FAR in the arctic skies, where HUDSON'S BAY Rolls it's cold wave and combats with the sea, A dreary region lifts it's dismal head, True sister to the regions of the dead. Here thund'ring storms continue half the year, Or deep-laid snows their joyless visage rear: Eternal rocks, from whose prodigious steep The angry tiger stuns the neighb'ring deep; While through the wild wood, or the shrouded plain, The moose deer seeks his food, but often seeks in vain: Yet in this land, froze by inclement skies, The Indian huts in wild succession rise; And daily hunting, when the short-liv'd spring Shoots joyous forth, th' industrious people bring Their beaver spoils beneath another sky, PORT NELSON, and each BRITISH factory: In slender boats from distant lands they sail, Their small masts bending to the inland gale, On traffic sent to gain the little store, Which keeps them plenteous, tho' it keeps them poor. Hither CAFFRARO in his flighty boat, One hapless spring his furry riches brought; And with him came, for sail'd he not alone, His consort COLMA, and his little son. While yet from land o'er the deep wave he plough'd, And tow'rds the shore with manly prowess row'd. His barque unfaithful to it's trusted freight, Sprung the large leak, the messenger of fate; But no lament or female cry was heard, Each for their fate most manfully prepar'd, From bubbling waves to send the parting breath To lands of shadows, and the shade of death. O FATE! unworthy such a tender train, O day, lamented by the Indian swain! Full oft' of it the strippling youth shall hear, And sadly mourn their fortune with a tear: The Indian maids full oft' the tale attend, And mourn their COLMA as they'd mourn a friend. NOW while in waves the barque demerg'd, they strive, Dead with despair, tho' nature yet alive: Forth from the shore a friendly brother flew, In one small boat, to save the drowning crew. He came, but in his barque of trifling freight, Could save but two, and one must yield to fate. O dear CAFFRARO, said the hapless wife, O save our son, and save thy dearer life: 'Tis thou canst teach him how to hunt the doe, Transfix the buck, or tread the mountain snow, Let me the sentence of my fate receive, And to thy care my tender infant leave. He sigh'd, nor answer'd, but as firm as death, Resolv'd to save her with his latest breath: And as suspended by the barque's low side, He rais'd the infant from the chilling tide, And plac'd it safe; he forc'd his COLMA too To save herself, what more could mortal do? But nobly scorning life, she rais'd her head From the flush'd wave, and thus divinely said: