« VorigeDoorgaan »
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
Oh! I have wonder'd, like the peasant boy We'll sing at St Ann's our parting hymn.'
Who sings at eve his sabbath strains of joy, Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
And when he hears the rude, luxuriant note The Rapids are near and the daylight 's past!
Back to his ear on softening echoes float,
Believes it still some answering spirit's tone, Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
And thinks it all too sweet to be his own! There is not a breath the blue wave to curl
I dream'd not then that, ere the rolling year But, when the wind blows off the shore,
Had fill'd its circle, I should wander here Oh! sweetly we 'll rest our weary oar.
In musing awe; should tread this wondrous world, Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
See all its store of inland waters hurld The Rapids are near, and the day-light 's past ! In one vast volume down Niagara's steep,'
Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep, Utawas' tide! this trembling moon
Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed !Saint of this green Isle! hear our prayers,
Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and glide Oh! grant us cool heavens and favouring airs.
Down the white Rapids of his lordly tide Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
Through massy woods, through islets flowering fair, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past !
Through shades of bloom, where the first sinful pair
When banish'd from the garden of their God!
Oh, Lady! these are miracles, which man,
Caged in the bounds of Europe's pigmy plan,
To know how beautiful this world can be!
But soft!--the tinges of the west decline,
Among the reeds, in which our idle boat
Is rock'd to rest, the wind's complaining note Saw me, where mazy Trent serenely smiles
Dies, like a half-breathed whispering of flutes; Through many an oak, as sacred as the groves Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots, Beneath whose shade the pious Persian roves,
And I can trace him, like a watery star, And hears the soul of father or of chief,
Down the steep current, till he fades afar Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf!2
Amid the foaming breaker's silvery light, There listening, Lady! while thy lip hath sung
Where yon rough Rapids sparkle through the night! My own unpolish'd lays, how proud I've hung
Here, as along this shadowy bank I stray, On every mellow'd number! proud to feel
And the smooth glass-snake, 3 gliding o'er my way, That notes like mine should have the fate to steal, Shows the dim moonlight through his scaly form, As o'er thy hallowing lip they sigh'd along,
Fancy, with all the scene's enchantment warm, Such breath of passion and such soul of song.
Hears in the murmur of the nightly breeze,
Some Indian Spirit warble words like these :
From the clime of sacred doves, 4
Where the blessed Indian roves,
Through the air on wing, as white
As the spirit-stones of light,5
" When I arrived at Chippewa, within three miles of the Falls, it
was too late to think of visiting them that evening, and I lay awake I ventured to harmonize this air, and have published it. Without all night with the sound of the cataract in my ears, The day folthat charm which association gives to every little memorial of scenes lowing I consider as a kind of era in my life, and the first glimpse or feelings that are past, the melody may perhaps be thought com- which I caught of those wonderful Falls gave me a feeling which nomon and trifling; but I remember when we have entered, at sunset, thing in this world can ever excite again. upon one of those beautiful lakes into which the St Lawrence so To Colonel Brock, of the 49th, w bo commanded at the Fort, I am grandly and unexpectedly opens, I have heard this simple air with a particularly indebted for bis kindoess to me during the fortnight I pleasure which the finest compositions of the first masters have never remained at Niagara. Among many pleasant days, which passed given me; and now there is not a note of it which does not recal to my with him and bis brother officers, that of our visit to the Tuscarora memory the dip of our oars ia the St Lawrence, the flight of our boat Indians was not the least interestiog. They received us all in their down the Rapids, and all those new and fanciful impressions to which ancient costume; the young men exhibited, for our amusement, in my lieart was alive during the whole of this very interesting voyage. the race, the bat-game, etc., -wbile the old and i be women sat in
The above stapzas are sopposed to be sung by those voyageurs who groups under the surrounding trees : and the picture altogether was go to the Grando Portage by the Ulawas River. For an account of as beautiful as it was new to me. this wonderful undertaking, see Sir ALEXANDER MACKENZIE'S Gene- ? ASBORET, in his Travels, has noticed this shooting illumination ral History of the Fur Trude, pretined to his Journal.
which porpoises diffuse at nigbu hrough the St Lawrence, vol. p. 29. • At the Rapid of St Apu they are obliged to take oat part, if not The glass-snake is brille and transparent. the whole, of their lading. It is from this spot the Canadians consi- 4. The departed spirit goes into the Country of Souls, whore, acder they take their departure, as it possesses the last church on the cording to some, it is transformod into a dore. --CHAELevoix, upon island, which is dedicated to the tutelar saint of voyagers..-Mac- the l'raditions and the Religion of the Sarages of Canada. See the coKENZIE's General Histury of the Fur Trade.
rious Fable of the American Orpheus in Laritav, tom. I, p. 402. 1. Avendo essi per costume di avere in veneratione gli alberi s. The mountains appeared 10 be sprinkled with white stones, frandi ed antichi. quasi che siano spesso ricetaccoli di anime beate.. which glistened in the son, and were called by the Indians manetoe -Pietro della Valle, Part. Second, Lettera 16 da i giardini di Sciraz. aseniah, or spirit-stones..—MACKENZIE's Journal.
