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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6601.txt b/6601.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..277d856 --- /dev/null +++ b/6601.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7055 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Verses and Rhymes by the Way, by Nora Pembroke + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Verses and Rhymes by the Way + +Author: Nora Pembroke + +Posting Date: February 12, 2013 [EBook #6601] +Release Date: October, 2004 +First Posted: December 30, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES AND RHYMES BY THE WAY *** + + + + +Produced by Beth L. Constantine, Juliet Sutherland, Charles +Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions. + + + + + + + + + + + + VERSES AND RHYMES BY THE WAY. + + + + BY + NORA PEMBROKE. + + + + +There are poor Mango's poems, which James Batter and me think +excellent, and if any one think otherwise, I wad just thank them to +write better at their leisure." +--Mansie Wauch + + + "All beneath the unrivalled rose + The lowly daisy sweetly blows, + Though large the forest monarch throws + His army shade, + Yet green the juicy hawthorne grows + Adown the glade." + + --Burns + + + + + To Mrs. Irving, + PEMBROKE. + + I dedicate these verses to one whom I hold dear, + One who in the dark days drew in Christian kindness near + May He who led me all my life do so and more to me + If ever I forget the debt of love I owe to thee. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + A STORY OF PLANTAGENET + + A LEGEND OF BUCKINGHAM VILLAGE + + OTTAWA + + THE LAKE ALLUMETTE + + HOW PRINCE ARTHUR WAS WELCOMED TO PEMBROKE + + A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR AN ONLY ONE + + SERVANTS + + ALAS, MY BROTHER! + + I WILL NOT RE COMFORTED BECAUSE ONE IS NOT + + TO A FATHER'S MEMORY + + ORSON'S FAREWELL (Orson Grout) + + DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN + + ADDRESSES. To the Hon. Malcolm Cameron + + ERIN'S ADDRESS TO THE HON. THOMAS D'ARCY McGEE + + NORA TO DAVID HEBBISON + + DEATH OF D'ARCY McGEE + + LINES TO A SHAMROCK. A Song of Exile + + LAMENTATION. (Walter and Freddie) + + THE SONG OF THE BEREAVED + + COMFORT YE, COMFORT YE MY PEOPLE + + MAJORITY + + MY OWN GREEN LAND + + BEREAVEMENT. (Job in. 26) + + OUT OF THE DEPTHS + + ERIN, MAVOURNEEN. A Prize Poem + + WRITTEN FOR THE O'CONNEL CENTENARY + + WE LAMENT NOT FOR ONE BUT MANY + + LINES FOR THE BRIDAL + + WELCOME HOME + + BAPTISM IN LAKE ALLUMETTE + + GOOD BYE (To Miss E E.) + + WEEP WITH THOSE WHO WEEP (Mary Maud) + + TO ELIZABETH RAY + + FAREWELL TO LORD AND LADY DUFFERIN + + A WELCOME + + DEATH OF NORMAN DEWAR + + THE SHADOW OF THE ALMIGHTY + + IN MEMORY OF JOHN LEACH CRAIG + + FAREWELL + + THE PRINCE OF ANHALT DESSAU + + MARY'S DEATH + + TO ISABEL + + LINES ON ANNEXATION + + TO MY FRIEND + + LITTLE MINNIE + + TECUMTHE + + CREED AND CONDUCT COMBINED AS CAUSE AND EFFECT + + RETROSPECT + + TO THE RAIN + + DIVIDED + + TO MARY + + TO FRANCES + + A NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS, 1870 + + MY BABY + + THE FATE OF HENRY HUDSON + + FORSAKEN + + KEEPING TRYST + + EDGAR + + GONE + + WHAT WENT YE OUT FOR TO SEE? + + THE IROQUOIS SIDE OF THE STORY + + A SATIRE. A Humble Imitation + + JUVENILE VERSES On the Birth of Albert Edward Prince of Wales + + THE BIBLE + + THE ADIEU TO ELIZA + + TO MY VALENTINE + + FIRST LOVE + + CHILDREN'S SONG + + ANSWER TO BURNS' ADDRESS TO THE DE'IL + + SEPARATION + + TO ANNE ON HER BIRTHDAY + + TO ISABEL + + ISABEL + + THOUGHTS + + TO J W + + THE ORPHANS GOOD BYE + + TO ANNIE ON HER BIRTHDAY + + GONE + + + + + VERSES AND RHYMES BY THE WAY. + + + + + A STORY OF PLANTAGENET. + +In the small Village of St Joseph, below the City of Ottawa, still +lives or did live very recently, an ancient couple, whole story is +told in the following lines. + + + PART I + + Lays of fair dames of lofty birth, + And golden hair alt richly curled; + Of knights that venture life for love, + Suit poets of the older world. + We wilt not fill our simple rhymes, + With diamond flash, or gleaming pearl; + In singing of the by-gone times; + We simply sing the love and faith, + Outliving absence, strong as death, + Of one Jow-born Canadian girl. + + 'Twas long ago the rapid spring + Had scarce given place to summer yet, + The Ottawa, with swollen flood, + Rolled past thy banks, Plantagenet; + Thy banks where tall and plumed pines + Stood rank on rank, in serried lines. + Green islands, each with leafy crest, + Lay peaceful on the river's breast, + The trees, ere this, had, one by one, + Shook out their leaflets to the sun, + Forming a rustling, waving screen, + While swollen waters rolled between. + + The wild deer trooped through woodland path, + And sought the river's strand, + Slight danger then of flashing death, + From roving hunter's hand; + For very seldom was there seen + A hunter of the doomed red race, + Few spots, with miles of bush between, + Marked each a settler's dwelling-place. + No lumberer's axe, no snorting scream + Of fierce, though trained and harnessed steam, + No paddle-wheel's revolving sound, + No raftsman's cheer, no bay of hound + Was heard to break the silent spell + That seemed to rest o'er wood and dell, + All was so new, so in its prime-- + An almost perfect solitude, + As if had passed but little time + Since the All Father called it good. + Nature in one thanksgiving psalm, + Gathered each sound that broke the calm. + + There was a little clearing there-- + A snow white cot--a garden fair-- + Where useful plants in order set, + With bergamot and mignonette. + Glories that round the casement run, + And pansies smiling at the sun, + And wild-wood blossoms fair and sweet, + Showed forth how thrift and beauty meet; + There was a space to plant and sow, + Fenced by the pines strong hands laid low. + By that lonely cottage stood, + With eyes fixed on the swollen flood, + A slight young girl with raven hair, + And face that was both sad and fair. + + Oh, fair and lovely are the maids, + Nursed in Canadian forest shades; + The beauties of the older lands + Moulded anew by nature's hands, + Fired by the free Canadian soul, + Join to produce a matchless whole. + The roses of Britannia's Isle, + In rosy blush and rosy smile; + The light of true and tender eyes, + As blue and pure as summer skies; + Light-footed maids, as matchless fair + As grow by Scotia's heath fringed rills-- + Sweet as the hawthorn scented air, + And true as the eternal hills. + We have the arch yet tender grace, + The power to charm of Erin's race; + The peachy cheek, the rosebud mouth, + Imported from the sunny south, + With the dark, melting, lustrous eye, + Silk lashes curtain languidly. + + The charms of many lands had met + In Marie of Plantagenet; + She had the splendid southern eye + She had the northern brow of snow, + The blush caught from a northern sky, + Dark silky locks of southern flow, + Light-footed as the forest roe, + As stately as the mountain pine, + A smile that lighted up her face, + The sunshine of a maiden's grace, + And made her beauty half divine. + So fair of face, so fair of form + Was she the peerless forest born. + Nature is kindly to her own, + To this Canadian cottage lone, + A back-wood settler's lot to bless, + She brought this flower of loveliness, + Seldom such beauty does she bring + To grace the palace of a king. + + A chevalier of sunny France, + Whom fate ordained to wander here, + To trade, to trap, to hunt the deer, + To roam with free foot through the wild, + He chanced, at husking, in the dance + To meet Marie, Le Paige's child,-- + And vowed that, roaming everywhere, + Except the lady fair as day, + Who held his troth-plight far away, + He ne'er saw face or form so fair; + From France's fair and stately queen, + To maiden dancing on the green, + From lowly bower to lordly hall, + This forest maid outshone them all + + When old Le Paige would hear this praise, + Then would he turn and smiling say + To the plump partner of his days, + "We who know our Marie well, + How true the heart so young and gay, + We will not of her beauty tell. + Her love