Across the raging flood.
No need to tell our errand, for that night
Pere Brosse had sought his cell,
And told him all, then faded from his sight,
Breathing a kind farewell.




L'ORDRE DE BON TEMPS.


When Champlain with his faithful band
Came o'er the stormy wave
To dwell within this lonely land,
Their hearts were blithe as brave;
And Winter, by their mirth beguiled,
Forgot his sterner mood,
As by the prattling of a child
A churl may be subdued.

Among the company there came
A dozen youths of rank,
Who in their eager search for fame
From no adventure shrank;
But, with the lightness of their race
That hardship laughs to scorn,
Pursued the pleasures of the chase
'Till night from early morn.