When no gentle eyebeam charms;
No fond hope the bosom warms:
Of thinking the lone mind is tired--
Nought seems bright to be desired;
Music, be thy sails unfurled,
Bear me to thy better world;
O'er a cold and weltering sea,
Blow thy breezes warm and free;
By sad sighs they ne'er were chilled,
By sceptic spell were never stilled;
Take me to that far-offshore,
Where lovers meet to part no more;
There doubt, and fear and sin are o'er,
The star of love shall set no more.
With the first light of dawn I was up and out, and then was glad I had
not seen all the night before; it came upon me with such power in its
dewy freshness. O! they are beautiful indeed, these rapids! The grace is
so much more obvious than the power. I went up through the old Chippeway
burying ground to their head, and sat down on a large stone to look. A
little way off was one of the home lodges, unlike in shape to the
temporary ones at Mackinaw, but these have been described by Mrs.
Jameson. Women, too, I saw coming home from the woods, stooping under
great loads of cedar boughs, that were strapped upon their backs. But in
many European countries women carry great loads, even of wood, upon
their backs. I used to hear the girls singing and laughing as they were
cutting down boughs at Mackinaw; this part of their employment, though
laborious, gives them the pleasure of being a great deal in the free
woods.
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