That life, without this cheering ray,
Which came, like sunshine, every day,
And all my pain, my sorrow chased,
Is now a lone and loveless waste.-
Where are the chords she used to touch'
Where are the songs she loved so much?
The songs are hushed, the chords are still
And so, perhaps, will every thrill
Of friendship soon be lulled to rest,
Which late I waked in Anna's breast!
Yet no-the simple notes I played
On memory's tablet soon may fade;
The songs which Anna loved to hear
May all be lost on Anna's ear;
But friendship's sweet and fairy strai
Shall ever in her heart remain ;
Nor memory lose nor time impair
The sympathies which tremble there!

A CANADIAN BOAT-SONG.
Written on the River St. Lawrence.*
Et reniigem cantus hortatur.-Quintilian.
FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime,

Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.

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 us. 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 trifling; 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 dip 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 voyageurs who go to the Gran Fortage by the Utawas River. For an account of this wonderful undertaking see Sir Alexander Mackenzie's General History of the Fur Trade, preSxed his Journal.