is more to thee and me, + And yet our child is fair to see." + + So many a dashing hunter brave, + And many an axeman of the wood, + And hardy settler was her slave + And thought the bondage very good; + But she, so kind to those she met, + She smiled on all, but walked apart, + Keeping the treasure of her heart, + The fair Queen of Plantagenet, + No thought of love her bosom stirs + Toward her rustic worshippers + Until one came and settled near + Famed as a hunter of the deer + + The firmest hand, the truest eye, + The dauntless heart and courage high + Where his, and famed beyond his years + He stood among his young compeers, + He, ere the snow-wreath left the land, + Slew two fierce wolves with single hand, + Famished they followed on his tracks, + He armed with nothing but his axe + He knew the river far and near, + Beyond the foaming dread Chaudiere, + Far far beyond that spot of fear + He'd been a hardy voyageur + Through the white swells of many assault + Had safely steered his bark canoe, + Knew how to pass each raging chute, + Though boiling like the wild Culbute + The wilds of nature were his home, + His paddle beat the fleecy foam + Of surging rapids' yeasty spray. + And bore him often far away + Beyond the pinefringed Allumette, + He saw the sun in glory set, + His boat song roused the lurking fox + From den beside the Oiseau rock + Upward upon the river's breast, + The highway to the wild Nor-west, + Past the long lake Temiscamingue, + Where wild drakes plume their glossy wing, + Oft had he urged his light canoe, + Hunting the moose and caribou; + He knew each portage on the way + To the far posts of Hudson's Bay, + And even its frozen waters saw, + When roaming _courier du bois_, + In the great Company's employ, + Which he had entered when a boy. + Comely he was, and blithe, and young, + Had a light heart and merry tongue, + And bright dark eye, was brave and bold, + Skilful to earn, and wise to hold, + And so this hunter came our way, + And stole our wood nymph's heart away; + And it became Belle Marie's lot + To love Napoleon Rajotte + + Of all the sad despairing swains, + Foredoomed to disappointment's pains, + None felt the pangs of jealous woe + So keenly as Antome Vaiseau. + A thrifty settler's only son, + Who much of backwoods wealth had won; + A steady lad of nature mild, + Had been her playmate from a child, + And saw a stranger thus come in, + And take what he had died to win. + He saw him loved the best, the first, + Still he his hopeless passion nursed. + + At Easter time the Cure came, + And after Easter time was gone, + The hunter brave, the peerless dame + Were blessed and made for ever one + + Beside the cottage white she stood, + And looked across the swelling flood-- + Across the wave that rolled between + The islets robed in tender green, + Watching with eager eyes, she views + A fleet of large well-manned canoes, + The high curved bow and stern she knew, + That marked each "Company canoe," + And o'er the wave both strong and clear, + Their boat-song floated to her ear + She marked their paddles' steady dip, + And listened with a quivering lip, + Her bridegroom, daring, gay, and young, + With the bold heart and winning tongue, + Was with them, upward bound, away + To the far posts of Hudson's Bay, + Gone ere the honeymoon is past, + The bright brief moon too sweet to last, + Gone for two long and dreary years, + And she must wait and watch at home, + Bear patiently her woman's fears, + And hope and pray until he come, + She stands there still although the last + Canoe of all the fleet is past. + Of paddle's dip, of boat-song gay, + The last faint sound has died away, + She only said in turning home + "I'll wait and pray until he come" + + + PART II + + Spring flung abroad her dewy charms, + And blushing grew to summer shine, + Summer sped on with outstretched arms, + To meet brown autumn crowned with vine, + The forest glowed in gold and green, + The leafy maples flamed in red + With the warm, hazy, happy beam + Of Indian summer overhead, + Bright, fair, and fleet as passing dream. + The autumn also hurried on, + And, shuddering, dropped her leafy screen; + The ice-king from the frozen zone, + In fleecy robe of ermine dressed, + Came stopping rivers with his hand + Binding in chains of ice the land; + Bringing, ere early spring he met, + To Marie of Plantagenet, + A pearly snow-drop for her breast. + An infant Marie to her home + To brighten it until _he_ come. + + Twice had the melting nor-west snow + Come down to flood the Ottawa's wave. + "The seasons as they come and go + Bring back," she said, "the happy day + To welcome him from far away; + Thy father, child, my hunter brave." + That snow-drop baby now could stand, + And run to Marie's outstretched hand; + Had all the charms that are alone + To youthful nursing mothers known. + + 'Twas summer in the dusty street, + 'Twas summer in the busy town, + Summer in forests waving green, + When, at an inn in old Lachine, + And in the room where strangers meet, + Sat one, bright-eyed and bold and brown. + Soon will he joyful start for home, + For home in fair Plantagenet. + His wallet filled with two years' pay, + Well won at distant Hudson's Bay, + And the silk dress that stands alone, + For her the darling, dark-eyed one. + Parted so long, so soon to meet, + His every thought of her is sweet. + "My bride, my wife, with what regret, + I left her at Plantagenet!" + There came no whisper through the air + To tell him of his baby fair. + But still he sat with absent eye, + And thoughts that were all homeward bound, + And passed the glass untasted by, + While jest, and mirth, and song went round. + There sat and jested, drunk and sung, + The captain of an Erie boat, + With Erin's merry heart and tongue, + A skilful captain when afloat-- + On shore a boon companion gay; + The foremost in a tavern brawl, + To dance or drink the night away, + Or make love in the servants' hall. + The merry devil in his eye + Could well all passing round him spy. + Wanting picked men to man his boat, + Eager to be once more afloat, + His keen eye knew the man he sought; + At once he pitched upon Rajotte. + The bright, brown man, so silent there, + He judged could both endure and dare; + He waited till he caught his eye. + Then raising up his glass on high, + "Stranger, I drink your health," said he, + "You'll sail the 'Emerald Isle,' with me. + "A smarter crew, a better boat, + "Lake Erie's waves will never float, + "I want but one to fill my crew; + "I wish no better man than you; + "High wage, light work, a jolly life + "Is ours--no care, no fret, no strife. + "So come before the good chance pass, + "And drown our bargain in the glass." + "Not so," Rajotte said with a smile, + "Let others sail the 'Emerald Isle,' + For I have been two years away, + A trapper at the Hudson's Bay; + Two years is long enough to roam, + I'm bound to see my wife and home." + + The captain shook his curly head, + "Did you not hear the news?" he said, + "Last summer came from Hudson's Bay, + A courier from York Factory. + He brought the news that you were dead-- + Killed by a wounded grizzly bear + When trapping all alone up there-- + Found you himself the fellow said; + And your wife mourned and wept her fill + Refusing to be comforted. + But grief you know will pass away, + She found new love as women will; + And married here the other day." + + Not doubting aught of what he heard + He sat, but neither spoke nor stirred. + His heart gave one great throb of pain, + And stopped--then bounded on again. + His bronze face took an ashen hue, + As his great woe came blanching through, + And stormy thoughts with stinging pain + Swept with wild anguish through his brain; + But not a word he spoke. + They only saw his lips grow pale, + But no word questioned of the tale. + You might have thought the captain bold, + Had almost wished his tale untold; + But careless he of working harm + When coveting that brave right arm. + At last the silence broke: + "He who brought news that I was dead, + Is it to him my wife is wed? + Was it? I know it must be so. + It must have been Antoine Vaiseau." + "Yes," said the Captain, "'tis