Shook their tiny bells to the breeze
on the broom-encircled commons of England.
The harebell had always from a child been with me a favourite
flower; and the first sight of it in Canada, growing upon that
lonely grave, so flooded my soul with remembrances of the past,
that, in spite of myself, the tears poured freely from my eyes.
There are moments when it is impossible to repress those outgushings
of the heart -
"Those flood-gates of the soul that sever,
In passion's tide to part for ever."
If Mat and his sister wondered at my tears, they must have suspected
the cause, for they walked to a little distance, and left me to the
indulgence of my feelings. I gathered those flowers, and placed them
in my bosom, and kept them for many a day; they had become holy,
when connected with sacred home recollections, and the never-dying
affections of the heart which the sight of them recalled.
A shout from our companions in the other canoe made us retrace our
steps to the shore. They had already rounded the point, and were
wondering at our absence.
Oh, what a magnificent scene of wild and lonely grandeur burst upon
us as we swept round the little peninsula, and the whole majesty of
Stony Lake broke upon us at once; another Lake of the Thousand
Isles, in miniature, and in the heart of the wilderness!
