'Tis o'er at last, when most of them partake The pipe delicious, for its own dear sake.

They rest and smoke, and smoke and rest again, Until the "Come, boys!" sounds in loudest strain.

Once more to work, with fresh alacrity, They reach the fallow, pleased as men can be.

The teamsters call their cattle, not far strayed, But chewing cud beneath some green tree's shade.

_"Co' Buck! Co' Bright!"_ throughout the woods resound, And each trained ox moves forward at the sound.

Again the work goes forward, as before.

Till nearly night-fall, when their task is o'er.

Naught now remains but scattered chips and sticks, Which their host's hopeful son at leisure picks, And lays upon the heaps--some here, some there-- The burning to a.s.sist, which needs due care.

'Tis supper time; again the horn is heard, And its deep tones has woodland echoes stirred.

Most charming sound to my poetic ear; And every time 'tis heard still far more dear!

They hear the sound, but yet seem loath to go; And when they do, their steps are very slow.

They are well tired; no wonder; such a day Of work laborious would some tire for aye!

Once more they wash; once more they freely eat; Then light their pipes; and now each other greet With warm "Good night!" but, ere they have departed, Their host thanks them, from grat.i.tude warm-hearted.

Now all are gone, save two, who skulk behind, Of the younger son; and, if I am not blind, A couple of bright girls I failed to mention, Are not quite unaware of their intention.

But this is not my business, so I'll pa.s.s To other things, and let each court his la.s.s.

Should next day prove a fine one with a breeze So strong as just to move surrounding trees, The Settler may his new-raised log-heaps fire, And see them burn to suit his heart's desire.

The fire is placed; _where_, think you? Not below, But on the top, and burns at first but slow.

See, now, the wind has blown it to a flame; And soon the log-heap fire's no longer tame!

Dry sticks and chips, in all the openings placed, Will prove the time spent on them was not waste.

The embers, falling, make these soon ignite; And now the heap, from end to end, is bright!

With pale or ruddy flame; the smoke ascends Thick, black and curling, as its way it wends Toward the sky. Now twenty heaps are fired And form a sight I often have admired.

The heat becomes intense; for Sol's warm rays Uniting with the wood-fire's fiercest blaze, Make it past bearing; yet the Settler bears The heat and toil, and smiling aspect wears, Because the work progresses to his mind.

Let us draw nearer, then--'twill seem more kind-- And watch him with the handspike thrust the brands Closer together. He a moment stands To wipe the perspiration from his face, Which streams fast forth again, and leaves its trace In his pale looks and daily shrinking frame.

Now, every pile's a ma.s.s of glowing flame!

The wind, increasing, whirls the fire about, And makes the workman, if he's wise, look out For stacks and fences--dangerously near.

He knows the risk; he deems there's cause for fear; So keeps his eyes still wandering all around, To mark the rising smoke where'er 'tis found.

Neglect might very soon cause damage great, In that which should, his labor compensate.

Hence his wise caution as the wind grows stronger, Until the "burning" needs his care no longer.

This o'er he drags the ground, and sows his grain, And of the toil required does not complain.

He "sows in hope;" and, if he take due care, A splendid crop sill soon be growing there.

In view of this, let us suppose him singing The LOGGER'S SONG, while peaceful thoughts are springing.

THE LOGGER'S SONG.

Come, Boys, to the Logging be cheerfully jogging, A day's work's before us, I trow; The Fall is advancing, Sol's mild beams are dancing On the brook, in the Fallow below.

Cheerily, cheerily, cheerily, O!

Let's log in the Fallow below.

The oxen are waiting, they need no fresh baiting, Till dinner-time come for us all; Now, while we are pushing, our work the new Bush in, Let none into carelessness fall.

Steadily, steadily, steadily, O!

Let's work in the Fallow below.

The logs, thickly lying, our strength seem defying; But forward, Boys! true courage show!

With hand-spikes unbending, this day we will spend in The capture of each charred foe.

Speedily, speedily, speedily, O!

We'll capture each black, charred foe.

Now, lads, in your teaming, let's have no blaspheming!

Your oxen are patient and strong; Our logging laborious need not be uproarious, Nor lead us to anything wrong.

