The waves beat roughly ‘gainst the rocks
Of Superior’s northern shore,
But long they’ve stood the thundrous shocks
Of the storm’s relentless roar;
And Thunder Cape looms up amain—
The Sleeping Giant’s guardian fane.
The steamers bearing ores, which mined
On Minnesota’s shore,
They leave a trail of smoke behind
A-carrying valued store
For mills to forge in Vulcan bars,
In shapes for Eros or for Mars.
The gulls sweep round our ship, the while—
Their pinions never tire—
Their actions oft bring forth a smile,
And their graces we admire.
They soar, they dive and then they float,
Collecting morsels from our boat.