For, when souls come together at night,
There is no knowing what they mayn't do!
And your little Soul, Heaven bless her!
Had much to complain and to say,
Of how sadly you wrong and oppress her
By keeping her prison'd all day.
"If I happen," said she, "but to steal
"For a peep now and then to her eye,
"Or, to quiet the fever I feel,

"Just venture abroad on a sigh;

"In an instant, she frightens me in

"With some phantom of prudence or terror,

"For fear I should stray into sin,

"Or, what is still worse, into error!

"So, instead of displaying my graces

"Through look and through words and through mien,
"I am shut up in corners and places,
"Where truly I blush to be seen!"
Upon hearing this piteous confession,
My Soul, looking tenderly at her,
Declar'd, as for grace and discretion,

He did not know much of the matter;
"But, to-morrow, sweet Spirit!” he said,
"Be at home after midnight, and then
"I will come when your lady's in bed,
"And we'll talk o'er the subject again."
So she whisper'd a word in his ear,
I suppose to her door to direct him,
And just after midnight, my dear,
Your polite little Soul may expect him.

MRS.

TO

To see thee every day that came,
And find thee every day the same,
In pleasure's smile or sorrow's tear
The same benign, consoling Dear!
To meet thee early, leave thee late,
Has been so long my bliss, my fate,
That life, without this cheering ray,
Which came, like sunshine, every day,
And all my pain, my sorrow chas'd,
Is now a lone and loveless waste.
-Where are the chords she us'd to touch?
Where are the songs she lov'd so much?
The songs are hush'd, the chords are still,
And so, perhaps, will every thrill
Of friendship soon be lull'd to rest,
Which late I wak'd in Anna's breast!
Yet, no- the simple notes I play'd
On mem'ry's tablet soon may fade;
The songs, which Anna lov'd to hear,
May all be lost on Anna's ear;
But friendship's sweet and fairy strain
Shall ever in her heart remain;
Nor mem'ry lose nor time impair
The sympathies which tremble there!

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 de

1

Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.
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!

EPISTLE IX.

TO THE

LADY CHARLOTTE R

FROM THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE.

Nor many months have now been dream'd 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! 2
There, listening, Lady! while thy lip hath sung
My own unpolish'd lays, how proud I've hung
On every mellow'd number! proud to feel
That notes like mine should have the fate to steal,
As o'er thy hallowing lip they sigh'd along,
Such breath of passion and such soul of song.
Oh! I have wonder'd, 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,

scending 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 barbarous pronunciation of the Canadians. It begins Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontre 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'au 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 the whole of this very interesting voyage.

The above stanzas are suppossed to be sung by those voyageurs who go to the Grande Portage by the Utawas River. For an account of this wonderful undertaking see Sir Alexander, Mackenzie's General History of the Fur Trade, prefixed to his Journal.

1 "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 Mackenzie. Jast church on the island, which is dedicated to the tutelar saint of voyagers." General History of the Fur Trade.

2 Avendo essi per costume di avere in veneratione gli alberi grandi et antici, quasi che siano spesso ricettacoli di anime beate. Pietro della Valle, Part. Second. Lettera 16da i giardini di Sciraz.

Believes it still some answering spirit's tone,
And thinks it all too sweet to be his own!
I dream'd not then that, ere the rolling year
Had fill'd its circle, I should wander here
In musing awe; should tread this wondrous world,
See all its store of inland waters hurl'd

1

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 banish'd from the garden of their God!
Oh Lady! these are miracles, which man,
Cag'd in the bounds of Europe's pigmy 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 rock'd to rest, the wind's complaining note
Dies, like a half-breath'd whispering of flutes;
Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots,
And I can trace him, like a watery star, 2
Down the steep current, till he fades afar
Amid the foaming breakers' silvery light,
Where yon rough rapids sparkle through the night!
Here, as along this shadowy bank I stray,

3

And the smooth glass-snake, 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, 1
Where the blessed Indian roves
Through the air on wing, as white
As the spirit-stones of light,"
Which the eye of morning counts
On the Apallachian mounts!
Hither oft my flight I take
Over Huron's lucid lake,

Where the wave, as clear as dew,
Sleeps beneath the light canoe,
Which, reflected, floating there,

Looks, as if it hung in air!

1 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 all night with the sound of the cataract in my ears. The day following I consider as a kind of era in my life, and the first glimpse which I caught of those wonderful Falls gave me a feeling which nothing in this world can ever excite again. To Colonel Brock, of the 49th, who commanded at the Fort, I am particularly indebted for his kindness to me during the fortnight I remained at Niagara. Among many pleasant days which I passed with him and his brother-officers, that of our visit to the Tuscarora Indians was not the least interesting. They received us in all their ancient costume; the young men exhibited for our amusement, in the race, the bat game, &c. while the old and the women sat in groups under the surrounding trees, and the picture altogether was as beautiful as it was new to me.

2 Anbarey, in his Travels, has noticed this shooting illumination which porpoises diffuse at night through the St. Lawrence. Vol. i. p. 29.

3 The glass-snake is brittle and transparent.

it is

4 "The departed spirit goes into the Country of Souls, where, according to some, 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, Tom. i. p. 402.

5 "The mountains appeared to be sprinkled with white stones, which glistened in the sun, and were called by the Indians manetoe aseniah, or spirit-stones." Mackenzie's Journal.

6 I was thinking here of what Carver says so beautifully in his description of one of these lakes. "When it was calm, and the sun shone bright, I could sit in my canoe, where the depth was upwards of six fathoms, and plainly see huge piles of stone at the bottom, of different shapes, some of which appeared as if they had been hewn; the water was at this time as pure and transparent as air, and my canoe seemed as if it hung suspended in that element. It was impossible to look attentively through this limpid medium, at the rocks below, without finding, before many minutes were elapsed, your head swim and your eyes no longer able to behold the dazzling scene."

