WRITTEN ON THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE.[1]
_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.[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.
Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers,
Oh, grant us cool heavens and favoring airs.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.
[1] I wrote these words to an air which our boatmen sung to us frequently.
The wind was so unfavorable 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.
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