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It was noon, and on flowers that languished around
In silence reposed the voluptuous bee;
But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree.
“ With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, Who would blush when I praised her, and weep if I blamed,
How blest could I live, and how calm could I die! "By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips
In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, And to know that I sighed upon innocent lips,
Which had never been sighed on by any but mine !"
Upon the gathering ills we see ;
All thoughts of ill in hearing thee !
Thy song could make my soul forget-
All may be well, be happy yet !
Once more upon the dear harp lie,
Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh!
We used to love long, long ago,
As now, alas! they bleed to know !
Of all that looked so rapturous then,
I cannot bear those sounds again!
I see thy tears flow fast with mine
'Tis breaking, but it still is thine !
A VISION OF PHILOSOPHY. 'Twas on the Red Sea coast, at morn, we met The venerable man; a virgin bloom
Of softness mingled with the vigorous thought
And here the old man ceased- a winged train
Each hope that led me lightly on ;
And life grew dark and love was gone ! No eye to mingle sorrow's tear,
No lip to mingle pleasure's breath, No tongue to call me kind and dear
'Twas gloomy, and I wished for death ! But when I saw that gentle eye,
Oh! something seemed to tell me then That I was yet too young to die,
And hope and bliss might bloom again! With every beamy smile what crossed
Your kindling cheek, you lighted home Some feeling which my heart had lost,
And peace, which long had learned to roam ! 'Twas then indeed so sweet to live,
Hope looked so new and Love so kind, That, though I weep, I still sorgive
The ruin which they've left behind ! I could have loved you-oh so well !
The dream, that wishing boyhood knows, Is but a bright beguiling spell,
Which only lives while passion glows : But, when this early flush declines,
When the heart's vivid morning fleets, You know not then how close it twines
Round the first kindred soul it meets ! Yes, yes, I could have loved, as one
Who, while his youth's enchantments fall, Finds something dear to rest upon,
Which pays him for the loss of all !
то — In slumber, I prithee, how is it
That souls are oft taking the air, And paying each other a visit,
While bodies are-Heaven knows where?
Last night, 'tis in vain to deny it,
Your Soul took a fancy to roam,
Come ask whether mine was at home.
And mine let her in with delight,
And they talked and they kissed the time through,
There is no knowing what they mayn't do!
Had much to complain and to say
By keeping her prisoned all day.
For a peep now and then to her eye,
Just venture abroad on a sigh ;
With some phantom of prudence or terror,
Or, what is still worse, into error!
Through look and through words „nd through mier.
Where truly I blush to be seen!”
My Soul, looking tenderly at her,
He did not know much of the matter;
“Be at home after midnight, and then
And we'll talk o'er the subject again."
I suppose to her door to direct him,
Your polite little Soul may expect him.
That life, without this cheering ray,
A CANADIAN BOAT-SONG.
* I wrote these words to an air which our boatmen sung to us very frequently, The wind was so unfavourable that they were obliged to row all the way, and we were five days in descending the river from Kingston to Montreal, exposed to an intense sun during the day, and at night forced to take shelter from the dews in any miserable hut upon the banks that would receive ris. But the magnificent scenery of the St. Lawrence repays all these difficulties.
Our voyageurs had good voices, and sung perfectly in tune together. The original words of the air, to which I adapted these stanzas, appeared to be a long, incoherent story, of which I could understand but little, from the bar. barous pronunciation of the Canadian. It begins
Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontré
Deux cavaliers très bien montés; And the refrain to every verse was
A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais jouer,
A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais danser. I ventured to harmonize this air, and have published it. Without that charm which association gives to every little memorial of scenes or feelings that are past, the melody may perhaps be thought common and critling: but I remember when we have entered, at sunset, upon one of those beautiful lakes into which the St. Lawrence so grandly and unexpectedly opens, I have heard this simple air with a pleasure which the finest compositions of the first masters have never given me, and now there is not a note of it which does not recall to my memory the oip of our oars in the St. Lawrence, the flight of our boat down the Rapids, and all those new and fanciful impressions to which my heart was alive during he whole of this very interesting voyage.
The above stanzas are supposed to be sung by those vovageurs who go to the Gran i Fortage by the Utawas River. For an account of this wonderful undertaking sc Sir Alexander Mackenzie's General History of the Fur Trade, preSixed nis Jrurnal.