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Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time."

Page 304.

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Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.*
Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past !
Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl !
But, when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past !
Utawas tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Saint of this green isle ! hear our prayers,
Oh! grant us cool heavens and favouring airs.
Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past !


From the banks of the St. Lawrence.
Not many months have now been dreamed away
Since yonder sun (beneath whose evening ray
We rest our boat among these Indian isles)
Saw me where mazy Trent serenely smiles
Through many an oak, as sacred as the groves
Beneath whose shade the pious Persian roves,
And hears the soul of father, or of chief,
Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf !
There listening, Lady! while thy lip hath sung
My own unpolished lays, how proud I've hung
On every mellowed number ! proud to feel
That notes like mine should have the fate to steal,
As o'er thy hallowing lip they sighed along,
Such breath of passion and such soul of song.
Oh! I have wondered, like the peasant boy
Who sings at eve his sabbath strains of joy,
And when he hears the rude, luxuriant note
Back to his ear on softening echoes float,
Believes it still some answering spirit's tone,
And thinks it all too sweet to be his own!
I dreamed not then that, ere the rolling year
Had filled its circle, I should wander here
In musing awe; should tread this wondrous world,
See all its store of inland waters hurled

At the Rapid of St. Ann they are obliged to take out part, if not the whole, of their lading. It is from this spot the Canadians consider they take their departure, as it possesses the last church on the island, which is dedicated to the tutelar saint of voyagers."-Mackenzie, General History of the Fur Trade.


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In one vast volume down Niagara's steep,
Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep,
Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed
Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed !-
Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and glide
Down the white rapids of his lordly tide
Through massy woods, through islets flowering fair,
Through shades of bloom, where the first sinful pair
For consolation might have weeping trod,
When banished from the garden of their God!
O Lady! these are miracles, which man
Caged in the bounds of Europe's pygmy plan
Can scarcely dream of; which his eye must see
To know how beautiful this world can be !

But soft !-the tinges of the west decline,
And night falls dewy o'er these banks of pine.
Among the reeds, in which our idle boat
Is rocked to rest, the wind's complaining note
Dies, like a half-breathed whispering of flutes;
Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots,
And I can trace him, like a watery star,
Down the steep current, till he fades asar
Amid the foaming breakers' silvery light,
Where yon rough rapids sparkle through the night!
Here as along this shadowy bank I stray,
And the smooth glass-snake, t gliding o'er my way,
Shows the dim moonlight through his scaly form,
Fancy, with all the scene's enchantment warm,
Hears in the murmur of the nightly breeze,
Some Indian Spirit warble words like these :

From the clime of sacred doves, I
Where the blessed Indian roves
Through the air on wing as white
As the spirit-stones of lights
Which the eye of morning counts
On the Appalachian mounts !
Hither oft my flight I take
Over Huron's lucid lake,
Where the wave, as clear as dew,
Sleeps beneath the light canoe,

* Anburey, in his Travels, has noticed this shooting illumination which porpoises diffuse at night through the St. Lawrence.—Vol. i. p. 29. + The glass-snake is brittle and transparent.

"The departed spirit goes into the Country of Souls, where, according to some, it is transformed into a dove."-Charlevoix upon the Traditions and the Religion of the Savages of Canada. See the curious fable of the American Orpheus in Lafitau, tome i. P. 402.

§ “ The mountains appeared to be sprinkled with white stones, which glis. tened in the sun, and were called by the Indians 'manetoe asepiah,' or spiritstones.''- Mackenzie's Journal.

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