A CANADIAN BOAT SONG.

WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE.*

Et remigem cantus hortatur.

QUINTILIAN.

FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime

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.†

* I wrote these words to an air which our boatmen sung to us 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 such 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 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.

"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.

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.

TO THE LADY CHARLOTTE RAWDON.

FROM THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE.

NOT many months have now been dream'd away
Since yonder sun, beneath whose evening ray
Our boat glides swiftly past these wooded shores,
Saw me where Trent his mazy current pours,
And Donington s old oaks, to every breeze,
Whisper the tale of by-gone centuries; —
Those oaks, to me as sacred as the groves,
Beneath whose shade the pious Persian roves,

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And hears the spirit-voice of sire, or chief,
Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf.*

There, oft, dear Lady, while thy lip hath sung
My own unpolish'd lays, how proud I've hung
On every tuneful accent! 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.
Yes,

I have wonder'd, like some peasant boy Who sings, on Sabbath-eve, his strains of joy, And when he hears the wild, untutor❜d 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 dreamt 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

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

* "Avendo essi per costume di avere in venerazione gli alberi grandi et antichi, quasi che siano spesso ricettaccoli di anime beate." - Pietro della Valle, part second., lettera 16 da i giardini di Sciraz.

Through massy woods, mid islets flowering fair,
And blooming glades, 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 span,
Can scarcely dream of, — which his eye must see
To know how wonderful this world can be!

But lo,- the last tints 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,*
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,
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:

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

†The glass-snake is brittle and transparent.

From the land beyond the sea,
Whither happy spirits flee;

Where, transform'd to sacred doves,*
Many a blessed Indian roves
Through the air on wing, as white
As those wond'rous 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.

Then, when I have stray'd a while

Through the Manataulin isle,‡
Breathing all its holy bloom,
Swift I mount me on the plume
Of my Wakon-Bird,§ and fly
Where, beneath a burning sky,

"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, tom. p. 402.

i.

"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.

1

Manataulin signifies a Place of Spirits, and this island in Lake Huron is held sacred by the Indians.

"The Wakon-Bird, which probably is of the same species