One of the great early outdoor writers was the mercurial E.Z.C. Judson, better known by his nom de plume of Ned Buntline. He wrote often (and lovingly) of his Adirondack fishing camp known as the "Eagle's Nest," including in this nifty (and often reproduced) poem:
"THE EAGLE'S NEST"
by Ned Buntline
Where the silvery gleam of the rushing stream
Is so brightly seen o'er the rocks dark green,
Where the white pink grows by the wild red rose
And the blue bird sings till the welkin rings.
Where the red deer leaps and the panther creeps,
And the eagles scream over cliff and stream,
Where the lillies bow their heads of snow,
And the hemlocks tall throw a shade o'er all.
Where the rolling surf laves the emerald turf,
Where the trout leans high at the hovering fly,
Where the sportive fawn crops the soft green lawn,
And the crows' shrill cry bodes a tempest nigh --
There is my home -- my wildwood home.
Where no steps intrude in the dense dark wood,
Where no song is heard but the breeze and bird;
Where the world's foul scum can never come;
Where friends are so few that all are true
There is my home -— my wildwood home.
-- Dr. Todd