Steaming the northern rapids—(an old St. Lawrence reminis- cence,A sudden memory-flash comes back, I know not why,Here waiting for the sunrise, gazing from this hill;)*Again 'tis just at morning—a heavy haze contends with day- break,Again the trembling, laboring vessel veers me—I press through foam-dash'd rocks that almost touch me,Again I mark where aft the small thin Indian helmsmanLooms in the mist, with brow elate and governing hand.