the same, + Antoine Vaiseau's the very name." + + So ere the morrow's morn had come, + Rajotte had turned his back from home, + And gone for ever more, + Gone off, alone with his despair, + While his true wife and baby fair, + Watched for him at the door. + + The rough crew of the "Emerald Isle," + Had one grim man without a smile, + So prompt to do, so wild to dare, + Reckless and nursing his despair. + The merry light had left his glance, + His foot refused to join the dance. + His heart refused to pray. + "Oh to forget!" he oft would cry, + Forget this ceaseless agony, + To fly from thought away." + Woe spun her white threads in his hair, + And bitter and unblessed despair + Ploughed furrows in his face; + Grief her dark shade on all things cast; + None dared to question of the past, + His sorrow seemed disgrace. + + When rumour rose of Indian war; + Troops mustering for the west afar, + That wanted them a guide; + Rajotte said "I'm the man to go." + War's din he thought would drown his woe, + 'Twas well the world was wide. + The Black Hawk war began--went on: + (Men dare not tell what men have done-- + The white's relentless cruelty + O'ermastering Indian treachery;) + Rajotte, a stern determined man, + Sought death, forever in the van + On many a fierce-fought battle plain; + His life seemed charmed--he sought in vain. + + Spring came and went--the years went past; + War ended, peace came round at last; + But war might go, and peace might come, + Rajotte thought not of turning home. + Till, failing strength, and fading eye, + He turned him homeward just to die. + Perhaps although he felt it not, + In his fierce wrestling with his lot, + There was a drawing influence + From the dear home so far away; + And faithful prayers had risen from thence, + To Him who hears us when we pray, + Who watched the lonely waiting heart + That nursed its love and faith apart; + And, pitying her well borne pain, + Ordained it should not be in vain. + + + PART III. + + Now turn we to Plantagenet: + Through all these weary, waiting years, + How many hopes and fears have met' + How many prayers, how many tears! + When the time came that he should come + Back to his fair young wife and home, + Often and often would she say, + "He'll surely come to us to-day." + Pet Marie's best robe was put on + And the poor mother dressed with care-- + Glad that she was both young and fair-- + "To meet thy father, little one" + Oft standing on the very spot + Where she had parted from Rajotte + She stood a patient watcher long, + And listened eagerly to hear + The voyageurs' returning song + Come floating to her ear + But still he came not, years went by, + Yet she must pray, and hope, and wait, + His form would some day meet her eye, + His step sound at the river gate + Oh! it was hard to hear them say, + "He comes not, and he must be dead + Cease pining all your life away, + 'Twere better far that you should wed + And Antoine keeps his first love still, + And Antoine is so well to do, + You may be happy if you will + His pleading eyes ask leave to woo" + 'Twas a relief to steal away, + And tell her ebon rosary, + And to the Virgin Mother pray, + Thinking that she in Heaven above, + Remembered all of earthly love, + And human sympathy, + And having suffered human pain-- + Known what it was to grieve in vain-- + Might bend to listen to her prayer, + And make the absent one her care + In pleading with her Son + + She waited while the years went on, + And would not think that hope was gone, + Ever his steps seemed sounding near, + His voice came floating to her ear, + And longing prayer, and yearning pain + Reached out to draw him back again; + And love beyond all estimate + Strengthened her heart to hope and wait + Pet Marie grew up tall and fair, + Her girlish love, her merry ways + Kept the poor mother from despair + Through many weary nights and days. + + Spring and high water both had met + Once more at fair Plantagenet; + Once more the island trees were seen + Adorned with leaves of tender green, + Aux Lievres's roar was heard afar, + Where waters dashed on rocks to spray, + Roaring and tumbling in their play, + Kept up a boisterous holiday, + With tumult loud of mimic war. + The wild ducks of Lochaber's Bay + Were playing round on wanton wing, + Rippling the current with their breasts, + Feeling the gladness of the spring, + Pairing and building happy nests + All sounds of spring were in the air, + All sights of spring were fresh and fair + Sad Marie of Plantagenet, + With silver threads among her hair, + And by her side her blooming pet, + As she had once been, fresh and fair, + Stood on the bank that glorious day + Thinking of him so long away + Awhile they both in silence stood, + Then Marie said, "The Nor-west flood + Again another year has come. + You see those water-fowl at play + Come with the flood from far away. + What flood will bring your father home? + 'Tis seventeen years ago to-day, + Since, parting here, he went away." + Just then young Marie, glancing round + "Mamma, I hear a paddle's sound, + Look there, those maple branches through, + Below us, there's a bark canoe, + 'Tis stopping at our landing place + There's but one man with hair so grey, + And a worn weather-beaten face-- + See, he is coming up this way + Mamma, I wonder who is he, + Stay here and I will go and see." + + Rajotte who thought he did not care-- + That he had conquered even despair, + Could bear to _see_ as well as _know_ + That Marie was the Dame Vaiseau, + Came to the parting spot, and there, + In the bright sunlight's happy beams, + Stood the fair image of his dreams + As young as on the parting day, + As bright as when he went away, + As beautiful as when he met + Her first in fair Plantagenet, + His Marie, living, breathing, warm, + Her glorious eyes, her midnight hair + Shading the beauty of her face, + The same lithe, rounded, perfect form, + The look of true and tender grace + + Rajotte stood spell-bound, and the past + Seemed fading like a horrid dream. + "Marie," he said, "I'm home at last, + Speak, Marie, are you what you seem? + After all these long years of pain, + Art thou love given to me again?" + The maiden stood with wondering eyes, + Silent, because of her surprise, + But the wife Marie gave a cry + Of joy that rose to agony + She rushed the long lost one to meet, + And falling, fainted at his feet + He held the true wife's pallid charms + Slowly reviving in his arms, + And then he surely learned to know + A little of the grand, true heart + That through so many years of woe + Waited, and prayed, and watched apart, + Keeping love's light while he was gone, + Like sacred fire still burning on + + While hearts are bargained for and sold, + In fashion's fortune-chasing whirl, + We simply sing the love and faith + Out-living absence strong as death, + Of one low-born Canadian girl. + + + + + A LEGEND OF BUCKINGHAM VILLAGE. + + + PART I + + Away up on the River aux Lievres, + That is foaming and surging always, + And from rock to rock leaping through rapids, + Which are curtained by showers of spray; + + That is eddying, whirling and chasing + All the white swells that break on the shore; + And then dashing and thundering onward, + With the sound of a cataract's roar. + + And up here is the Buckingham village, + Which is built on these waters of strife, + It was here that the minister Babin, + Stood and preached of the Gospel of Life, + + Of the message of love and of mercy, + The glad tidings of freedom and peace, + Of help for the hopeless and helpless, + For all weary ones rest and relief. + + Was his message all noise like the rapids? + Was it empty and light as the foam? + Ah me! what thought the desolate inmate + Of the still upper room of his home? + + One too many, one sad and unwelcome, + That reclined in his invalid's chair, + With her pale, busy fingers still knitting + Yarn mingled with sorrow and care. + + And the brother stood up in the pulpit, + Stood up there in the neat village church, + And he preached of the pool of Bethesda, + Where the poor lame man lay in the porch + + Waiting for the invisible mercy, + That shall healing and blessedness bring, + For those soft waters never were troubled, + Until swept by the life angel's wing. + + But was that cottage home a Bethesda? + Was the porch up the dark narrow stair? + Were the thoughts of the lonely sister + Brighter made by a fond brother's care? + + Ah who knows!