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SOUVENIR 
 
 OF 
 
 BLACK LAKE 
 
 ^ ^torp of ti}t l^afit anti Credent 
 
 FLORENCE EARLE PAYNE 
 
nzf 
 
 
 Copyright, 1917, by 
 Florence Earle Payne 
 
 Q'CI.A459705 
 
 m 11 1917 
 

 »sl/* nL^ 
 
 LACK LAKE 
 
 In 1792 Alexander Macomb purchased of the 
 State of New York all of the town of Rossie and sev- 
 eral hundred thousand acres more for 8 pence an acre. 
 He failed to secure a title. In 1796 the State bought 
 the land of the Mohawk Indians. Two years later 
 it was offered for sale at Albany and bid in by 
 individuals, the principal buyer being Alexander 
 Macomb. He sold a large tract to David Ogden, and 
 he in turn sold a part of it to his brother-in-law Abi- 
 jah Hannnond, a merchant prince of New York City. 
 Without seeing the land Hammond sold 28,871 acres 
 to David Parish. It was known that Black Lake ex- 
 tended from the settlement near Ogdensburg to the 
 boundary of Mr. Parish's possessions. According to 
 tradition, on one of the expeditions the party camped 
 on an island, calling it Tavern Island, the name it 
 still bears today. Early in the Spring of 1810 Mr. 
 Parish sent D. W. Church to the head of Black Lake 
 to locate a water power. He found one on Indian 
 River. That Summer, with the necessary assistants 
 and building materials, he boarded a Canadian bat- 
 eau, landing about sunset at what is now the village 
 of Rossie. The next da}'- the tirst house was built. 
 For sixty years thereafter the Parish family, father 
 and sons, spent their money freely for the develop- 
 ment of this section. The last one of the family to 
 reside here — a nephew of David Parish — was given 
 the title of Baron von Seftonberg by Austria, and at 
 once removed to that country. The town of Rossie 
 was named by Mr. Parish after a castle in Scotland 
 owned by his brother-in-law. 
 
 In 1812 iron ore was discovered and a furnace 
 was constructed to smelt the ores. For years all of 
 the ore mined was hauled to Rossie. History tells 
 us that lead was discovered bv the little daughter of 
 
Joel Jepsoii, while dropping seed for her father who 
 was planting corn. She saw a stone and hit it break- 
 ing it into cnbes of a dark gra}' color. This was the 
 Victoria Lead Mine. It was not opened until 1837, 
 about eight 3^ears after its discovery. Two lead mining- 
 companies were then incorporated — the Rossie Lead 
 Mining Co. and the Rossie Galena Co. Other lead 
 veins were found and for nearly forty years lead 
 mining continued to be the principal industry, em- 
 ploying at times large numbers of laborers. On ac- 
 count of the low price of lead and the high royalty 
 claimed by the owners of the land, the mines were 
 finally closed in 1875. Quite recently stones marked 
 the foundation walls of a large house built on a hill 
 overlooking the old Steamboat Landing. Back of 
 it, at the foot of the hill, the mouth of a tunnel where 
 lead was mined is still to be seen. Not far from that 
 is an old well. In 1910 specimens said to be zinc 
 were discovered. Mica, and other minerals whose 
 names and uses have not yet been determined, as 
 far as known, are also found. At one time a large 
 dredge was constructed on the shore of the lake to 
 I'aise peat and experiment in pressing it into briquettes 
 for fuel. Whether the experiment was successful or 
 not is unknown, as the dredge burned to the water's 
 edge. 
 
 Hammond was named after Abijah Hammond. 
 
 Macomb is an illustrious name. History tells 
 us that "General Alexander Macomb was the son of 
 a fur merchant, and was born in Detroit. He entered 
 the army as cornet of cavalry. At the beginning of 
 the second war for independence (1812) he was a 
 lieutenant of engineers and adjutant general of the 
 army. In the artillery service he distinguished him- 
 self on tlie Niagara frontier. He was promoted to 
 brigadier-general earlv in 1814 and was left in chief 
 command in the Lake Champlain region in the Sum- 
 mer of that year. His victory over the British at 
 Plattsburgh in September won for him great honors, 
 the thanks of Congress, a gold medal, and awards 
 
