And yet, the angel of my life replies,
    Upon that night a Morning Star shall rise,
    Fairer than that which ruled the temporal birth,
    Undimmed by vapors of the dreamy earth;

    It says, that, where a heart thy claim denies,
    Genius shall read its secret ere it flies;
    The earthly form may vanish from thy side,
    Pure love will make thee still the spirit’s bride.

    And thou, ungentle, yet much loving child,
    Whose heart still shows the “untamed haggard wild,”
    A heart which justly makes the highest claim,
    Too easily is checked by transient blame;

    Ere such an orb can ascertain its sphere,
    The ordeal must be various and severe;
    My prayers attend thee, though the feet may fly,
    I hear thy music in the silent, sky.

I should like, however, to hear some notes of earthly music to-night.  By the faint moonshine I can hardly see the banks; how they look I have no guess, except that there are trees, and, now and then, a light lets me know there are homes with their various interests.  I should like to hear some strains of the flute from beneath those trees, just to break the sound of the rapids.

        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.

I had ordered a canoe to take me down the rapids, and presently I saw it coming, with the two Indian canoe-men in pink calico shirts, moving it about with their long poles, with a grace and dexterity worthy fairy land.  Now and then they cast the scoop-net; all looked just as I had fancied, only far prettier.