"We must have an arch at the bridge, and a crown,
And '_Welcome to Arthur_,' arranged all so fine
With balsam and tamarack, spruce and green pine;
But the crown shall be flowers, the fairest that blow,
Or are made by deft fingers, from paper you know,
And many a fair one who skilfully weaves
Wreaths and garlands, shall bring them of ripe maple leaves;
And then, as 'Jason Gould' that so snug little boat,
The most cosy, most homelike was ever afloat,
Will not quicken herself for a Prince or for two,
But will at her own pace the Mud Lake paddle through.
It will be about midnight, or later than that,
And as dark as the crown of your grandfather's hat,
When that ponderous boat waddles up to the pier,
A tired Prince will his Highness be when he gets here.
We'll illumine the town, from mansion to cell,
County buildings and cottages, home and hotel,
And the arch with its motto, that triumph of skill,
Shall be seen in its glory by light from the mill,
Which floor upon floor many windowed shall blaze
And light up each bud in the crown with its rays.
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