from others. On the death of General Brown in 1835 
 he was made general-in-chief of the armies of the 
 United States, which position lie held at the time of 
 his death." The most popular of the many songs 
 composed during tlie war, was written by Micajah 
 Hawkins, and sung in a theatre in Albany by him 
 in the character of a negro sailor. It was entitled 
 "The Siege of Plattsburgh" and the last lines of each 
 verse contain General Macomb's name. He secured 
 "the right to establish mill dams and mills on the 
 Harlem River. He waged unsuccessful warfare with 
 his neighbors of lower Westchester. Twice he built 
 a dam across the river, and twice the country folks 
 destroyed it. Central Bridge now crosses the spot. 
 He also built one at Spuyten Duyvil. Facing the 
 bridge at this point he built a square stone house 
 known as the Godwin House. It is believed that 
 the old Philipse Inn is incorporated in this mansion. 
 Cooper, in his novel of "Satanstoe," mentions it as the 
 stopping place of his hero Corney Littlepage and his 
 friend Dirck. The old road curves around the God- 
 win House, and a short distance above is Macomb 
 street." 
 
 There are many evidences that the Indians were 
 numerous around Black Lake. Indian pot-holes, for- 
 tifications, arrow tips and other implements of war 
 and chase have been found upon the islands and on 
 the shores. At "Vagabondia" the site of a wigwam was 
 located by the arrow tips, cooking stones and other ar- 
 ticles uneartlied. Red Jacket and the remnant of the 
 Six Nations fought on the side of the United States in 
 the war of 1812. They were stationed from Chip- 
 pewa Bay all along the border. Undoubtedly they 
 were well acquainted with the country surrounding 
 the Lake. 
 
 Lossing's Em})ire State tells us that " At dawn 
 on the morning of February 22, 1813, Lieutenant 
 Colonel McDonnell appeau-d on the frozen river (at 
 Ogdensburg) with about eight hundred soldiers in 
 two columns and pushed on to the village at separate 
 
 S 
 
points. Forsythe, informed b}' spies of the intended 
 assa\ilt, had prepared to receive the invaders, but he 
 could not withstand them. It was a sort of a surprise. 
 Some of the inhabitants were in bed, others at break- 
 fast. They nearly all fled in consternation and after 
 an hour of conflict in the streets, Forsythe and his 
 troops retreated to Black Lake, eight or nine miles 
 distant." 
 
 On one occasion the able bodied men of Rossie 
 were ordered to pack two weeks' rations, shoulder 
 their muskets and march to Ogdensburg. It Avas a 
 "hurry call" and the trip was made in one day's 
 march, arriving late in the evening. The men 
 camped that night and the next day were ordered to 
 shoulder their muskets and march home again. They 
 gave their rations to the half starved soldiers camped 
 there, some of whom were living on flour and water 
 mixed and cooked over the camp fire. 
 
 In 181 B Rossie village Avas captured by the 
 British, who came by the way of Morristown, and 
 Avas in possession of the enemy ibr tAA'enty-four hours. 
 As the inhabitants oflered no resistance, the next 
 day the soldiers marched back to Brockville. 
 
 During the Civil War this section furnished its 
 full quota of soldiers, including Gen. Curtis, The 
 Hero of Fort Fisher, Col. Houghton, Col. Thos. A. 
 Davies and others. April 2()th, 1.SC>1, a meeting Avas 
 called in Depeyster for the organization of a company. 
 Newton Martin Curtis was chosen Captain, John 
 Sn3'der First Lieutenant, and William Best Second 
 Lieutenant, Avith a full complement of non-commis- 
 sioned officers, musicians and sixty -four privates. 
 Early after sun rise on May 2d the com})any met in 
 the Town Hall. The Avomen of Depeyster presented 
 them with a purse of four hundred dollars in place 
 ( »f a Hag tliat they had been disappointed in obtaining. 
 The company proceeded to Ogdensburg, thence to 
 Albany, Avhere the Northern companies organized 
 into a reo'iment. Thos. A. Davies was chosen Colonel 
 on account of his education at West Point, and be- 
 
cause he had served in a regiment under Colonel 
 Zachary Taylor. He was, too, a native of this part 
 of the country. In 1802 Colonel Davies was pro- 
 moted to be Brigadier General, United States Vol- 
 unteers. Although he resided in New York City, he 
 and Mrs. Davies spent many summers at Black Lake, 
 and "after four score years and ten he was laid to 
 rest in the mausoleum erected on the banks of the 
 lake about which in youth and later life, he had 
 spent many days with rod and gun." 
 
