And looks I met, like looks I'd lov'd before,
And voices too, which, as they trembled o'er
The chord of memory, found full many a tone
Of kindness there in concord with their own.
Yes, we had nights of that communion free,
That flow of heart, which I have known with thee
So oft, so warmly; nights of mirth and mind,
Of whims that taught, and follies that refin'd.
When shall we both renew them? when, restor'd
To the gay feast and intellectual board,
Shall I once more enjoy with thee and thine
Those whims that teach, those follies that refine ?
Even now, as wand'ring upon Erie's shore,
I hear Niagara's distant cataract roar,
I sigh for home,-alas! these weary feet
Have many a mile to journey, ere we meet.

Ω ΠΑΤΡΙΣ, ΩΣ ΣΟΥ ΚΑΡΤΑ ΝΥΝ ΜΝΕΙΑΝ ΕΧΩ. EURIPIDES.

BALLAD STANZAS.

I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefully curl'd Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, And I said, "If there's peace to be found in the world,

"A heart that was humble might hope for it here!"

It was noon, and on flowers that languish'd around
In silence repos'd the voluptuous bee;
Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound
But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-

tree.

And, "Here in this lone little wood," I exclaim'd With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye,

J 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 proBunciation 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.

I ventured to harmonise this air, and have published it. Without that charm which association gives to every little

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.2
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.

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 supposed to be sung by those voyageurs who go to the Grand 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.

2" 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.

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,
And hears the spirit-voice of sire, or chief,
Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf. 1
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, e'er 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,

1" 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.

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

3 The glass-snake is brittle and transparent.

4 "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. i. p. 402.

5" The mountains appeared to be sprinkled with white

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, 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, 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,
And the smooth glass-snake 3, 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 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 wondrous 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.6

stones, which glistened in the sun, and were called by the Indians manetoe aseniah, or spirit-stones."— Mackenzie's Journal.

6 These lines were suggested by Carver's description of one of the American lakes. When it was calm," he says," 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, 1
Breathing all its holy bloom,
Swift I mount me on the plume
Of my Wakon-Bird 2, and fly
Where, beneath a burning sky,
O'er the bed of Erie's lake
Slumbers many a water-snake,
Wrapt within the web of leaves,
Which the water-lily weaves.3
Next I chase the flow'ret-king
Through his rosy realm 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,
Scatt'ring 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 heaven 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

1 Après avoir traversé plusieurs isles peu considérables, nous en trouvâmes le quatrième jour une fameuse nommée l'Isle de Manitoualin. - Voyages du Baron de Luhontan, tom. i. let. 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 WakonBird being, in their language, the Bird of the Great Spirit." -Morse.

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

"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.

Weary hunters of the way

To the wig-wam's cheering ray, Then, aloft through freezing air, With the snow-bird 6 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, Icy columns gleam below, Feather'd round with falling snow, And an arch of glory springs, Sparkling as the chain of rings Round the neck of virgins hung,— Virgins 7, 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 glitt'ring 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,8 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, mid this mingled maze Of nature's beauties, where the fancy strays

5 "L'oiseau mouche, gros comme un hanneton, est de toutes couleurs, vives et changeantes: il tire sa subsistence des fleurs comme les abeilles; son nid est fait d'un cotton très-fin suspendu à une branche d'arbre."- Voyages aux Indes Occidentales, par M. Bossu, seconde part, lett. xx.

6 Emberiza hyemalis. See Imlay's Kentucky, p. 280. 7 Lafitau supposes that there was an order of vestals established among the Iroquois Indians. - Mœurs des Sauvages Américains, &c. tom. i. p. 173.

8 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 penne;
Che non si mutan, come mortal pelo.

DANTE, Purgator. cant. ii.

K

From charm to charm, where every flow'ret's hue
Hath something strange, and every leaf is new,-
I never feel a joy so pure and still,

So inly felt, as when some brook or hill,
Or veteran oak, like those remember'd well,
Some mountain echo or some wild-flower's smell,
(For, who can say by what small fairy ties
The mem'ry clings to 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 Donnington's green lawns and breezy heights.

;

Whether I trace the tranquil moments o'er When I have seen thee cull the fruits 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 bright'ning comments on the dead; Or whether memory 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, Radiant, but mild, all softness, yet all fire;Whatever hue my recollections take, Even the regret, the very pain they wake Is mix'd with happiness;- - but, ah! no moreLady! adieu-my heart has linger'd o'er Those vanish'd times, till all that round me lies, Stream, banks, and bowers have faded on my eyes!

IMPROMPTU,

AFTER A VISIT TO MRS.- , OF MONTREAL.

'Twas but for a moment-and yet in that time She crowded th' impressions of many an hour: Her eye had a glow, like the sun of her clime, Which wak'd every feeling at once into flower.

