COME, let us away to the old Sugar Camp: 

The sky is serene, though the ground may be damp; 

And the bright little streams, as they frolic and run, 

Turn a look full of thanks to the ice-melting sun; 

While the warm southern winds, wherever they go, 

Leave patches of brown 'mid the glittering snow. 

The oxen are ready, and Carlo and Tray 

Are watching us, ready to be on the way, 

While a group of gay children, with platter and spoon, 

And faces as bright as the roses of June, 

O'er fences and ditches exultingly spring, 

Light-hearted and careless as birds on the wing. 

Our cheeks all aglow with the long morning tramp, 

We soon come in sight of the old Sugar Camp; 

The syrup already is placed in the pan, 

And we gather around it as many as can,— 

We try it on snow; when we find it is done, 

We fill up a mold for a dear absent one.