 In the Cuban War Black Lake was repre- 
 sented by volunteers from either shore. One was 
 present when the Stars and Stripes were raised 
 at Guantanamo. 
 
 In 1817 James Munroe, President of the 
 United States, visited Rossie as a guest of Mr. 
 Parish. 
 
 Edw^ard Everett Hale, the noted author, when 
 a young man, also visited Rossie. In the volume 
 entitled "The Man Without a Country and Other 
 Tales" written by him, the scenes of the story 
 "The Children of'the Public" are laid in Rossie. 
 
 For years a quaint old ferry was located at 
 what is called The Narrows at Edwardsville. It 
 was a scow, fitted with railings on each side, and 
 large enough to accommodate a team and wagon. 
 The ferryman lived on an island in the middle of 
 the Lake. This island divided the ferry into tw^o 
 sections. Bells were hung on standards erected 
 on both shores. The traveler rang the bell by a 
 long rope that dangled at the side, until the fer- 
 ryman was alarmed and came over, hitching his 
 scow along by means of a lever on a wire stretched 
 from shore to shore. In a strong breeze the poor 
 beasts that w^ere obliged to cross on this ferry, 
 weaved around on their four legs in a tipsy fash- 
 ion like the bad sailors that they certainly were. 
 A bridge now^ spans the Lake at this point. Not 
 long since a steamboat named the Oswegatchie, 
 of the type used on the Mississippi River, pHed 
 
between Rossie and Heuvelton, a distance of 
 twenty-five miles, carrying freight and passen- 
 gers. One day, in rounding the foot of Bigge 
 Island in a high wind, it Hsted to one side with 
 the heavy load and sank, those on board escaping 
 with some difficulty. It was eventually raised 
 and towed to Marsh's Bay, where portions of the 
 wreck are still visible. 
 
 At the widest point — from the Rollway across 
 Broad Lake — the distance is four miles. The wa- 
 ters abound with fish of various species, among 
 which are several kinds of bass, including black 
 bass, and white fish, pike, pickerel, cat-fish, and 
 even the despised dog-fish, now being advocated 
 as a food to reduce the high cost of living. Nu- 
 merous varieties of the smaller fry are found in 
 abundance. 
 
 It is said that a German naturalist spent a 
 year at Edwardsville studying the bill-fish, a 
 rare species that is found only here. The long 
 sharp bills bump against the boats with a dull 
 thud. It is a strange sight to see a great shoal 
 of them at spawning time, crowding each other 
 out of the water in a vain endeavor to reach the 
 rocky shore. Futile efforts were made to capture 
 one for a specimen at such a time. All kinds of 
 hook and bait proved useless. Even a gaff hook 
 failed to penetrate their armor. Attempts have 
 been made to free the Lake of these fish, as it is 
 believed they prey upon other species. At one 
 time an appropriation from the State was ob- 
 tained for this purpose. 
 
 Nearly all of the islands that dot Black Lake 
 are now occupied by cottages. On Elizabeth 
 Island the late Amasa Thornton, Tom Reed and 
 others built what was known as the New York 
 Club House. For several years they kept as care- 
 taker Geo. Munk, the youngest brother of Hank 
 Munk, the stage-coach driver of the Rockies, 
 made famous by the story of Horace Greeley's 
 
 8 
 
ride over the mountains with him. The Club 
 House is now owned and occupied as a Summer 
 home by a prominent New Yorker. Several of 
 the adjacent cottages are owned by New York 
 City people. Two of the cottages on the main 
 land are owned by descendants of the first Dutch 
 settlers of Manhattan — one of Annette Jans, well 
 known to readers of history, the other of the 
 Ryckmans, after whom it is said the Borough of 
 Richmond (Staten Island) was named and who 
 sold the property where the Stock Exchange now 
 stands for the then fabulous sum of eight hun- 
 dred and fifty dollars. So the past and present 
 of Black Lake are closely interwoven with that 
 of New York City. 
 
 The G. A. R. Club House was built on Min- 
 eral Point, opposite the RoUway, by ten members 
 of Erwin H. Barnes Post of Gouverneur. At one 
 time a postoffice was established there called 
 Army, with the late Elmer Gray as Postmaster. 
 It is now owned by a physician of Gouverneur. 
 Morris Island and properties on the shore oppo- 
 site are in the possession of the descendants of 
 the Church family. 
 