Which the eye of morning counts
By the garden's fairest spells, On the Apallachian mounts!
Dewy buds and fragrant bells, Hither oft my flight I take
Fancy all his soul embowers
In the fly-bird's heaven of flowers !
Oft, when hoar and silvery flakes
Melt along the ruffled lakes; Looks as if it hung in air!"
When the grey moose sheds his horns,
When the track, at evening, warns Then, when I have stray'd awhile
Weary hunters of the way Through the Manataulin isle, a
To the wig-wam's checring ray, Breathing all its holy bloom,
Then, aloft through freezing air, Swift upon the purple plume
With the snow-bird soft and fair Of my Wakon-Bird 3 I fly
As the fleece that heaven flings Where, beneath a burning sky,
O'er his little pearly wings, O'er the bed of Erie's lake,
Light above the rocks I play, Slumbers many a water-snake,
Where Niagara's starry spray, Basking in the web of leaves
Frozen on the cliff, appears Which the weeping lily weaves !4
Like a giant's starting tears! Then I chase the flow'ret-king
There, amid the Island-sedge, Through his bloomy wild of spring;
Just upon the cataract's edge,
Where the foot of living man
Never trod since time began,
Lone I sit, at close of day,
While, beneath the golden ray,
Icy columns gleam below,
Feather'd round with falling snow,
And an arch of glory springs,
Brilliant as the chain of rings
Round the neck of virgins hung,-
Virgins ? who have wander'd young
O'er the waters of the west
To the land where spirits rest!
Thus have I charm’d, with visionary lay,
The lonely moments of the night away;
And now, fresh daylight o'er the water beams!
Once more embark'd upon the glittering streams,
Our boat tlies light along the leafy shore,
Shooting the falls, without a dip of oar ' I was thinking b-re of what Carver says so beautifully iu his Or breath of zephyr, like the mystic bark description of one of these lakes: When it was calm, and the sun The poet saw, in dreams divinely dark, shono bright, I could sit in my canoe, where the depib was upwards Borne, without sails, along the dusky flood, 3 of six fathoms, and plainly see huge piles of stone at the bottom, of while on its deck a pilot angel stood, different shapes, some of which appeared as if they bad been hewa ; the water was at this time as pure and transparent as air, and my And, with his wings of living light unfurld, canoe seemed as if it bung suspended in that element.
Coasted the dim shores of another world! possible to look attentively ihrough this limpid medium at the rocks below, without finding, before many minutes were elapsed, your head
Yet oh! believe me in this blooming maze swim and your eyes no longer able to behold the dazzling scene. 2. Après avoir traversé plusieurs isles peu considerables, nons en
Of lovely nature, where the fancy strays trouvámes le quatrième jour une fameuse, nommée l'isle de Mani- From charm to charm, where every flow'ret's hue toualin. --- Voyages du Baron de Larostax, tom. I, lett. 15. Mana- Hath something strange, and every leaf is new! taulin siguifies a Place of Spirits, and this island in Lake Huron is held sacred by the Indians.
I never feel a bliss so pure and still, 3. The Wakon-Bird, which probably is of the same species with
So heavenly calm, as when a stream or hill, the Bird of Paradise, receives its name from the ideas the Indians have of its superior excellence; the Wakon-Bird being, in their lan
It was im
* Emberiza byemalis.- Soe inlar's Kentucky, page 28o. guage, the Bird of the Great Spirit.s-lorse.
* Lafitag wishes to believe, for the sake of bis ibeory, that there • The islands of Lake Erie are surrounded to a considerable dis- was an order of vestals established among the Iroquois Indians ; but tance by the large pond-lily, whose leaves spread thickly over the I am afraid that Jacques Cartbier, upon whose authority be supports surface of the lake, and form a kid of bed for the water-spakes in bimself, moant any thing but vestal institations by the cabanes
publiques, which he met with at Montreal.-See LAFITAB, Murers 5. The gold-thread is of the vine kind, and grows in swamps. The
des Sauvages Americains, etc. tom. I. p. 173. roots spread themselves just under the surface of the morasses, and
3 Vedi che sdegoa gli argomenti umani are easily drawn out by handfals. They resemble a large entangled
Si che remo non vuol, nè altro velo, skein of silk, and are of a bright yellow.--- Norse.