Then, when I have stray'd a while
Through the Manataulin isle, '
Breathing all its holy bloom,
Swift upon the purple plume
Of my Wakon-Bird 2 I fly
Where, beneath a burning sky,
O'er the bed of Erie's lake
Slumbers many a water-snake,
Basking in the web of leaves,
Which the weeping lily weaves 3!
Then I chase the flow'ret-king
Trough his bloomy wild of spring ;
See him now, while diamond hues
Soft his neck and wings suffuse,
In the leafy chalice sink,
Thirsting for his balmy drink;
Now behold him, all on fire,
Lovely in his looks of ire,
Breaking every infant stem,
Scattering every velvet gem,
Where his little tyrant lip
Had not found enough to sip!

Then my playful hand I steep

Where the gold-thread loves to creep,
Cull from thence a tangled wreath,

Words of magic round it breathe,

And the sunny chaplet spread

O'er the sleeping fly-bird's head, 5
Till, with dreams of honey blest,
Haunted in his downy nest,
By the garden's fairest spells,
Dewy buds and fragrant bells,
Fancy all his soul embowers
In the fly-bird's heav'n of flowers!

Oft, when hoar and silvery flakes
Melt along the ruffled lakes;

When the gray moose sheds his horns,
When the track, at evening, warns
Weary hunters of the way

To the wig-wam's cheering ray,
Then, aloft through freezing air,
With the snow-bird soft and fair

As the fleece that heaven flings
O'er his little pearly wings,
Light above the rocks I play,
Where Niagara's starry spray,
Frozen on the cliff, appears
Like a giant's starting tears!
There, amid the island-sedge,
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,

1 Après avoir traverse plusieurs isles peu considérables, nous en trouvàmes le quatrième jour une fameuse nommée l'Isle de Manitoualin. Voyages du Baron de Lahontan, Tom. i. Lett. 15. Manataulin signifies a Place of Spirits, and this island in Lake Huron is held sacred by the Indians.

2 The Wakon-Bird, which probably is of the same species with the bird of Paradise, receives its name from the ideas the Indians have of its superior excellence; the Wakon-Bird being, in their language, the Bird of the Great Spirit." Morse.

3 The islands of Lake Erie are surrounded to a considerable distance by the large pondlily, whose leaves spread thickly over the surface of the lake, and form a kind of bed for the water-suakes in summer.

4 "The gold thread is of the vine kind, and grows in swamps. The roots spread themselves just under the surface of the morasses, and are easily drawn out by handfuls. They resemble a large entangled skein of silk, and are of a bright yellow." Morse.

5 L'oiseau mouche, gros comme un hanneton, est de toutes couleurs, vives et changeantes: il tire sa subsistance des fleurs commes les abeilles; son nid est fait d'un coton_très-fin_suspendu à une branche d'arbre. Voyages aux Indes Occidentales, par M. Bossu. Seconde Part. Lett. xx.

6 Emberiza byemalis. See Imlay's Kentucky, page 280.

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 flies light along the leafy shore,
Shooting the falls, without a dip of oar
Or breath of zephyr, like the mystic bark
The poet saw, in dreams divinely dark,
Borne, without sails, along the dusky flood,"
While on its deck a pilot angel stood,
And, with his wings of living light unfurl'd,
Coasted the dim shores of another world!

Yet, oh! believe me, in this blooming maze
Of lovely nature, where the fancy strays
From charm to charm, where every flow'ret's hue
Hath something strange, and every leaf is new!
I never feel a bliss so pure and still,

So heav'nly calm, as when a stream or hill,
Or veteran oak, like those remember'd well,
Or breeze or echo or some wild-flower's smell,
(For, who can say what small and fairy ties
The mem'ry flings o'er pleasure, as it flies!)
Reminds my heart of many a silvan dream
I once indulg'd by Trent's inspiring stream;
Of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights
On Donington's green lawns and breezy heights!

Whether I trace the tranquil moments o'er
When I have seen thee cull the blooms of lore,
With him, the polish'd warrior, by thy side,
A sister's idol and a nation's pride!

When thou hast read of heroes, trophied high
In ancient fame, and I have seen thine eye
Turn to the living hero, while it read,

For pure and brightening comments on the dead!
Or whether mem'ry to my mind recalls
The festal grandeur of those lordly halls,
When guests have met around the sparkling board,
And welcome warm'd the cup that luxury pour'd;
When the bright future Star of England's Throne,
With magic smile, hath o'er the banquet shone,
Winning respect, nor claiming what he won,
But tempering greatness, like an evening sun
Whose light the eye can tranquilly admire,
Glorious but mild, all softness yet all fire!
Whatever hue my recollections take,
E'en the regret, the very pain they wake
Is dear and exquisite! - but, oh! no more
Lady! adieu my heart has linger'd o'er

These vanish'd times, till all that round me lies,

Stream, banks, and bowers have faded on my eyes!

1 Lafitau wishes to believe, for the sake of his theory, that there was an order of vestals established among the Iroquois Indians; but I am afraid that Jaques Carthier, upon whose authority he supports himself, meant any thing but vestal institutions by the "cabanes publiques" which he met with at Montreal. See Lafitau, Moeurs des Sauvages Américains, &c. Tom. i. p. 173.

2 Vedi che sdegna gli argomenti umani;
Si che remo non vuol, ne altro velo,
Che l'ale sue tra liti si lontani.
Vedi come l'ha dritte verso 'l cielo
Trattando l' aere con l'eterne penue;
Che non si mutan, come mortal pelo.

Dante, Purgator. Cant. ii.