 The village of Heuvelton is on the Oswe- 
 gatchie River. Edwardsville and "The Cedars" 
 are on the shore of the Lake, while Pope Mills is 
 on Fish Creek, one of its tributaries. The nat- 
 ural scenery resembles that of the St. Lawrence 
 River, which is, at the nearest point, only two 
 miles distant. A fine State road connects at 
 Gouverneur with the main auto road from New 
 York City to the Adirondacks, making this inter- 
 esting place easily accessible to tourists. The 
 point known as The RoUway is the most fre- 
 (juented part of the Lake. In the autumn Lone- 
 some Bay has its particular attractions for duck 
 hunters. Justina Park on Bigge Island is the 
 Mecca for camping parties. Although the Indian 
 has passed to his Happy Hunting Ground, count- 
 
less individuals still follow his trail in the pursuit 
 of health and happiness on the shores of Black 
 Lake. 
 
 !M 
 
 THE RAINDOW PATH AND THE POT OF GOLD. 
 
 O'er hill and dale, through copse and wood, 
 
 We follow o'er a rocky road, 
 
 Where moss lined path and fern capped knoll 
 
 Beckons on to the breezy goal. 
 
 Past lowland farm, up steep "Pine Hill," 
 
 Curving 'round by the old "Lime Kiln," 
 
 By quiet churchyard and sleepy town, 
 
 On to the "Iiollwa.y" sloping down ; 
 
 Plodding ever in sinuotis line 
 
 At last we see, in course of time, 
 
 A low point tipped with rocky reef 
 
 Stand 'gainst the sky in bold relief. 
 
 Upon its banks waves softly "swish" 
 
 Where "eel flies" lure the wily fish. 
 
 The hushed shores lie, dim pictures seen 
 
 Above the water's silvery sheen, 
 
 And snowy lillies gently rock, 
 
 Cradled in ripples that kiss the "dock." 
 
 The white ducks flit across the sky 
 
 To where the fields of wild rice lie. 
 
 And sounds a note on distant hills — 
 
 The plaintive song of whippoorwills. 
 
 Here floating islands idly sway 
 
 Upon the bosom of the bay. 
 
 While grim "Big Island" proudly stands 
 
 Embroidered 'round with rock and sand.s. 
 
 The white caps roll and swift sails ride 
 
 O'er crested wave with bouyant pride, 
 
 And steam yachts plow away the foam 
 
 Like glistening lines of furrowed loam. 
 
 We lie and dream in idle way 
 
 On the soft grass at close of day. 
 
 And hear the rustling of angels' wings 
 
 In the moaning song the old pine sings. 
 
 Care and sorrow, by magic wand. 
 
 Banished are from this happy land. 
 
 And life and love sweet sunshine make 
 
 Upon the borders of Black Lake. 
 
 lO 
 
" VAGABONDIA" 
 
 "Vagabondia," fair and still, 
 Ne.stled underneath the hill. 
 Sunny ripples kiss the shore, 
 Breezes fan it o'er and o'er, 
 Birches white lean o'er the edge 
 Clinging to the rocky ledge. 
 Blackbirds call, the hum of bees; 
 Piney odors from the trees, 
 Shifting shadows, cool and sweet. 
 Spots where sun and shadow meet. 
 Where the golden lillies fioat, 
 Wavelets ecldy 'round our boat; 
 Through the waters out and in 
 Dart the fish with shining fin. 
 On the rocks the turtle lays 
 Basking in the sun's warm rays ; 
 Ferns and mosses nod at him 
 From Belie Island's stony rim. 
 Nature waved her fairy wand 
 O'er this dear and happy laud. 
 "Jolly Vags," we love it well, 
 More than I can ever tell ; 
 But out of mind is out of sight 
 To "the ships that pass at night." 
 
 MY GUM TREE CANOE. 
 
 Let not the hand of man defile 
 
 This rude reminder of the past. 
 But let it lie in peace awhile — 
 
 This resting place it finds at last. 
 
 The dashing waves its sides have rent, 
 
 Its eraptuiess an echo seems 
 Of days when stealthy warriors w(^nt 
 
 To rouse the settler from his dreams. 
 
 Alas! The wigwam fires are dead ; 
 
 The hand that paddled it is still. 
 The race that fashioned it has fled 
 
 From rock bound shore and wooded hill. 
 
 Their arrows rust beneath the sod. 
 
 Their bow strings stretch beyond the skies, 
 
 And where their nioccasined feet once trod. 
 Stranded, this old canoe now lies. 
 
