River Rhymes

1.

We have poled our staunch canoe
Many a boiling torrent through;
Paddling where the eddies drew,
Athwart the roaring flood we flew.

Chorus
Dip your paddles! make them leap,
Where the clear cold waters sweep.
Dip your paddles! steady keep,
Where breaks the rapid down the steep.

2.

Where the wind, like censer, flings
Smoke-spray wider as it swings,
Hark! the aisle of rainbow rings
To falls that hymn the King of kings.

3.

Lifting there our vessel tight,
Climbed we bank and rocky height,
Bore her through thick woods, where light
Fell dappling those green haunts of Night.

4.

O'er the rush of billows hurled,
Where they tossed and leaped and curled,
Past each wave-worn boulder whirled,
How fast we sailed, no sail unfurled!

5.

Laughs from parted lips and teeth
Hailed the quiet reach beneath,
Damascened in ferny sheath,
And girt with pine and maple wreath.

6.

Oh, the lovely river there
Made all Nature yet more fair;
Wooded hills and azure air
Kissed, quivering, in the stream they share.

7.

Plunged the salmon, waging feud
'Gainst the jewelled insect-brood;
From aerial solitude
An eagle's shadow crossed the wood.

8.

Flapped the heron, and the grey
Halcyon talked from cedar's spray,
Drummed the partridge far away;--
Ah! could we choose to live as they!

John Campbell

No biography available

John Campbell

Niagara

John Campbell, Simple Poetry

Inverawe.

John Campbell, Simple Poetry

A National Hymn. - Government House, March 1880.

John Campbell, Simple Poetry

Sonnet. - Lord F. Douglas Killed On The Matterhorn, Switzerland, 1865

John Campbell, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Forest River.

Amid the forest verdant shade,
        A peaceful river flowed:
Wild flowers their home on its banks had made,
The sunbeam's rays on its breast were laid,
        When the light of morning glowed.

By its marge the wolf had found a lair,
        He roamed through each lonely spot;
That deep designer, the beaver, there
Built his palace; the shaggy bear
        In the tall tree had his cot.

And voices sweet were heard on the bank
        Of the river's gentle flow;
The whip-poor-will sang when the sun had sank,
And the hum-drum bee to his home had shrank,
        When the wind of eve did blow.

The tree-frog joined with his sonorous call,
        The grasshopper chirped along,
The dormice came out of their underground hole,
The squirrel...

Harriet Annie Wilkins

Our River

For a summer festival at The Laurels on the Merrimac.


Once more on yonder laurelled height
The summer flowers have budded;
Once more with summers golden light
The vales of home are flooded;
And once more, by the grace of Him
Of every good the Giver,
We sing upon its wooded rim
The praises of our river,

Its pines above, its waves below,
The west-wind down it blowing,
As fair as when the young Brissot
Beheld it seaward flowing,
And bore its memory oer the deep,
To soothe a martyrs sadness,
And fresco, in his troubled sleep,
His prison-walls with gladness.

We know the world is rich with streams
Renowned in song and story,
Whose music murmurs through our dreams
Of human love and glory
We know that Arnos...

John Greenleaf Whittier

Spring On The River.

O sun, shine hot on the river;
For the ice is turning an ashen hue,
And the still bright water is looking through,
And the myriad streams are greeting you
With a ballad of life to the giver,
From forest and field and sunny town,
Meeting and running and tripping down,
With laughter and song to the river.

Oh! the din on the boats by the river;
The barges are ringing while day avails,
With sound of hewing and hammering nails,
Planing and painting and swinging pails,
All day in their shrill endeavour;
For the waters brim over their wintry cup,
And the grinding ice is breaking up,
And we must away down the river.

Oh! the hum and the toil of the river;
The ridge of the rapid sprays and skips:
Loud and low by the water's lips,
Tearing the w...

Archibald Lampman

Floating Down The River.

My little bark glides steadily along,
    Still and unshaken as a summer dream;
    And never falls the oar into the stream,
For 'tis but morning, and the current strong;
    So let the ripples bear me as they will;
Sweet, sweet is Life, and every sound is song;
    Sorrow lies sleeping, and Joy sends me still
            Swift floating down the River.

Bright shines the sun athwart the linden-trees;
    One little cloud alone steals o'er the sky,
    As o'er the widening stream below steal I,
Fann'd by the same faint perfume-laden breeze;
    Bird-music answers sweetly through the air,
The unheard warbling of heart melodies;
    Thus go I dreaming, free from faintest care,
            Swift floating down the River.

Pure lie the broad-leaved lilies ...

Walter R. Cassels

Minnetonka[BY]

I sit once more on breezy shore, at sunset in this glorious June,
I hear the dip of gleaming oar, I list the singers' merry tune.
Beneath my feet the waters beat, and ripple on the polished stones,
The squirrel chatters from his seat; the bag-pipe beetle hums and drones.
The pink and gold in blooming wold, the green hills mirrored in the lake!
The deep, blue waters, zephyr-rolled, along the murmuring pebbles break.
The maples screen the ferns, and lean the leafy lindens o'er the deep;
The sapphire, set in emerald green, lies like an Orient gem asleep.
The crimson west glows like the breast of Rhuddin^[CA] when he pipes in May,
As downward droops the sun to rest, and shadows gather on the bay.
In amber sky the swallows fly and sail and circle o'er the deep;
The light-w...

Hanford Lennox Gordon

River Song

Swift and silent and strong
    Under the low-browed arches,
Through culverts, and under bridges,
Sweeping with long forced marches
Down to the ultimate ridges,--
    The sand, and the reeds, and the midges,
And the down-dropping tassels of larches,
    That border the ocean of song.

Swift and silent and deep
    Through the noisome and smoke-grimed city,
Turning the wheels and the spindles,
    And the great looms that have no pity,--
Weight, and pulley, and windlass,
    And steel that flashes and kindles,
And hears no forest-learnt ditty,
    Not even in dreams and sleep.

Blithe and merry and sweet
    Over its shallows singing,--
I hear before I awaken
    The Bound of the church-bells ringing,
And the sound of the leaves wi...

Kate Seymour Maclean