"The
Dismal Swamp" [1852]
Quartette
As sung by the
Amphions of the Empire State
Music by
[Bernard] Covert
Arranged for the Amphions by
Prof. T. Wood.

25 cent nett.
BOSTON Published by OLIVER DITSON 115 Washington St.
GOULD & BERRY: N. York.
G,W.BRAINARD & CO.: Louiville.
C.C.Clapp & CO.: Boston.
[Plate no.] 6066
[Source: am238501]

  A young man at the South is said to have become fearfully
and hopelessly deranged by the death of his affianced bride.
In his madness he constantly asserted that she was not dead,
but had gone to he Lake of the Dismal Swamp, a beatiful sheet
of water situated in the midst of an extensive and dreary
morass, inhabited only by wild beasts and loathsome reptiles.
He ofted insisted upon going in search of her, and at length
eluded the vigilence of his keepers and excaped,  and as he
was never again heard from, it was supposed that he perished
in the attempt to find his lost one.  In the above song the
poet has attempted to give language and form to the vagaries
of a diseased imagination, and to suggest a possible and
pleasing termination to his perilous wanderings.

1. They made her a grave too cold and damp
  For a heart so warm and true.
And she’s gone to the lake of the dismal swamp
Where all night long by her firefly lamp
  She paddles her light canoe.
Her firefly lamp I soon shall see,
  Her paddle I soon shall hear;
Long and loving our life shall be,
  And I’ll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
When the footsteps of death draw near,
When the footsteps of death draw near.

2. Away to the dismal swamp he speeds
  His path was rugged and sore,
Through tangled juniper, beds of weeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,
  And man never trod before.
And when on earth he lay down to sleep,
  If slumber his eyelids knew,
He lay where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear, and nightly steep
  The flesh with brist’ring dew.
  The flesh with brist’ring dew.

3. And near him the shewolf stirred the brake,
  And the copper snake breathed in his ear,
Till he startling, cried,— from his dream awake—
“Oh! when shall I see the dusky lake,
  And the light canoe of my dear?”
He reached the lake, and a meteor spark
  Quick over its surface played;
“Welcome,” he cried, “my dear one’s light,”
And the dim shore echoed for many a night
  The name of that deathcold maid.
  The name of that deathcold maid.

4. Till he made him a boat from birchen bark,
  Which carried him off from the shore;
Long he followed that meteor spark,
The wind was high, and the night was dark,
  And the boat returned no more.
And oft from the Indian hunter’s camp,
  This lover and maid so true,
Are seen at the hour of the midnight damp,
To cross the lake by their firefly lamp,
  And to paddle their light canoe.
  And to paddle their light canoe.