LITTLE LAC GRENIER

EETLE Lac Grenier, she's all alone,

Light on demountain top,

But cloud sweepin' by, will fin' tam to stop
No matter how quickly he want to go,
So he'll kiss leetle Grenier down below.

Leetle Lac Grenier, she's all alone,
Up on de mountain high

But she never feel lonesome, 'cos for w'y?
So soon as de winter was gone away
De bird come an' sing to her ev'ry day.

Leetle Lac Grenier, she's all alone,

Back on de mountain dere,

But de pine tree an' spruce stan' ev'rywhere
Along by de shore, an' mak' her warm

For dey kip off de win' an' de winter storm.

Leetle Lac Grenier, she's all alone,

No broder, no sister near,

But de swallow will fly, an' de beeg moose deer

An' caribou too, will go long way

To drink de sweet water of Lac Grenier.

Leetle Lac Grenier, I see you now,
Onder de roof of spring,

Ma canoe's afloat, an' de robin sing,

De lily's beginnin' her summer dress,

An' trout's wakin' up from hees long long res'.

Leetle Lac Grenier, I'm happy now,

Out on de ole canoe,

For I'm all alone, ma chere, wit' you,

An' if only a nice light rod I had
I'd try dat fish near de lily pad!

Leetle Lac Grenier, O! let me go,
Don't spik no more,

For your voice is strong lak de rapid's roar,
An' you know youse'f I'm too far away,
For visit you now -Leetle Lac Grenier!

William Henry Drummond

CANADIAN BOAT SONG

AINTLY as tolls the evening chime,

FAINTLY as tolls the our bars keep

time,

Soon as the woods on shore look dim

We'll sing at St. Anne's our parting hymn. 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

O, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar!

Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!

Utawa's tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers ·
O, grant us cool heavens and favoring airs!
Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!
Thomas Moore

HE rivulet

THE RIVULET

FROM Alastor

Tanton and wild, through many a green

ravine

Beneath the forest flowed. Sometimes it fell Among the moss with hollow harmony

Dark and profound. Now on the polished stones
It danced, like childhood laughing as it went:
Then through the plain in tranquil wanderings
crept,

Reflecting every herb and drooping bud
That overhung its quietness.—“O stream!
Whose source is inaccessibly profound,
Whither do thy mysterious waters tend?"

He must descend. With rapid steps he went
Beneath the shade of trees, beside the flow
Of the wild babbling rivulet; and now
The forest's solemn canopies were changed
For the uniform and lightsome evening sky.
Gray rocks did peep from the spare moss, and
stemmed

The struggling brook: tall spires of windlestrae
Threw their thin shadows down the rugged slope,
And naught but gnarlèd roots of ancient pines
Branchless and blasted, clenched with grasping

roots

The unwilling soil. A gradual change was here,
Yet ghastly. For, as fast years flow away,
The smooth brow gathers, and the hair grows

thin

And white, and where irradiate dewy eyes

Had shone, gleam stony orbs:
:-

so from his

steps Bright flowers departed, and the beautiful shade Of the green groves, with all their odorous winds

And musical motions. Calm, he still pursued
The stream, that with a larger volume now
Rolled through the labyrinthine dell, and there
Fretted a path through its descending curves,
With its wintry speed. On every side now rose
Rocks, which, in unimaginable forms,
Lifted their black and barren pinnacles
In the light of evening, and, its precipice
Obscuring the ravine, disclosed above,

Mid toppling stones, black gulfs and yawning

caves,

Whose windings gave ten thousand various

tongues

To the loud stream. Lo! where the pass expands
Its stony jaws, the abrupt mountain breaks,
And seems, with its accumulated crags,
To overhang the world: for wide expand
Beneath the wan stars and descending moon
Islanded seas, blue mountains, mighty streams,
Dim tracts and vast, robed in the lustrous gloom
Of leaden-colored even, and fiery hills
Mingling their flames with twilight, on the verge
Of the remote horizon. The near scene,
In naked and severe simplicity,

Made contrast with the universe. A pine,
Rock-rooted, stretched athwart the vacancy
Its swinging boughs, to each inconstant blast
Yielding one only response, at each pause
In most familiar cadence, with the howl,
The thunder and the hiss of homeless streams
Mingling its solemn song, whilst the broad river,

Foaming and hurrying o'er its rugged path, Fell into that immeasurable void

Scattering its waters to the passing winds.

The dim and hornèd moon hung low and poured

A sea of lustre on the horizon's verge
That overflowed its mountains. Yellow mist
Filled the unbounded atmosphere, and drank
Wan moonlight even to fulness: not a star
Shone, not a sound was heard; the very winds,
Danger's grim playmates, on that precipice
Slept, clasped in his embrace.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

ASIA'S SONG

FROM Prometheus Unbound

soul is an enchanted boat,

MY Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float

Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;
And thine doth like an angel sit
Beside a helm conducting it,

Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.
It seems to float ever, forever,

Upon that many-winding river,
Between mountains, woods, abysses,

A paradise of wildernesses!

Till, like one in slumber bound,

Borne to the ocean, I float down, around,
Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound.

Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions
In music's most serene dominions;

Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven.