THE SUGAR-MAKER'S SONG.

Sol's warmth is increasing, the Frost-King is ceasing

His hold on the sap of the trees;

And having wrought steady, my troughs are all ready,

So now I will eagerly seize

My few rude tools, ere ardor cools,

Nor heed the melting snow.

Some days of toil will never spoil

The pleasure before me, I know.

I need no inviting, to work I delight in;

Of such I have plenty to-day;

The soft blush of Morning the scene is adorning,

Then why should I longer delay?

The Maple tree will give to me

Its bounty most profuse;

One huge sweet cake I hope to make

Each day, from the saccharine juice!

Last night's splendid freezing as truly most pleasing

To those who the Sugar-Bush love;

This morn's indications’ need no explanations,

As the day will abundantly prove!

Then haste, comrade, and bring your spade;

To clear away the snow,

That our wood-fire may soon acquire

A beautiful, bright, ruddy glow.

Now, whilst I am tapping the trees with sweet sap in,

Prepare you a good stock of wood;

Be watchful in boiling, run no risk of spoiling

By carelessness, prospects so good!

O, as I tap, out flows the sap

In a small crystal stream!

I feel as gay, on this fine day,

As I have in some youthful dream!

Now, comrade, each kettle of cast-iron metal

Is full enough quite for a start;

Pray keep the fire going, but yet not too glowing,

For thus you will best act your part.

While I am off, guard the store-trough

From cattle browsing near;

This splendid “run” may soon be done —

The north wind is coming, I fear!

The syrup needs skimming. “Leave it to the women?”

Ah, comrade, it never will do!

They may mind the straining without much complaining,

Yet think it is quite enough, too.

Now eventide, and frost beside,

Bid us our labor cease;

For home we'll make, and syrup take

To them, as an offering of Peace!

The lively strain which I have just indulged,

Must change full soon, if facts were all divulged.

For darker shades come o'er my hero's dream;

But we must pause, ere we resume the theme.

And trust this sketch of rude Bush-life may prove

Acceptable to those who Nature love.

Such retrospect has charms for one like me,

Who has passed through such scenes most happily.

Pardon me, Reader, if my unlearned song

Should seem to you quite dull, and much too long;

The good of all I would most gladly seek,

From purest motives, and with spirit meek —

Not counting Fame, so dazzling to men's eyes,

But God's approval, as my wished-for prize.

Should this be mine, I shall be quite content,

And deem my time and labor wisely spent.