--for the chair now is empty, + And the impotent girl is away, + While the night and the darkness covered + Such a deed from the light of the day. + + Did she struggle for her dear existence? + Did the wild night winds bear off her cry? + Ere the pitiless, swift surging waters, + Caught and smothered her agony; + + And again when the black, whirling eddy, + Drew her down to its cold, rocky bed, + Who was it that stood so remorseless + On the strong ice arched over her head? + + Men may join and strike hands to hide it, + And agree to say evil is good; + Mingled with the loud roar of the waters, + Rings the cry of our lost sister's blood. + + Mirth and song, and untimely music, + May sound up to the starry skies; + Nought of earth can stifle the gnawing + Of that dread worm that never dies. + + + PART II + + Away in a distant city, + Is a stranger all unknown; + Far, far from the leaping river, + That is rushing past his home. + + He lay in the stilly silence + Of a quiet, darkened room, + Feeling that the dread death angel + Stands in the gathering gloom. + + One foot on shadowy waters, + One foot on the earthly shore; + He swears to the shrinking mortal, + That his time shall be no more. + + The spray of the silent river, + Is cold beaded on his brow, + For Jordan's billowy swellings + Are bearing him onward now + + He is floating into darkness, + Going with the shifting tide, + And there is the seat of judgment, + Waits him at the further side. + + But his eyes are looking backward, + In pauses of mortal strife, + And he sees the quiet village, + Where he preached the word of life. + + And he sees the pleasant cottage, + To which in the flush of pride, + The popular village pastor, + Brought home a most haughty bride + + But ever there comes another, + With a pale and pleading face, + So helpless, and so unwelcome, + A burden and a disgrace + + And the river roars and rushes, + Leaping past with fearful din, + Its ever foaming caldron + Suggesting a deadly sin. + + Saying, "I am partially sheeted, + In the winter's ice and snow, + What's plunged in my dashing waters, + No mortal shall ever know" + + So ever with nervous fingers, + He harnesses up his sleigh; + So ever with stealthy movements, + He travels the icy way. + + And stops where the yawning chasm, + Shows the yawning wave beneath, + And she knows with sudden horror, + That she has been brought to her death + + Her weak hands cling to his bosom, + His ears are thrilled with her cry; + When the last struggling strength went forth + In that shriek of agony. + + So his most unwilling spirit, + Still travels memory's track, + Despair staring blindly forward, + Remorse ever dragging back. + + Again he walks by the waters, + While innocent mortals sleep, + Asking the pitiless river, + The horrible deed to keep. + + Spring comes and the ice is breaking, + Does it break before its time? + Then he knows on God's fair footstool + No shelter there is for crime. + + For the rushing, tempting waters, + Have got an accusing roar; + The treacherous sweeping eddy + Has brought the crime to his door. + + Then he lives over and over, + That moment of anguished dread, + When the cry arose--awestruck hands + Had found and borne oft his dead. + + Thus he, conscience-lashed and goaded, + Feeling as the murderer feels, + Has reached the last, last spot of earth, + The Avenger at his heels + + Ah me! to plunge in those swellings, + Along with that ghastly face, + Going out on unknown waters + In that clinging dread embrace + + So he floated on to judgment, + What award may meet him there, + Who knows--but his earthly punishment + Was greater than he could bear + + + + + OTTAWA. + + + Hail! to the city sitting as a queen + Enthroned a cataract on either hand, + The voice of many waters in her ears, + And the great river tranquil at her feet, + Smoothing his locks and all his foamy mane + After his wild leap from the rifted rocks, + And while he fawns about her feet, she sits + A young Cybele diademed with towers, + So young yet on her sandals there is blood, + And all the river will not wash it out + Spilt at her feet for being true to her, + So young, and well she doth become her state, + We look, and know her born to be a queen, + Before the mother finger o'er the sea + Touched her, and made her royal with a touch; + For, seated where the thundering waters meet, + Spanned by her fingers, she can lay her hand + On two fair provinces, and call them hers; + Greater than those which swell and pride themselves + In long, loud titles in the older world; + The whirl and hum of industry are here, + And all the fragrance of the enriching pine; + And on the river in the wake of boats + That snort and prance like Neptune's battle steeds, + Pawing the water with impatient steps, + Passes our floating wealth that seeks the sea. + + + + + THE LAKE ALLUMETTE. + + "One is not." + + + Have you seen the beautiful Allumette, + The magnificent pine-fringed lake, + In its splendour the sun about to set, + Ere the fair lady moon awake. + + The waters are tinged with a golden glow, + With rose and ruby and purple bars; + Heaven's mantle flung on the lake below + Till it fades off beneath the stars. + + The distant hills, robed in violet mist + Of the heavenly hues partake, + As they stand, with the sunlight crowned and kissed, + On guard round the beautiful lake. + + Over the waters ride gay little boats, + Diamonds flash from the dipping oars; + Laughter and song's mingled melody floats + To ripple and die around the shores. + + Life is so gay on the Lake Allumette, + Ah me! does its sky ever frown + On a place unmarked, unheeded, and yet + In that place my brother went down. + + Sad hearted we sit by Lake Allumette, + Who saw him go down in the wave; + And question ourselves in anguished regret, + Did we make every effort to save? + + For those who are left, to some one so dear. + We tried feebly warning to set, + We have failed, we look with sorrow and fear + For woe that must come by Lake Allumette. + + + + + HOW PRINCE ARTHUR WAS WELCOMED TO PEMBROKE. + + + Do you know the town Pembroke so loyal and long + And so worthy the praise of a poet in song? + Nestled down by the lake shore, that ripples and shines, + And hemmed in by the hills with their crowning of pines. + Now this town is that town so wondrous and fair, + Long thought to be but a chateau in the air, + Where the sons are all brave and the daughters all fair. + + You may guess what great gladness there rang down the street, + Where the wise and the witty so neighbourly meet, + To compare their opinions to hear something new, + As their friends the Athenians of old used to do, + When the news was to all so gracious and good, + "There is coming to see us a Prince of the blood." + Then all our good people grew loyalty wild + To show love for the Queen as they welcomed her child. + Straightway counsel was ta'en as to what should be done + For to greet as befitted her Majesty's son, + In a way to bring credit and praise to the town. + "We must have an arch at the bridge, and a crown, + And '_Welcome to Arthur_,' arranged all so fine + With balsam and tamarack, spruce and green pine; + But the crown shall be flowers, the fairest that blow, + Or are made by deft fingers, from paper you know, + And many a fair one who skilfully weaves + Wreaths and garlands, shall bring them of ripe maple leaves; + And then, as 'Jason Gould' that so snug little boat, + The most cosy, most homelike was ever afloat, + Will not quicken herself for a Prince or for two, + But will at her own pace the Mud Lake paddle through. + It will be about midnight, or later than that, + And as dark as the crown of your grandfather's hat, + When that ponderous boat waddles up to the pier, + A tired Prince will his Highness be when he gets here. + We'll illumine the town, from mansion to cell, + County buildings and cottages, home and hotel, + And