 Upon the bosom of the lake 
 No more its battered form shall sway ; 
 
 A wreck sublime — let no one take 
 This relic of a by-gone day. 
 
 (These verses were written and fastened to the remains of 
 an old Indian dug-out found sunken in one of the bays. ) 
 
 1 1 
 
"THE CEDARS." 
 
 A little church so modest 
 
 Stands on the Western shore. 
 The spire upon the belfry 
 
 Points heavenward evermore. 
 And on the Sabbath evening 
 
 Our sleeping fancies wake 
 As we listen to the music 
 
 Of the bells across the F^ake 
 
 Calling to the fisherman, 
 
 The farmer and the sage, 
 To merry lads and lassies, 
 
 To men of every age. 
 Deep in our hearts there echoes, 
 
 The melodies they make, 
 As we listen to the chiming 
 
 Of the bells across the Lake. 
 
 As our boat drifts into shadows 
 
 Of the hazy twilight mist, 
 And softly rocks in rythm 
 
 By lazy ripples kissed, 
 The spell of rest steals o'er us, 
 
 Its incense we partake 
 As we hear the distant murmur 
 
 Of the bells across the Lake, 
 
 Oh! gentle bells of evening! 
 
 You little know your worth ; 
 You never dream how dear you seem. 
 
 To vagabonds of earth! 
 We breathe in Sabbath spirit 
 
 A prayer for His dear sake. 
 As we hear the solemn tolling 
 
 Of the bells across the Lake. 
 
 12 
 
STATE OF MACOMB, SEPTEMBER NINETEEN, 
 YEAR EIGHTEEN NINETY-SIX, I WEEN. 
 
 Kind Fhiexd : 
 
 Of a Summer that's only just past, 
 
 1 send you this message, it may be m\' last, 
 
 I hope you reiueiiiber our Club House down here 
 
 In this corner of Eden with its serpents, I fear 
 
 That mem'ry turns backward with lingering glance, 
 
 Life's pages of sternness and tender romance, 
 
 And gives one stray thought to tiiis spot and the days 
 
 AVhen we sailed, rowed and sang, and were happy always. 
 
 To the "wishing gate" small at the foot of the hills, 
 
 That we had to pass through when -we Avent to Pope Mills, 
 
 The Lead Mine beyond antl the deserted town 
 
 AVith its wide grassy street and its walls crumbling down, 
 
 The Point and the islands and then the Roll way, 
 
 And the echoos that hover o'er dark Lonesome Bay 
 
 And it makes the blood curdle, and oh! how we pant! 
 
 P'or on Anderson's island there is a real "hant" ! 
 
 And have j'ou forgotten the old ruined mill 
 
 Near Morse's sand yard, where we play at our will. 
 
 And the bridge on Fish Creek that I've sometimes leaned o'er 
 
 And wished that you'd come back to see it once more. 
 
 The cloth that you bought, warranted never to fade, 
 
 And the pretty blue pennant swift fingers soon made. 
 
 The flag staff that bore it, the wading ground near, 
 
 The lantern we rowed by dark nights, without fear, 
 
 The fine '"Henley" stroke and the "'chickenly" too, 
 
 They proved small assistance, 'tis certainly true ; 
 
 But 'twas labor of love, please accept it as such, 
 
 And while you're remembering don't blame us too much. 
 
 The "petticoat sails" that float crost the Bay, 
 
 (And I notice with Payne that they always are Gray.) 
 
 The trim little steam boat with swift dancing keel, 
 
 With Pud at the engine and Ken at the wheel. 
 
 But never mind now, enough has been said. 
 
 For summer is gone and the lillies are dead. 
 
 The "phoebes" have flown to come back no more 
 
 And the gliosts of good times stalk out through the door. 
 
 We will close up the book and toss out the pen 
 
 For no one will come here to register again 
 
 And when you read this remember to send 
 
 A message of thought to 
 
 Your Absent Friend. 
 P. S. 
 
 The "critic" would say this is very bad verse 
 And Pm thinking myself that it could not be worse. 
 But 'tis penned in a hurry and but for the sake 
 Of our vacation days on tliis jolly Black Lake. 
 
 13 
 
THE WATER LILY. 
 
 Chaste little blossom, fair lotus of old, 
 Slowly your leaves to the sun you unfold, 
 Resting on lily pads cool and green, 
 Wafting your sweetness from worlds unseen. 
 
