TO ***** ***** ****.

THE world had just begun to steal-
Each hope, that led me lightly on,
I felt not, as I us'd to feel,

And life grew dark, and love was gone!

No eye to mingle sorrow's tear,

No lip to mingle pleasure's breath, No tongue to call me kind and dear— 'Twas gloomy, and I wish'd for death!

But when I saw that gentle eye,

Oh! something seem'd to tell me then, That I was yet too young to die,

And hope and bliss might bloom again!

With every beamy smile, that crost

Your kindling cheek, you lighted home Some feeling, which my heart had lost, And peace, which long had learn'd to roam!

'Twas then indeed so sweet to live,

Hope look'd so new and love so kind, That, though I weep, I still forgive

The ruin which they've left behind!

I could have lov'd you-O so well!
The dream, that wishing boy-hood knows,
Is but a bright, beguiling spell,

Which only lives, while passion glows:

But, when this early flush declines,
When the heart's vivid morning fleets,
You know not then how close it twines
Round the first kindred soul it meets!

Yes, yes, I could have lov'd, as one,

Who, while his youth's enchantments fall, Finds something dear to rest upon, Which pays him for the loss of all!

DREAMS.

TO ******* *******

IN slumber, I prithee, how is it

That souls are oft taking the air,

And paying each other a visit,

While bodies are-Heaven knows where?

Last night, 'tis in vain to deny it,
Your Soul took a fancy to roam,
For I heard her, on tiptoe so quiet,
Come ask, whether mine was at home.

And mine let her in with delight,

And they talk'd and they kist the time through, 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

'(6 Through look and through words and through mien,

"I am shut up in corners and places,

"Where truly I blush to be seen!

X

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.

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.

* I wrote these words to an air which our boat-men sang 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

Soon as the woods on shore look dim,

We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.*

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 rencontré
Deux caviealrs 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 recal 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.