the arch with its motto, that triumph of skill, + Shall be seen in its glory by light from the mill, + Which floor upon floor many windowed shall blaze + And light up each bud in the crown with its rays. + We shall have out that carriage, so costly and grand, + Fit to carry the one Royal Prince in this land; + And a crowd bearing torches shall light up the way, + Till along Supple's lane be as brillant as day + And to guard and escort him our brave volunteers + With their swords and their bayonets, which ought to be spears, + Shall wait at the landing for him, and the band + With the noise and the music they have at command, + Shall be heard in the distance before they are seen, + Rolling out the first greeting in "God save the Queen." + Well, the Prince over portages rattled and whirled, + Suspected he drew near the end of the world, + But right royally welcomed, surprised he lit down + In this dazzling, ambitious and long little town. + And the night air was rent with full many a cheer + For joy that the son of our Sovereign was here + And he heard every sound, and he saw every sight, + That the people had planned for to give him delight; + And he felt he was cared for with loyalty's care, + In this wonderful town, so far off, and so fair, + In the whole wide Dominion there is not a town + So loyal so lovely as this of our own + Broad Ottawa washes no happier place, + As it lies in sweet Allumette's tender embrace + Oh, to see it when autumn and sunset unite + To drape earth and sky with one robe of delight, + When the banners of heaven in the west are unrolled, + And the blue lake is barred off with purple and gold, + And the Isle, like the patriarch's favourite son, + Its coat many coloured and royal has on + Thus fair as a vision, and sweet as a dream, + It burst on the gaze of the son of our Queen, + In the glory of fair Indian summer all drest, + And this was the welcome they felt and expressed + + + THE WELCOME + + We welcome thee Prince to the land of the pine, + For thy mother's sake welcome, as well as for thine, + This town highest up in the Ottawa vale, + With the voice of pine forests gives cheer, and all hail + Our welcome as rude as the mountains may be, + But that cheer is the willing voiced shout of the free + And though rude be our welcome, you'll find us, I ween, + Most lovingly loyal to country and Queen. + Come and see our sweet lake, when its waters' at rest + Chafe not round the islands that sleep on its breast + And our woods many tinted in glory arrayed, + Dyed in rainbows and sunsets illumine the shade. + Come and see our dark rocks frowning sterile and high, + Their brown shoulders bare and upheaved to the sky; + Come and see our grand forests, all echoing round + With the strokes that are bringing their pride to the ground; + Where thousands of workers bold, hardy and free, + Carve out wealth for themselves and an empire for thee + Our river now placid, now surging to foam, + Shall echo kind thoughts that will follow thee home. + All good wishes that tender and prayer like arise, + And blessings that fall as the dew from the skies, + Shall be breathed out for thee our young Prince of the blood, + Son of much loved Victoria and Albert the Good. + May thy heart be all fearless, thy life without stain, + As the saint and the hero are joined in thy name. + Forget not the people whose love thou hast seen + God bless thee Prince Arthur thou, son of our Queen + + + + + A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR AN ONLY ONE + + (CLARISSA HARLOW) + + + Seek not to calm my grief, + To stay the falling tear; + Have pity on me, ye my friends, + The hand of God is here. + + She was my only one, + Oh, then my love how great! + Now she is gone, my heart and home + Are empty desolate + + I thought not, in my love + That we were doomed to part, + Now I am childless, and my fate + Falls heavy on my heart + + O Thou who gave the gift, + Who took the gift away, + Who only can heal up the wound, + Give answer while I pray! + + Do Thou send comfort down, + All goodness as Thou art, + Even in Thy last passion, Thou + Didst soothe a mother's heart. + + I would not take her back, + From Thee, from Heaven and bliss, + Though yearning for her twining arms, + And happy loving kiss + + I miss her bounding step, + Her voice of bird like glee, + Yet thank Thee I had such a child + To give her back to Thee + + Father, my child! my child, + Is laid beneath the sod! + and, oh! with quivering lips I try + To kiss the chastening rod + + Father, Thy will be done + Oh make my will the same! + And teach me in this trying hour, + To glorify Thy name. + + + + SERVANTS. + + + They are but servants, say the words of scorning, + As though they meant to say, we're finer clay, + Yet, all the universe holds solemn warning, + Against this pride in creatures of a day + + In fashion's last new folly, flaunting slowly, + With white plumes tossing on the Sabbath air + They pass with scornful words a sister lowly. + Do scornful lips know anything of prayer? + + Alas! poor human nature's inconsistence, + Up to God's house we go, that we be fed; + And there, as beggars begging for assistance, + Say "Give us, Lord, this day our daily bread." + + Without a price, the priceless blessings buying + Which are laid up for us, with Christ in God; + To Him we come as little children crying, + That He may guide us by His staff and rod, + + We leave His presence on the Sabbath morning, + Feeling forgiven, feeling satisfied; + Then pass our lowlier sisters full of scorning + Ruffling ourselves as those that dwell in pride. + + Yet He to whom we come with wishes fervent, + When He came down as bearing our relief, + It was His will to come in form a servant, + Being despised, being acquaint with grief + + Earth's mighty conquerors, it is said, have founded + Orders of merit, after fields were won. + And victors' brows the laurel wreath surrounded, + To tell of daring deeds most bravely done. + + Trifles as fading as the classic laurel, + Became the guerdon of each mighty deed, + Titles and stars rewarded mortal peril, + And men for such as these would gladly bleed + + But He, our holy, sinless, suffering Saviour, + When He sat down upon a conqueror's throne, + Ordained the soldiers of the cross that ever + They wear the name in which He victory won + + Servants to do all things He hath commanded, + To bear the service which our Lord has borne, + To suffer for His name, with false words branded, + To pay with loving service bitter scorn + + What was beforetime low, is now the highest, + And that is glory that the world calls shame, + Those who can say "I serve" to Him are nighest + Because the Son hath worn a servant's name + + Lift up your heads heed not the words of scorning, + From those whose earnest life is not begun, + Blessed are they who on the judgment morning + Hear from the Master, "Servant, 'tis well done" + + + + + ALAS, MY BROTHER! + + (P McD) + + + We waited for him, and the anxious days + Melted to years and floated slowly by + We spoke of him kind words of lofty praise, + Of yearning love and tender sympathy. + + We laid by what was his with reverent care-- + Started in dreams to greet him coming home-- + But hope deferred left no relief but prayer, + And heart-sore longings breathed in one word--Come. + + We never dreamed of murderous ambush laid + By savage redskins greedy for the prey-- + Of him, our darling, in the forest laid + Alone, alone, ebbing his life away. + + He who would not have harmed the meanest thing, + Who carried gentleness to such excess + That, to the stranger and the suffering, + His purse meant help, his touch was a caress. + + Ah me! that cruel far off land of gold, + That lured him off beyond the ocean foam, + To roam a stranger among strangers cold-- + His blank life only cheered by news from home. + + The home that he was never more to see, + While yet his heart was planning his return, + Short, sharp and swift the message came, and he + Passed to his long home o'er the mystic bourne. + + And while we watched for him the grass was green + Upon his grave, swept by the summer air; + There grow strange flowers--passes the hunter