I was obliged to leave my bed and endeavour to attend to the wants of my young family long before I was really able.  When I made my first attempt to reach the parlour I was so weak, that, at every step, I felt as if I should pitch forward to the ground, which seemed to undulate beneath my feet like the floor of a cabin in a storm at sea.  My husband continued to suffer for many weeks with the ague; and when he was convalescent, all the children, even the poor babe, were seized with it, nor did it leave us until late in the spring of 1835.

THE EMIGRANT’S FAREWELL

  Rise, Mary! meet me on the shore,
  And tell our tale of sorrow o’er;
  There must we meet to part no more—­
    Rise, Mary, rise!

  Come, dearest, come! tho’ all in vain;
  Once more beside you summer main
  We’ll plight our hopeless vows again—­
    Unclose thine eyes.

  My bark amidst the surge is toss’d,
  I go, by evil fortunes cross’d,
  My earthly hopes for ever lost—­
    Love’s dearest prize.

  But when thy hand is clasp’d in mine,
  I’ll laugh at fortune, nor repine;
  In life, in death, for ever thine—­
    Then check these sighs.

  They move a bosom steel’d to bear
  Its own unwonted load of care,
  That will not bend beneath despair—­
    Rise, dearest, rise.

  Life’s but a troubled dream at best;
  These comes a time when grief shall rest,
  Kind, faithful hearts shall yet be bless’d
    ’Neath brighter skies!

CHAPTER XVIII

A TRIP TO STONY LAKE

  Oh Nature! in thy ever-varying face,
    By rocky shore, or ’neath the forest tree,
  What love divine, what matchless skill, I trace! 
    My full warm heart responsive thrills to thee. 
  Yea, in my throbbing bosom’s inmost core,
    Thou reign’st supreme; and, in thy sternest mood,
  Thy votary bends in rapture to adore
    The Mighty Maker, who pronounced thee good. 
  Thy broad, majestic brow still bears His seal;
  And when I cease to love, oh, may I cease to feel.

My husband had long promised me a trip to Stony Lake, and in the summer of 1835, before the harvest commenced, he gave Mr. Y—–­, who kept the mill at the rapids below Clear Lake, notice of our intention, and the worthy old man and his family made due preparation for our reception.  The little girls were to accompany us.

We were to start at sunrise, to avoid the heat of the day, to go up as far as Mr. Y—–­’s in our canoe, re-embark with his sons above the rapids in birch-bark canoes, go as far up the lake as we could accomplish by daylight, and return at night; the weather being very warm, and the moon at full.  Before six o’clock we were all seated in the little craft, which spread her white sail to a foaming breeze, and sped merrily over the blue waters.  The lake on which our clearing stood was about a mile and a half in length, and about three quarters of a mile in breadth; a mere pond, when compared with the Bay of Quinte, Ontario, and the inland seas of Canada.  But it was our lake, and, consequently, it had ten thousand beauties in our eyes, which would scarcely have attracted the observation of a stranger.