Decently, decently, decently, O!

Let's act, as the huge log-heaps grow.

When dinner-horn sounding, calls all that are found in The Fallow to come to the Feast, Let's guard 'gainst satiety--eat with sobriety-- So shall our joys be increased.

Soberly, soberly, soberly, O!

We'll eat what our friends may bestow.

When day is departing, and we are all starting For Home, with its sweet earthly bliss, May thoughts of wives smiling be still reconciling Our minds to hard labor, like this.

Then freely, most freely, still freely, O!

To all neighbors' loggings we'll go.

Such work as that I have described above, And holding plow, kept WILLIAM on the move.

Of active turn, he worked beyond his strength-- And felt the sad effects, in full, at length.

Yet at this season, in Canadian woods, He could not well refrain from musing moods.

Nor was it any wonder, when each day Added fresh charms to Nature's grand display.

The once-green leaves, struck by the early frost, Made up in gorgeous tints what they had lost!

He felt that never in his life before Had he e'er seen such hues as those trees wore.

Some that were shaded still preserved their green, While others near were decked in golden sheen.

Some in deep crimson robes were gaily drest, Others in shades of brown, as seemed them best; While not a few, of pride in dress were fuller, And had their robes of every splendid color!

The weather, too, was of that balmy kind, So suited to a dreamy state of mind; For mighty Sol felt his yet powerful rays Subdued, being wrapped in a thin, blue haze.

'Tis true, there came the oft-recurring thought, That all these beauties were too dearly bought; That soon, too soon, tempestuous winds would rise, And murky clouds veil those bewitching skies!

That Winter but delayed his coming now To gather blackness on his cold, knit brow, That he might rush with tenfold furious rage, And all the elements in war engage, To strip the trees of all their splendors bare And make sweet Nature a stern aspect wear!

Such thoughts at times filled him with melancholy, Which then, shook off, were looked upon as folly And after-thoughts brought in their joyous train Pleasures prospective, during Winter's reign.

The fleecy snow's wild dancing through the air; The clean, white sheet, wove for the soil to wear, To guard the plants designed for next year's food From Frost's attacks, when in a vengeful mood.

The sleighing, too, in prospect, had delights For one like he--so used to Fancy's flights.

He heard already, in imagination, The jingling bells, producing sweet sensation.

And 'midst such dreaming Time flew swiftly by, While he, to stay its course, wished not to try.

His Sabbath days met with observance due, For he to Christian ways continued true.

The family with loving Brethren met, Some miles from home, as oft as they could get.

With them "broke bread," and joined in praise and prayer, Or heard Christ's doctrine read, or preached, with care.

This they continued every Sabbath day, And found much benefit from it always.

Meanwhile their worldly means grew less and less, And fear of debt led them through some distress.

At last their circ.u.mstances were made known To a dear friend, who did a kind heart own.

He WILLIAM took, to help him in his store, And gave good wages--which endeared him more To those, thus favored, who by this perceived He carried out, in practice, truths believed.

In this employment WILLIAM staid not long, His sensitiveness soon made things go wrong.

He therefore back returned into the Bush, Where Want stood ready his fond hopes to crush.

Ere this, dread Winter had set in with rigor, Yet he his bright axe took again with vigor.

Throughout the woods the snow lay very deep, And Nature's face betokened death-like sleep.

Few sounds were heard to break the stillness round, Yet in those few our hero pleasure found.

The loud report of Indian hunter's gun, Which sometimes made the cattle homeward run; The beauteous woodp.e.c.k.e.r's quick rap-tapping At girdled trees, that long since had no sap in; Besides, the chopper's almost constant stroke Rang through pure air, and louder echoes woke; While ever and anon a tree would fall With thundering crash, which might some minds appal.

These all were sounds which he loved well to hear, For they, 'mid hard employ, his heart did cheer.

Severe the Bush-man's life, and full of danger, While, to most scanty fare he is no stranger.

It needs good eyes, strong arms, and courage, too, To live the life which most new settlers do.

The elder COOPER'S sight was very bad, Which came nigh bringing him a fate most sad.