keen, + The stately caribou and grizly bear. + + But never more his mother's eyes he'll bless, + Or with a fond embrace his sisters meet; + No brother's hand will he in welcome press, + Nor his hound's bay tell of his coming feet. + + To us remains the mourner's _never more_, + And aching hearts and eyes with sorrow dim; + Thou who at Bethany their sorrow bore, + Draw nigh us also while we weep for him. + + + + + I WILL NOT BE COMFORTED BECAUSE ONE IS NOT + + + There is a gladness over all the earth, + For summer is abroad in breezy mirth, + Nature rejoices and the heavens are glad, + And I alone am desolate and sad, + For I sit mourning by an empty cot, + Refusing comfort because one is not. + + And I will mourn because I am bereaved, + Others have suffered others too have grieved + Over hopes broken even as mine are broke, + By a swift unexpected bitter stroke, + And I must weep as weeping Jacob prest, + To grieving lips his last ones princely vest + + You tell me cease weeping, to resign + Unto the Father's a will this will of mine, + You say my lamb is on the Shepherd's breast, + My flower blooms in gardens of the blest, + I know it all I say, Thy will be done + Yet I must mourn for him--my son! my son! + + + + + TO A FATHERS MEMORY + + (J. M. D.) + + + I thank Thee Father that I feel Thee near, + That it is hand of Thine that's raised to smite, + Oh, make Thy loving kindness to appear, + Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right! + + Poor woe-worn watchers! he is going home; + No skill can save him, and no love can keep; + He served his generation--he is gone, + And gathered to his fathers, falls asleep. + + We've bitter cups to drain--but his is dry; + Burdens of care--but care has left his breast; + Tears--but they never more shall dim his eye; + Labour,--but he has entered into rest. + + Oh, to be with him, toil and care all past, + Sleeping, dear mother earth, within thy breast, + I, too, could lay my hand in thine, O death, + And gladly enter where the weary rest. + + + + + ORSON'S FAREWELL. + + (ORSON GROUT), + + _One of the victims of the Southern Prisons._ + + + Sit by me comrade, thou and I have stood + Shoulder to shoulder on the battle-field, + And bore us there like men of British blood, + But comrade this is death, and I must yield. + + You have been leal, my friend, and true and tried + In battle, in captivity of me; + Since we went up to worship side by side + O'er the green hills I never more shall see. + + From this dread prison pen, thou shalt go forth; + But I, I know it, never more shall rise, + Nor see my home in the cool pleasant North, + Nor see again my wife's dark mournful eyes. + + Nor see my children, every shining head + And merry eye, for what know they of grief; + 'Twill still their play to know that I am dead; + But childhood's woe, thank God, is always brief. + + Try to cheer Annie in her widowed woe; + Let her hear words of comfort at thy mouth; + But, friend, I charge thee, do not let her know + Aught of the tender mercies of the South. + + Tell her that I have never been alone, + One like the Son of Man was by my side; + The Everlasting arms were round me thrown + Of my dear Lord who for our freedom died. + + I don't regret, that though of British birth, + I have been true to the cause unto death; + 'Tis not alone the Union, or the North, + It is the people's cause o'er all the earth. + + And it shall prosper, and this slaughter pen + Shall be a monument of Southern chivalry + Before the world;--thus proving to all men + Slave power begets and sanctions cruelty. + + From here went up for years the bondman's cry; + In the same glaring sun and rotting dew, + The white war-prisoners' cry of agony + To the great God of Battles rises too. + + And He, who was by suffering perfected, + Watches the nation's life, the captive's pain; + And from the strife, beside her martyred dead, + With shield blood-cleansed from slavery's broad stain, + + Columbia shall arise renewed, and wear + Her coronet of stars, and round her fold + Her robe of stripes, by righteousness made fair, + Which still exalts the nations as of old. + + But I shall rest upon the other side, + Rest in that place of which no tongue can tell, + And thitherward my wife and babes He'll guide; + Friend, life's for thee, and death for me, Farewell' + + + + + DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN. + + + In the Capitol is mourning, + Mourning and woe this day, + For a nation's heart is throbbing-- + A great man has passed away + + It was yester'even only + Rejoicing wild and high, + Waving flags and shouting people + Proclaimed a victory + + For our God had led our armies, + In the cause of truth and right, + It was, therefore, the brave Southren + Had bowed to Northern might. + + Then flashed o'er the land the tidings, + The flush of joy to quell, + Fallen is the people's hero, + As William the Silent fell. + + The stealthy step of the panther, + The tiger's cruel eye; + A flash--and the wail of a nation + Rang in that terrified cry. + + Shame falls on the daring Southren, + Woe on the Southren land, + The stars and bars are quartered + With the murderer's bloody hand + + Well--he stood to his duty firmly, + Rebellion's waves rolled high, + He dared to be true and simple + To battle a gilded lie + + And the life has died out of treason, + Died with oppression and wrong, + The shame is wiped from the nation + Worn as a jewel so long + + But he, in the hour of triumph + Who wise and firmly stood + Planning for them large mercies, + Lies weltering in his blood. + + For a cause so vile meet ending, + To set with a murder stain, + The "sum of human villainy" + Should die with the brand of Cain + + Lay him down with a nation's weeping, + Lay him down with the heart's deep prayer + That the mantle of the martyr + Fall on the vacant chair + + + + + ADDRESSES. + + TO HON. MALCOM CAMERON. + + + By many a bard the Cameron clan is sung, + Their march, their charge, their war cry, their array; + Their laurels that from bloody fields have sprung, + Where they have kept the sternest foes at bay. + + The flowing tartan and the eagle plume, + The gathering, and the glories of the clan, + Let others sing, we will not so presume, + We bring our humble tribute to the man. + + The man with heart benevolent and kind, + The man with earnest and persuasive tongue; + Would there were many like him heart and mind + To combat with this fashionable wrong; + + Who longs to remedy these human ills, + Feeling God made of one blood all the earth; + Whose sympathies have passed his native hills, + And spread beyond the clan that gave him birth. + + Is it not sad when in high places so + No sense of honour or of shame remains; + Men who make laws while reeling to and fro, + Statesmen with swaying step and muddled brains! + + For scenes disgrace our new-built palace walls, + And Canada on some reformer waits; + Shall vice within the Legislative Halls + Be rampant as the lions on the gates? + + Oh for a man of action and of prayer, + Who feels this sin a national disgrace; + A man who has the strength to do and dare + The pluck and courage of the Celtic race. + + If thou art he, thou'rt welcome to the van, + To battle for the right in time of need; + To win fresh laurels for the Cameron clan, + And thousands bid thee heartily God speed. + + + + + ERIN'S ADDRESS + + TO THE HON. THOMAS D'ARCY McGEE. + + + O thou son of the dark locks and eloquent tongue, + With the brain of a statesman sagacious, and strong, + And the heart of a poet, half love, and half fire, + Thou hast many to love thee and more to admire; + But I bore thee, and nursed thee, and joyed at the fame + Which the sons of the stranger have spread round thy name. + I am Erin, green Erin, the "Gem of the sea." + Listen, then, to thy mother's voice, D'Arcy McGee. + + Since the crown from my head, and the sceptre are gone + To the hand of the stranger, who held what he won, + I have borne much of sorrow, of wrong and of shame, + I've been spoken against with scorning and blame; + But still have my daughters been spotless and fair, + And my sons have been dauntless to do and to dare; + For as great