened. Then Above the night wind's melancholy song I heard distinctly that strange voice again— A woman's voice, that through the twilight came Like to a soul unborn—a song unsung.