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WE track the herds oer the prairies wide, | |
Through the length of the summer day; | |
And guide the canoe on the rapids tide, | |
Where the waters flash in the ray; | |
Where the silvery scales of the salmon glance | 5 |
On the bosom of the pool; | |
And we rest our wearied limbs at eve, | |
In the shade of the pine-trees cool, | |
Let others toil for golden store; | |
For riches little we care; | 10 |
Oh, the happiest life | |
In this world of strife | |
Is that of a Voyageur. | |
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When the red sun sinks in the golden west, | |
At evening when he goes | 15 |
With ministering hosts of the golden clouds, | |
To seek the nights repose | |
We pitch our tents on the soft green sward, | |
And we light our evening fire, | |
And we mingle strains of our Northern land | 20 |
With the notes of the forest choir. | |
Time flies along, with jest and song, | |
For our merry men are there; | |
Oh, there s not a life | |
In this world of strife | 25 |
Like that of a Voyageur. | |
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Oh, sweet and soft are our couches made | |
With the broad green summer leaves, | |
And the curtains spread above the head | |
Are those which Nature weaves. | 30 |
The tall oak and the spreading elm | |
Are twined in a tangled screen, | |
Surpassing far all the magic skill | |
Of the sculptors art eer seen. | |
We shun the noise of the busy world, | 35 |
For there s crime and misery there; | |
And the happiest life | |
In this world of strife | |
Is that of a Voyageur. | |
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