as thou art and most precious to me, + Still thou art not my only one, D'Arcy McGee. + + At the bar, in the senate, in cassock or gown, + Our foes being judges, they've got them renown; + On the red field of battle, of glory, of death, + They've been true to their colours and true to their faith; + And where bright swords were clashing and carnage ran high, + They have taught the stern Saxon they know how to die. + Well, no wit, poet, statesman or hero can be + More dear to my heart than thou, D'Arcy McGee. + + Wild heads may plan glories for Erin their mother, + Weak plans and wicked plans chasing each other; + To me worse than the loss of a sceptre and crown + Is a spot that might tarnish my children's renown, + 'Tis the laurels they win are the jewels I prize, + They're the core of my heart and the light of my eyes; + For my children are gems and crown jewels to me, + And art thou not one of them, D'Arcy McGee! + + I had one son, and, oh, need I mention his name! + He who well knew where lay both our weakness and shame; + His true, tender heart sought to measure and know + This thing, most accursed, formed of babbling and woe; + And his life did he dedicate freely, to slay + The monster that made my bright children his prey; + In the place where the wine cup flows deadly and free, + The bane of the gifted, oh D'Arcy McGee. + + For so well hath the father of lies tried to fling + A false glory around it, so hiding the sting, + Saying wit gets its flash, and high genius its fire, + From the fiend that drags genius and wit through the mire + Ah 'it biteth, it stingeth, it eateth away, + And our best and our brightest it takes for its prey, + 'Tis the bowl of the helot, no cup for the free, + As thou very well knowest, my D'Arcy McGee. + + Hast thou risen my loved one and cast from thy name + All the shadows that darken thy life with their shame; + Thou hast raised thyself up, against wind, against tide, + Thou art high, thou art honoured, my joy and my pride; + Now the song of the drunkard is chased from thy place, + And my pride is relieved from this touch of disgrace. + Thou wilt help to make Erin "great, glorious and free," + And I bless thee my silver-tongued D'Arcy McGee. + + + + + NORA TO DAVID HERBISON. + + + There's a place in the North where the bonnie broom grows, + Where winding through green meadows the silver Maine flows, + Every lark as it soars and sings that sweet spot knows; + For the mate for whom it sings, + Till the clear blue heaven rings, + Is brooding on its nest mid the daisies in the grass; + And that psalmist sweet, the thrush, + And the linnet in the bush, + Tell the children all their secrets in song as they pass. + + Oh brightly shines the sun there where wee birdies sing, + A glamour's o'er the buds in the green lap of spring, + In happy, happy laughter children's voices ring! + Like some fair enchanted ground, + In memory it is found, + Where my childhood's golden hours of happiness were spent; + There within a leafy nook, + I have pored upon a book + Till romance and fairy lore with every thought were blent. + + I mind how fair the world was one bright summer day, + Sitting in a shady place better seemed than play; + Childhood's golden memories never fade away; + My child friend most sweet and fair, + My bright Lily she was there; + We read and mused in silence and spoke our thoughts by turns; + Lily, with her lofty look, + Turned oftenest to her book, + The book that lay between us was the peasant poet Burns. + + The heaven-gifted man with winsome witching art, + Who touches at his will the kindly human heart, + 'Till it throbs with joy like pain and tears begin to start; + He so tenderly touched ours + With his melting magic powers, + Made feelings which he felt within our bosoms spring, + Where he wished for Scotia's sake, + Some plan or book to make, + Or to write the bonnie songs his country loves to sing. + + Fancies wild were ours on that day so long ago, + Stirred by Burns's genius, for we had learned to know + The beauty of sweet Erin and something of her woe; + And in song we longed to tell + Of the land we loved so well, + Singing words of hope and cheer, wailing each sad mishap, + Like the daisies on the sod, + With their faces turned to God, + Clung we to the island green that nursed us on her lap. + + I said to Lily, fair, my hand among her curls, + If we were Red Branch Knights, or high and noble Earls, + Or poets grand like Burns, instead of simple girls, + We might do some noble deed, + Or touch some tuneful reed, + Something for the land we love to bring her high renown, + The land where we were born; + Is spoken of with scorn, + Her children's songs should praise her, her children's deeds should + crown. + + My fair and stately Lily how thy hand sought mine + Clasped it warm and tender with sympathy in thine, + As I wished that we could make our 'streams and burmes shine' + There's many a ruin old, + There's many a castle bold, + There's Sleive mis with his head in mist, here's the silver Maine, + But who of them will sing + Till the whole world shall ring, + With the melody, and ask to hear it once again? + + If one of her own children standing boldly forth, + With eyes to see her beauty, a heart to know her worth, + Would fling the charm of song o'er the green robe of the North + Lily said, sweet friend there's one, + And his name is Herbison, + Who sings of Northern Erin in sunlight and in storm, + Of the legend and the tale, + Of the banshees awful wail, + Of Dunluce upon the sea, of the castle of Galgorm + + Of the gallant deeds of the all but vanished race, + The high O'Neils who kept with princely state their place + Of their white armed daughters in beauty's woeful race + In that joyful youthful time + All my pulses beat to rhyme, + I thought what you were doing that I would also do, + I would praise the bonnie North, + And draw its legends forth + From cottage and from castle the pleasant country through + + I'd make the land I loved in poesy to shine, + The Maine should flow along in "many a tuneful line," + Songs praising hills and streams full sweetly should be mine, + And the legends I would sing, + From lip to lip should ring, + My native land should ask for, and hear my humble name; + When like her tuneful son, + Green laurels I had won, + I'd think her love for me was better far than fame. + + Blessed be the green recess by the sweet Maine water where + I a little child with my child friend sweet and fair + Built with golden fancies this castle in the air! + My child friend is at rest, + Erin's shamrock's on her breast, + I her little minstrel am all unknown to fame, + For the songs are all unsung, + And not a northern tongue + Has spoken once in praise my very unknown name + + But I know heroic souls beyond my feeble praise, + I know of calm endurance like the great of other days, + High deeds for battle song, worth a poet's noblest lays, + Of the pathos of the strife + In the lowly walks of life, + Of many an unknown hero that has won the victor's crown + And the lovely, lovely land, + Landscape fair, and castle grand, + Worthy the coming bard who will sing of their renown. + + I love thee well, sweet Erin, though fate led another way; + I'll call thee still, _mavourneen_, when head and heart are grey; + Another one will say and sing what I have failed to say; + But this very day to me, + There has come across the sea + Some pleasant verses bearing a well remembered name; + That has done for Erin's land + What I only thought and planned, + And won a place in Erin's heart that I can never claim. + + So unknown beside a pine-fringed lake away beyond the sea, + Half in gladness of remembrance, half in wakened childish glee + I stretch my hand in homage and kindredship to thee, + I greet thee this bright day + From three thousand miles away, + And to thy well earned laurels I'd add a sprig of bay + Glad to know thou'rt rhyming yet, + For thy readers can't forget + Erin's genial loving son, + Poet of the steadfast North kindly David Herbison + + + + + DEATH OF D'ARCY McGEE + + + He stood up in the house to speak, + With calm unruffled brow, + And never were his burning words + More