How well I remember the day that I spent
On that far away island where all is content;
When sweet from the woodland, 'midst bramble and brake,
The birds caroled on—it seemed just for our sake,
Oh, where on this orb is a spot that we feel
The rapture of loving as on the Presque Isle?
I laved in her looks and I bathed in her smiles,
Nor thought of the nook where the serpent beguiles;
I watched the calm glow of her passionate cheek,
As in maidenhood only those blushes can speak.
How I ardently knelt at her feet to reveal
The love that was born far away on Presque Isle.
When the stars had come out in the clear northern skies
They but beamed on my soul, ah! less bright than her eyes,
And I turned in despair from the orbs up above
To gaze in the eyes of an angel of love.
Our lips met, oh! why should we longer conceal
Our love on that rapturous, star-lit Presque Isle?
I'm still looking back on that island to-day,
But my lips they are mute—I have nothing to say,
Except that my soul I claim as my own,
Tho' my soft auburn hair is all scatter'd and strown.
And after each cyclone in silence I kneel
And pray for an earthquake to sink the Presque Isle.