Lore of the Great Lakes.

Here empire stepping westward,

      Reached out its gracious hand,

And summer suns and winter snows

      Have touched no fairer land.

Poets may sing of sunny isles

      Where golden gardens glow,

Where it is always afternoon,

      And lotus lilies blow;

Here rosy health and sparkling life,

      The cheeks of beauty kiss,

And sure the lotus eaters

      Could have asked no more than this.

When April suns are shining,

      And over the white snows play;

Arbutus flowers now budding,

      Burst into bloom in May.

The wax-wing birds are flitting,

      All nature sings in tune,

O'er sunny dells, and waterfalls,

      And soft sweet winds of June.

Lake Michigan's pearly waters,

      Lake Huron blue and cold,

But noble Lake Superior–

      The queen of lakes we hold,

Whose gem-decked beaches roll away–

      In silver-sanded shores;

Whose woodland hills stand sentinel

      O'er the mines of precious ores.

The jasper, agate, amethyst,

      Iron, copper, silver, gold.

Thy riches–O ! thou queen of lakes,

      Have never been sung or told.

Here nature built in splendour,

      Her roads of wondrous ease,

And stately ships are sailing o'er

      Those matchless inland seas.

A royal road of water ways,

      Before their pennons spread;

For commerce with the empires old,

      And feed the nations bread.

The woods are flaming scarlet,

      In misty purple haze;

The air hums softly through the woods,

      Those Indian summer days.

But the Indian and the buffalo,

      And the prairies where they grew;

Are now but myths and legends,

      Under fashions fast and new.

Can their spirits hover over,

      Or on yon mountain stand?

Looking o'er hills and valleys

      Where all was Indian land.

Do they miss the smoke of the wigwam,

      The whirr of the swift canoe?

In the solemn hush of the council ground,

      Where the war-whoop sounded through,

We can look, and feel, and wonder,

      Held by a mystic spell,

As we walk with softer footsteps,

      Through the haunts they loved so well.

The myriads are passing,

      Seeking health, and seeking rest,

From sunrise land to sunset,

      Through the Great Lakes of the west–

To the golden grain and fruit fields,

      Where the soft west breezes blow;

To the new pools of Siloam–

      Where the mineral waters flow.

                             Mary A. Stranger.

PETOSKEY RECORD.

J.C. BONTECOU, Editor.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 24, 1887.