 Rocking idly on the white-tipped wave 
 Pink tinted stems the clear waters lave, 
 Or else mirrored on the quiet lake, 
 Reflected loveliness shines in your wake. 
 
 Pearly petals and a heart of gold, 
 
 Inceuse from Heaven your chalices hold 
 
 Snowy symbol of slumber and rest, 
 
 Closing your buds when the sun's in the West. 
 
 Born in the depths of the ooze and slime 
 Your pure spirit soars to light in time. 
 Learn from the lily — rise from the sod 
 To the glory of the throne of God. 
 
 WOOD VIOLETS. 
 
 At eve, each day, fresh coverlids turned down, we find 
 To give the tender new born bud the sparkling wine 
 
 Of balmy breeze and soft-falling April shower. 
 Each morn some sweet new blossom bids us "good morning," 
 With fragrant bloom its low woodland bed adorning, 
 Rising from their mossy couch in countless numbers, 
 Their dew-washed eyelids opening from matin slumbers. 
 The gentle sisterhood of blue and white and gold, 
 Their modest beauty to the wooing winds unfold, 
 
 Shyly they hold up for the rain their tiny cup. 
 And drink the fragile measure full. Delicious draught, 
 Such golden liquid chastest color gives when quaffed. 
 
 So they bloom on and breathe their incense up to Him 
 Who made them that they might perfume these hidden nooks 
 And scatter petals in the limpid purling brooks 
 
 That spots remote may catch the scent of violets. 
 
 14 
 
WILD ROSES. 
 
 Gathering the roses, leaving each thorn, 
 This the trite story of youth's early morn. 
 Age in its weakness will miss the perfume 
 Wafted from the lips of the rose's pure bloom, 
 And sit down with tears in the armchair of time, 
 And mourn o'er the feebleness and the chill rime, 
 And the dead hopes of years flown forever and aye 
 And the roses that flushed in youth's merry hey-day — 
 In the days that are gone. 
 
 'Tis a fatal mistake in spring's warm day 
 If the farmer fail in the ground to lay 
 Seed for the harvest that ripens in Fall, 
 So when winter casts o'er earth its white pall 
 It can laugh at its grave clothes and spread good cheer 
 To brighten the days of the fast dying year. 
 So of life if we know the full glory complete, 
 We must toil and take daily the bitter and sweet, 
 And the rose and the thorn. 
 
 DOWN ON LONESOME BAY. 
 
 A SONG OF THE NORTHLAND. 
 
 When the Northland woods are brown 
 
 And the leaves are sifting down, 
 
 When the Autumn breeze thro' the evergreen trees 
 
 Hums a low sweet song. 
 Then I dream of the days of yore, 
 And I long to tread once more 
 The winding track that leads to a shack 
 
 Down on Lonesome Bay. 
 
 Chorus — 
 
 Down on Lonesome Bay 
 Where the fields of wild rice lay, 
 Where the wild ducks soar 
 To the opposite shore, 
 And the bobolinks sing all day. 
 With my rod and gun in my boat 
 O'er the billowy waves I float. 
 Oh, I want to go back to that dear little shack 
 Down on Lonesome Bay. 
 
 I dwell on the 'leventeenth floor 
 
 Far above the city's roar. 
 
 And I often sigh that I never learned to fly 
 
 To get down to earth once more. 
 I work all the time in a loft, 
 And I never can get a day off. 
 I ride in the "Sub" and sleep in the tub 
 
 In this lonesome town. 
 Cho.— 
 
 15 
 
BY THE OSWEGATCHIE RIVER' 
 
 A SONG OF THE NORTHLAND. 
 
 In the foothills of the mountains 
 
 Of the Adirondack chain 
 There runs a rippling river 
 
 With a mellow Indian name, 
 As a boy I played beside it 
 
 With my sweetheart by my side, 
 And soon I'm going back again 
 
 To claim her as my bride. 
 
 Chorus — 
 
 By the Oswegatchie river 
 Where the winds blow clear and free. 
 
 There's a pretty little maiden 
 Who is waiting there for me. 
 
 All the world will be forgotten, 
 There'll be only just us two. 
 
 When she paddles down to meet me 
 In her little birch canoe. 
 
 O'er the humming of the city 
 
 I can hear the robin's note, 
 Beyond the walls of brick and stone 
 
 I see the lillies float. 
 The old sweet lover's call resounds 
 
 In fancy from the shore. 
 I'm going home to Northland 
 
 To see it all once more. 
 
 Chorus — 
 
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