Now brothers, for the icebergs

Of frozen Labrador,

Floating spectral in the moonshine,

Along the low, black shore!

Where like snow the gannet's feathers
On Brador's rocks are shed,

And the noisy murr are flying,
Like black scuds, overhead;

Where in mist the rock is hiding,
And the sharp reef lurks below,
And the white squall smites in summer,
And the autumn tempests blow;

Where, through gray and rolling vapor,
From evening unto morn,

A thousand boats are hailing,

Horn answering unto horn.

Hurrah! for the Red Island,

With the white cross on its crown!

Hurrah! for Meccatina,

And its mountains bare and brown!

Where the Caribou's tall antlers

O'er the dwarf-wood freely toss, And the footstep of the Mickmack Has no sound upon the moss.

There we 'll drop our lines, and gather Old Ocean's treasures in,

Where'er the mottled mackerel

Turns up a steel-dark fin.

The sea's our field of harvest,
Its scaly tribes our grain;
We'll reap the teeming waters
As at home they reap the plain!

Our wet hands spread the carpet,
And light the hearth of home;
From our fish, as in the old time,
The silver coin shall come.
As the demon fled the chamber

Where the fish of Tobit lay,

So ours from all our dwellings

Shall frighten Want away.

Though the mist upon our jackets
In the bitter air congeals,

And our lines wind stiff and slowly
From off the frozen reels;

Though the fog be dark around us, And the storm blow high and loud, We will whistle down the wild wind, And laugh beneath the cloud!

In the darkness as in daylight,
On the water as on land,

God's

eye is looking on us,

And beneath us is His hand!

Death will find us soon or later,

On the deck or in the cot;

And we cannot meet him better
Than in working out our lot.

Hurrah!-hurrah!- the west wind

Comes freshening down the bay,

The rising sails are filling —

Give way, my lads, give way!

Leave the coward landsman clinging

To the dull earth, like a weed

The stars of heaven shall guide us,

And the breath of heaven shall speed!

3

THE HUSKERS.

Ir was late in mild October, and the long autumnal

rain

Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass

again;

The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the wood

lands gay

With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadowflowers of May.

Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad and red,

At first a rayless disc of fire, he brightened as he sped; Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued,

On the corn-fields and the orchards, and softly pictured

wood.