This is one of the Magdalen Islands, and, singularly enough, is the property of Sir Isaac Coffin. The above lines were suggested by a superstition very common among sailors, who call this ghost-ship, I think, "the flying Dutchman."

Oh ! could we have borrow'd from Time but a day, To renew such impressions again and again, The things we should look and imagine and say Would be worth all the life we had wasted till

then.

What we had not the leisure or language to speak, We should find some more spiritual mode of re

vealing,

And, between us, should feel just as much in a week

As others would take a millennium in feeling.

WRITTEN

ON PASSING DEADMAN'S ISLAND,

IN THE

GULF OF ST. LAWRENCE,

LATE IN THE EVENING, SEPTEMBER, 1804.

SEE you, beneath yon cloud so dark,
Fast gliding along a gloomy bark?
Her sails are full,-though the wind is still,
And there blows not a breath her sails to fill!

Say what doth that vessel of darkness bear?
The silent calm of the grave is there,
Save now and again a death-knell rung,
And the flap of the sails with night-fög hung.

There lieth a wreck on the dismal shore
Of cold and pitiless Labrador;

Where, under the moon, upon mounts of frost,
Full many a mariner's bones are tost.

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
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew.

To Deadman's Isle, in the eye of the blast,
To Deadman's Isle, she speeds her fast;
By skeleton shapes her sails are furl'd,
And the hand that steers is not of this world!

pitality of my friends of the Phaeton and Boston, that I was but ill prepared for the miseries of a Canadian vessel. The weather, however, was pleasant, and the scenery along the river delightful. Our passage through the Gut of Canso, with a bright sky and a fair wind, was particularly striking

Oh! hurry thee on-oh! hurry thee on, Thou terrible bark, ere the night be gone, Nor let morning look on so foul a sight As would blanch for ever her rosy light!

ΤΟ

THE BOSTON FRIGATE,1

ON

LEAVING HALIFAX FOR ENGLAND, OCTOBER, 1804.

Νέστου πρόφασις γλυκερου.

PINDAR. Pyth. 4. WITH triumph this morning, oh Boston! I hail The stir of thy deck and the spread of thy sail, For they tell me I soon shall be wafted, in thee, To the flourishing isle of the brave and the free, And that chill Nova-Scotia's unpromising strand 2 Is the last I shall tread of American land. Well-peace to the land! may her sons know, at length,

That in high-minded honour lies liberty's strength, That though man be as free as the fetterless wind, As the wantonest air that the north can unbind, Yet, if health do not temper and sweeten the blast, If no harvest of mind ever sprung where it pass'd, Then unblest is such freedom, and baleful its might,

Free only to ruin, and strong but to blight!

And still as, with sympathy humble but true,
I have told of each bright son of fame all I knew,
They have listen'd, and sigh'd that the powerful

stream

Of America's empire should pass, like a dream,
Without leaving one relic 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 recall me the same
I have been to them now, young, unthoughtful,

and blest,

Ere hope had deceiv'd me or sorrow deprest.

But, Douglas! while thus I recall to my mind The elect of the land we shall soon leave behind, I can read in the weather-wise glance of thine eye, As it follows the rack flitting over the sky, That the faint coming breeze will be fair for our flight,

And shall steal us away, ere the falling of night. Dear Douglas! thou knowest, with thee by my side, With thy friendship to soothe me, thy courage to guide,

There is not a bleak isle in those summerless seas, Where the day comes in darkness, or shines but

to freeze,

Not a tract of the line, not a barbarous shore, That I could not with patience, with pleasure explore !

Oh think then how gladly I follow thee now, When Hope smooths the billowy path of our prow, And each prosperous sigh of the west-springing wind

Takes me nearer the home where my heart is inshrin'd;

Where the smile of a father shall meet me again, And the tears of a mother turn bliss into pain; Where the kind voice of sisters shall steal to my heart,

And ask it, in sighs, how we ever could part? —

But see!-the bent top-sails are ready to swellTo the boat-I am with thee-Columbia, farewell!

› Commanded by Captain J. E. Douglas, with whom I returned to England, and to whom I am indebted for many, many kindnesses. In truth, I should but offend the delicacy of my friend Douglas, and, at the same time, do injustice to my own feelings of gratitude, did I attempt to say how much I owe to him.

* Sir John Wentworth, the Governor of Nova Scotia, very kindly allowed me to accompany him on his visit to the College, which they have lately established at Windsor, about

forty miles from Halifax, and I was indeed most pleasantly surprised by the beauty and fertility of the country which opened upon us after the bleak and rocky wilderness by which Halifax is surrounded. I was told that, in travelling onwards, we should find the soil and the scenery improve, and it gave me much pleasure to know that the worthy Governor has by no means such an "inamabile regnum" as I was, at first sight, inclined to believe.