Che l' ale sne tra liti si lontani. * L'oiseau mouche, gros comme un haoneton, est de toutes conleurs, vives et changeantes : il tire sa subsistence des fleurs comme
Vedi come l' ha dritte verso 'l cielo les abeilles; son mid est fait d'un coton trés-fin suspenda à une
Trattando l'aere con l'eterne penne, branche d'arbre.- Voyage arx Indes Occidentales, par M. Bossi, ad
Che non si mntan, come mortal pelo. part, lett. xx.
DANTE, Purgator, cant, ij.
Or veteran oak, like those remember'd well,
Her sails are full, though the wind is still, Or breeze or echo, or some wild-flower's smell
And there blows not a breath her sails to fill! (For, who can say what small and fairy ties The memory flings o'er pleasure as it flies!)
Oh! what doth that vessel of darkness bear? Reminds my heart of many a sylvan dream
The silent calm of the grave is there, I once indulged by Trent's inspiring stream;
Save now and again a death-knell rung, Of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights
And the flap of the sails with night-fog hung ! On Donington's green lawns and breezy heights!
There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore Whether I trace the tranquil moments o'er
Of cold and pitiless Labrador, When I have seen thee cull the blooms of lore,
Where, under the moon, upon mounts of frost,
Full many a mariner’s bones are loss'd !
Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck,
And the dim blue fire that lights her deck
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew,
To Deadman's Isle, in the eye of the blast,
To Deadman's Isle she speeds her fast ; And welcome warm'd the cup that luxury pour'd;
By skeleton shapes her sails are furld,
And the hand that steers is not of this world!
Oh! hurry thee on-oh! hurry thee on,
Thou terrible bark! ere the night be gone, Whose light the eye can tranquilly admire,
Nor let morning look on so foul a sight
As would blanch for ever her rosy light!
TO THE BOSTON FRIGATE.'
ON LEAVING HALIFAX FOR ENGLAND, OCTOBER 1804. Stream, banks, and bowers, have faded on my eyes !
Noστου προφασις γλυκερου. .
Pindar. Pyth. 4. IMPROMPTU,
OF MONTREAL WItu triumph this morning, oh Boston! I hail "T was but for a moment-and yet in that time
The stir of thy deck and the spread of thy sail,
For they tell me I soon shall be wafted, in thee, She crowded the impressions of many an hour :
To the flourishing isle of the brave and the free, Her eye had a glow, like the sun of her clime,
And that chill Nova-Scotia's unpromising strand ? Which waked every feeling at once into flower!
Is the last I shall tread of American land.
Well- peace to the land! may the people at length,
Know that freedom is bliss, but that honour is strength; The things we could look, and imagine, and say,
That though man have the wings of the fetterless wind, Would be worth all the life we had wasted till then!
Of the wantonest air that the north can unbind, What we had not the leisure or language to speak, We were thirteen days on our passage from Quebec 10 Halifax. We should find some more exquisite mode of revealing, and I had been so spoiled by the very splendid hospitality with
which my friends of the Phaeton and Boston had treated me, ibat I And, between us, should feel just as much in a week,
was but ill prepared to encounter the miseries of a Canadian ship. As others would take a millenium in fecling!
The weather, bowever, was pleasant, and the scevery along the river delightful. Our passage through the Gut of Canso, with a bright sky and a fair wind, was particularly striking and romantic.
Commanded by Captain J. E. Douglas, with whom I returned to WRITTEN
England, and to whom I am indebted for many, many kindnesses. ON PASSING DEADMAN'S ISLAND.' In truth, I should bat offend the delicacy of my friend Douglas, and,
at the same time, do injustice 10 my own feelings of gratitude, d.di IN THE GULF OF ST LAWRENCE,
attempt to say how much I owe to him.
