ST. LAWRENCE.

All peacefully gliding, The waters dividing, The indolent bátteau moved slowly along, The rowers, light-hearted, From sorrow long parted, Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and song: "Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily Gambols and leaps on its tortuous way; Soon we will enter it, cheerily, cheerily, Pleased with its freshness, and wet with its spray."

More swiftly careering, The wild Rapid nearing, They dash down the stream like a terrified steed; The surges delight them, No terrors affright them, Their voices keep pace with their quickening speed: "Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily Shivers its arrows against us in play; Now we have entered it, cheerily, cheerily, Our spirits as light as its feathery spray."

Fast downward they're dashing, Each fearless eye flashing, Though danger awaits them on every side; Yon rock—see it frowning! They strike—they are drowning! But downward they speed with the merciless tide;

No voice cheers the Rapid, that angrily, angrily Shivers their bark in its maddening play; Gaily they entered it—heedlessly recklessly, Mingling their lives with its treacherous spray!