Dear dark-brown waters full of all the stain <br /> Of sombre spruce-woods and the forest fens, <br /> Laden with sound from far-off northern glens <br /> Where winds and craggy cataracts complain, <br /> Voices of streams and mountain pines astrain, <br /> The pines that brood above the roaring foam <br /> Of La Montagne or Les Erables; thine home <br /> Is distant yet, a shleter far to gain. <br /> Aye still to eastward, past the shadowy lake <br /> And the long slopes of Rigaud toward the sun, <br /> The mightier stream, thy comrade, waits for thee, <br /> The beryl waters that espouse and take <br /> Thine in thei deep embrace, and bear thee on <br /> In that great bridal journey to the sea.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-ottawa/