* Sir John Wentwortb, ihe Governor of Nova-Scotia, very kindly Late in the Evening, September, 1804.
allowed me to accompany him on his visit to the college which they
have lately established at Windsor, about forty miles from Halifax, SEB you, beneath yon cloud so dark,
and I was indeed most pleasantly surprised by the beauty and fertiFast gliding along, a gloomy bark !
lity of the country which opened upon us after the bleak and rocky
wilderness by which Halifax is surrounded. I was told that, in tra• This is one of the Magdalen Islands, and, singularly enough, is velling onwards, we should find ibu soil and the scenery improve, the property of Sir Isaac Cofio. The above lines were suggested by and it gave me much pleasare to koow that the worthy Governor a superstition very common among sailors, who call this ghost-ship, bas by no means such an « inamabile regnum • as I was, at first I think, • the dying Dutchman.
sight, inclined to believe.
AFTER A VISIT TO MRS -
The merriest wight of all the kings
That ever ruled these gay gallant isles;
Yet if health do not sweeten the blast with her bloom,
Like us, by day they rode, they walk’d,
At eve they did as we may do, And Grammont just like Spencer talk'd,
And lovely Stewart smiled like you!
The only different trait is this,
That woman then, if man beset her, Was rather given to saying « yes,»
Because, as yet, she knew no better!
Farewell to the few I have left with regret,
bowl, When they 've asked me the manners, the mind, or the
mien Of some bard I had known, or some chief I had seen, Whose glory, though distant, they long had adored, Whose name often hallow'd the juice of their board! And still as, with sympathy humble but true, I told them each Juminous trait that I knew, They have listen'd, and sigli'd that the powerful stream Of America's empire should pass, like a dream, Without leaving one fragment of genius, to say How sublime was the tide which had vanish'd away! Farewell to the few—though we never may meet On this planet again, it is soothing and sweet To think that, whenever my song or my name Shall recur to their ear, they 'll recal me the same I have been to them now, young, unthoughtful, and
blest, Ere hope had deceived me or sorrow depress'd!
Each night they held a coterie,
Where, every fear to slumber charm’d, Lovers were all they ought to be,
And husbands not the least alarm'd!
They call’d up all their school-day pranks,
Nor thought it much their sense beneath To play at riddles, quips, and cranks,
And lords show'd wit, and ladies teeth.
As—« Why are husbands like the Mint?.
Because, forsooth, a husband's duty Is just to set the name and print
That give a currency to beauty. • Why is a garden's wilder'd maze
Like a young widow, fresh and fair?. Because it wants some hand to raise
The weeds, which have no business there!
And thus they miss'd and thus they hit,
And now they struck and now they parried, And some lay-in of full-grown wit,
While others of a pun miscarried.
But, Douglas! while thus I endear to my mind
'T was one of those facetious nights
That Grammont gave this forfeit ring, For breaking grave conundrum rites,
Or punning ill, or-some such thing:
From whence it can be fairly traced
Through many a branch and many a bough, From twig to twig, until it graced
The snowy hand that wears it now.
All this I 'll prove, and then to you,
Oh Tunbridge! and your springs ironical, I swear by A-thc-te's eye of blue,
To dedicate the important chronicle.
But see!- the bent top-sails are ready to swellTo the boat-I am with thee-Columbia, farewell!
Long may your ancient inmates give
Their mantles to your modern lodgers, And Charles' loves in H-thc-te live,
And Charles' bards revive in Rogers !
TO LADY A
ON AN OLD RING FOUND AT TUNBRIDGE-WELLS.
• Tunnebrige est à la même distance de Londres que Fontainebleau
l'est de Paris. Ce qu'il y a de beau et de galant dans l'un et dans l'autre sexe s'y rassemble au temps des caux. La compagnie, etc. etc. - See Mémoires de Grammoni, seconde partie, chap. iii.
Let no pedantic fools be there,
For ever be those fops abolish'd, With heads as wooden as thy ware,
And, Heaven knows! not half so polish'd.
TUNBRIDGE-Wells, August, 1805. When Grammont graced these happy springs,
And Tunbridge saw, upon her Pantiles,
But still receive the mild, the gay,
The few, who know the rare delight Of reading Grammont every day,
And acting Grammout every night!
Polymaths, and Polyhistors,
Polyglots and-all their sisters,
The instant I have got the whim in, You want not antiquity's stamp,
Off I fly with nuns and women, The lip that's so scented by roses,
Like epic poets, ne'er at ease Oh! never must smell of the lamp.
Until I've stolen « in medias res!,
So have I known a hopeful youth Old Cloe, whose withering kisses
Sit down, in quest of lore and truth, Have long set the loves at defiance,
With tomes sufficient to confound him, Now, done with the science of blisses,
Like Tohu Bohu, beap'd around him,May fly to the blisses of science!
