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!