And the sound the rifle made,

Woke the herd within the shade,
We could plainly hear them rush,
Through the leaves and underbrush,
Fled afar the startled quail,
And partridge with her fan-like tail,
Whirring past with all her brood,
Sought a deeper solitude.

VI.

There the gentle thing lay dead,
With a deep gash in its head,
And its face and nostrils o'er,
Spattered with the reeking gore,
There she lay, the lovely hind,
She who could outstrip the wind,
She the beauty of the wood,
Slaughtered thus to be our food.

VII.

Then we journeyed on our way,
And with the declining day.
Hailed with joy the promised lot,
Sat down on this very spot;

Saw Ontario wind her way,

Round yon still secluded bay;

Then it was a lonely scene,

Where man's foot had never been.

Now it is a busy mart,

Filled with many a thing of art,
And I love to sit and trace,
Changes that have taken place;
Not a landmark does remain,
Not a feature seems the same;
My companions, where are they?
One by one they dropped away,
And of all I'm left the last,
Thus to chronicle the past.

CHAPTER IV.

CUTTING THE FIRST TREE.

I.

Then to work we blithely went,
And we soon got up a tent,

On a point round which the lake,
Wound like an enormous snake,
As if it would bind it fast.
Then it stretched away at last,

Till in the horizon lost,

Swallowed in its cloud built coast.

II.

There our humble tent was spread,
With the green boughs overhead,
Such as wandering Arabs rear,
In their deserts lone and drear;
'Twas a temporary thing,

Yet it made our hearts to sing,

And the wild duck floating by, Paused, and with a startled cry, Called her scattered brood to save, Then she dived beneath the wave; And the crane that would alight, Screamed at the unlooked for sight, And like a bewildered thing, Lakeward bent her heavy wing; And the stag that came to drink, Downward to the water's brink,

Showed his branching head, and then Bounded to the woods again.

III.

We were awkward at the axe,

And the trees were stubborn facts;
I mind a sturdy elm well,

'Twas the first we tried to fell,
I could point you out I trow,
The very spot whereon it grew;
At it we together went,

"Twas a kind of sacrament;

Like to laying the foundation,
Of a city or a nation;

But the sturdy giant stood,
Let us strike him as we would,

Not a limb nor branch did quiver,

There he stood as straight as ever.

IV.

While we laboured lazy Bill,

On a rotten log sat still,

There he sat and shook his head,

And in doleful accents said:

"Oh this chopping's horrid work,
Even for a barbarous Turk,
Many a doleful day of gloom,
I have groaned upon the loom,

Oh, that was a weary curse,

But this chopping's worse and worse!
Sleep will heal the wretch's woes,
Longest days draw to a close;
Time and tide will hurry past,
Looked for long will come at last.
Whigs may wear a cheerful face,
Even when they're out of place;
Tories cease to rule the roast-
Britain learn to count the cost;