Mamurra' stuck to Theophrastus, Young Sappho, for want of employments,
And Galen tumbling o'er Bombastus!? Alone o'er her Ovid may melt,
When lo! while all that's learn'd and wisc Condemn'd but to read of enjoyments
Absorbs the boy, he lifts his eyes, Which wiser Corinna had felt.
And through the window of his study
Beholds a virgin, fair and ruddy, But for you to be buried in books
With eyes as brightly turned upon him as Oh, Fanny! they 're pitiful sages,
The angel's 3 were on Hieronymus, Who could not in one of your looks
Saying, 't was just as sweet to kiss her-oh! Read more than in millions of pages!
Far more sweet than reading Cicero!
Quick fly the folios, widely scatter'd, Astronomy finds in your cye
Old Homer's laurelld brow is batterid, Better light than she studies above,
And Sappho's skin to Tully's leather, And music must borrow your sigh
All are confused and toss'd together! As the melody dearest to love.
Raptured he quits each dozing sage,
Oh woman! for thy lovelier page:
Sweet book! unlike the books of art,
Whose errors are thy fairest part;
In whom, the dear crrata column And 't will soon put an end to their morals.
Is the best page in all the volume! 4
But, to begin my subject rhyme
"T was just about this devilish time, But eloquence glows on your lip When you swear that you 'll love me for ever. 'Mamurra, a dogmatic philosopher, who never doubted about
any thing, except who was bis father.
Nulla de re unquam prirThus you see what a brilliant alliance
terquam de patre dubitavit. - In pit. He was very learned -- La Of arts is assembled in you
dedans (that is, in his head, when it was opened) le Punique
beurte le Persan, I'Hébreu choque l'Arabique, pour ne point parler A course of more exquisite science
de la mauvaise intelligence du Latin avec le Grec, etc.-Seellis Man never need wish to go through!
toire de Montmaur, tom. ii, page gi.
* Bombastus was one of the names of that great scholar and quack And, oh!--if a fellow like me
Paracelsus. • Philippus Bombastus latet sub splendido termine ArMay confer a diploma of hearts,
reoli Theophrasti Paracelsi,, says Stadelius de circumforanea Lite
ratorum vanitate.-He used to fight the devil every night with a With my lip thus I seal your degree,
broad-sword, to the no small terror of his pupil porinus, wbo has My divine little Mistress of Arts !
recorded the circumstance. (See (Porin. Vit. apud Christian. Gryph. Vit. Selcci. quorundam Eruditissimorum, etc.) Paracelsus bad but a poor opinion of Galen. • My very beard (says he in bis Paragra
sum) has more learning in it than either Galen or Avicenna.. EXTRACT FROM
The angel who scolded St Jerom for reading Cicero, as GRATIAN « THE DEVIL AMONG THE SCHOLARS. lells the story, in his concordantia discordantium Canonum, and says
that for this reason bishops were pot allowed to read the Classics,
• Episcopus Gentilium libros non legat.. -Distinc. 35. But Gratian Τι κακον ο γελος;
is notorious for lying-besides, angels bave got do tongues, as the Chrysost. Homil. in Epist, ad Hebræos. illustrious pupil of Pantenes assures us : Ouy disreen TANTI,
ούτως εκείνους η γλωττα: ουδ' αν οργανα τις δων cowns kriegls.-CLEM, ALEXAND. Stromat. Now, bow an ap
gel could scold without a tongue, I sball leave the angelic Mrs But, whither have these gentle ones,
to determine. The rosy nymphs and black-eyed nuns,
* The idea of the Rabbins about the origin of woman is singular. With all of Cupid's wild romancing,
They think that man was originally formed with a tail, like a Led my truant brains a dancing?
mookey, but that the Deity cut off this appendage behind, and Instead of wise encomiastics
made woman of it. Upon this extraordinary supposition the fol
lowing reflection is founded :Upon the Doctors and Scholastics,
If sach is the tie between women and men, "I promised that I would give the remainder of this poem, bat.
The ninny who weds is a pitiful elf, as my critics do not seem to relish the sublime learning which it For he takes to his tail, like an idiot, again, contains, they shall have no more of it. With a view, bowever, to
And he makes a deplorable ape of himself. the edification of these gentlemen, I have prevailed on an industri- Yet, if we may judge as the fashions prevail, ons friend of mine, who has read a great number of unnecessary
Every husband remembers the original plan, books, to illuminate the extract with a little of his precious eru- And, knowing his wife is no more than hix tail, dition.
Wby he-leaves her behind bim as much as he can.