eloquent than now + + Fresh from the greatest victory + That mortal man can win + The triumph against fearful odds. + Over besetting sin + + 'Twas this gave to his eloquence + That thrilling trumpet tone + Moving all hearts with those bright thoughts + Vibrating through his own + + Thoughts strong, and wise, and statesmanlike, + Warm with the love of Right + That gave his wit its keenest edge, + His words their greatest might + + He little thought his last speech closed, + That his career was o'er, + That those who hung upon his words + Should hear his voice no more. + + He walked home tranquilly and slow, + Secure, and unaware, + That there was murder in the hush + Of the still midnight air. + + "Tis morning," said he, knowing not + That he had done with time; + That a bloody hand would our country stain + With another useless crime. + + He stood before a portal closed + To him for evermore, + Behind him with uncreaking hinge + Oped the eternal door. + + And ere the east grew red again, + His life blood's purple flow + Had made that pavement holy ground, + And filled the land with woe. + + My country! Oh my country! + What is to thee the gain? + Wilt nourish trees of liberty + In blood so foully slain? + + + + + LINES TO A SHAMROCK + + A SONG OF EXILE + + + A withered shamrock, yet to me 'tis fair + As the sweet rose to other eyes might be, + Because its leaves spread in my native air, + And the same land gave birth to it and me. + + They were as plentiful as drops of dew + In our green meadows sprinkled everywhere, + Heedless I wandered o'er them life was new, + Now as a friend I greet thee shamrock fair + + Because I dwelt with my own people then, + Erin's bright eyes, and kindly hearts and true, + That from my cradle loved me, and again + We'll never meet--spoken our last adieu + + I am a stranger here, I have not seen + One friendly face of all that I have known, + And my heart mourns for thee my island green, + Because I am a stranger and alone + + So thou art welcome as a friend to me, + Tell me where lay the sod that brought thee forth, + Idly I wonder as I look at thee + If thou hast come, as I did, from the North? + + From the green glens that he beside the sea + From cloud capt Sleive mis of the shamrock vest? + From near old castles, where the dread banshee + Waits for the native lords when laid to rest? + + Or did the tartaned stranger call thee where + Mount Cashel's Lord rules o'er a fair domain? + Or grass grown ruin all that's left to bear + Of a lost race the all but fading name? + + The lovely Maine lingers in flowing through + The peaceful place that was my childhood's home, + Myriads of shamrocks on its margin grew, + Was it from these thy sisters thou hast come? + + Such fair broad meadows by Maine water lay, + Erin her mantle green for carpet spread, + In merry childhood there we met to play, + Dashing the dew from many a shamrock's head. + + Where sleep the village dead there is a spot + That's dearer far than all the rest to me; + It's interwoven with full many a thought, + And with my young heart's childish history. + + She was most fair that sleeps that sod beneath; + The fair form shrined a soul akin to mine, + And the sharp pain of heart ties cut by death, + Has softened been but left unhealed by time + + And Erin spread her skirt across her grave, + And there were shamrocks nestling on the breast, + And blue bells and all flowers that softly wave, + Making more beautiful her place of rest. + + If 'twas from there the stranger gathered thee + I would forgive the sacrilege, and thou + A precious relic to my breast would be, + Nor prized the less because thou'rt withered now. + + Ah me! I know thou canst not answer me, + Yet sight of thee must all these thoughts awake; + Enough, from mine own land thou comest, thou'lt be + Welcome to Erin's child alone for Erin's sake. + + + + + LAMENTATION + + (WALTER AND FREDDIE.) + + + From morn to eve, from evening unto morning, + I mourn and cannot rest; + So mourns the mother bird when home returning + She finds an empty nest. + + I mourn the little children of my dwelling, + That are forever gone, + Sorrows that mothers feel my heart is swelling, + And so I make my moan. + + One little blossom on my bosom faded, + And passed from me away, + But near my door the drooping willows shaded + My little boys at play + + My boys that came with flying feet to meet me, + And questions wondrous wise, + And bits of news which they had brought to greet me, + And see my glad surprise + + Bitter for sweet no human hand can alter + Nor bid one sorrow pass, + With sudden stroke our darling little Walter + Was laid beneath the grass + + Ah then it was to me an added sorrow, + To hear his brother moan, + Where's little Walter, will he come to morrow + I cannot play alone? + + The summons for the child had come already + Which said I must resign + The best beloved, the precious little Freddie, + To other arms than mine + + How still and lone are the familiar places + Where little pattering feet + Made music for me, and I saw bright faces + Dimple with laughter sweet + + My arms are empty that woold fain be folding + My lost ones to my breast, + But well I know, the Father's face beholding, + They are forever blest. + + From Christ's dear words my bleeding heart would gather + At length submissive grace,-- + He says that in the kingdom of His Father, + They still behold His face. + + In the bright garden of the Lord they're staying, + Amid the angels fair; + And heavenly whispers to my heart are saying-- + Look up, your treasure's there. + + + + + THE SONG OF THE BEREAVED. + +(I have borrowed thy pattern, dear Hood, to cut out our mourning +garments.) + + + With garments for sorrow torn, + With eyelids heavy and red, + A woman sat by a new-made grave, + Bewailing her slaughtered dead-- + Weep! weep! weep! + Tears of remorseful pain; + The sorrow that sorrows without a hope, + Is poured forth above the slain. + + Drink! drink! drink! + It slayeth on every side, + Till the blue-eyed baby is fatherless, + And a desolate widow the bride. + O for a gleam of light + On the home, on the friendly hand, + That pours in kindness the burning draught + That maketh a desolate land. + + Drink! drink! drink! + The horse-leech ever craves, + There are empty chairs in the desolate home, + And the earth swells with new-made graves. + Cellar, saloon, and bar, + Bar, cellar, saloon, + And a wasted life, and a hopeless death, + Is the tempted victim's doom + + O men with the friendly treat! + O women with New Year's wine! + It is not liquor you're pouring out, + But your child's blood and mine, + Drink! drink! drink! + In joyous youthful prime, + Drink that marks out the downward road + To want and disease and crime + + Drink in the lordly hall, + Pour out the blood-red wine,-- + And grey hairs sorrow over the grave, + That is dug before its time + Drink for the darling son, + Till the softened brain goes mad, + And darkness falls on the father's life + Which is bound in the life of the lad. + + Every unwilling slave + Standeth on the bedroom's brink, + But what will free the body and soul + That is enslaved by drink? + Bar, cellar, saloon, + Cellar, saloon and bar + Alas, that the demon of drink slays more + By far than the demon of war + + Drink! drink! drink! + Till manhood and pride are gone, + Drink over the grave of self-respect, + And then in despair drink on. + Drink! drink! drink! + Drink at the fearful cost + Of knowing that though still cursed with life, + Yet hope is forever lost. + + Our brightest go down to death, + We cannot our dearest save; + And we dare not think of the judgment seat + That lieth beyond the grave. + Drink! drink! drink! + So many are licensed to sell, + Drink; you will surely find the house, + Whose guests find the way to hell. + + Oh for the plighted band + Of those who are bound to save + Their fellow men from the fearful doom + That extends beyond the grave! + Alas! they are trying hard + To do, what they cannot do, + To wage a war to the uttermost, + And only hurt a few. + + Bar, cellar, saloon, + Cellar, saloon and bar + Are swiftly, surely, doing their work + As those who in earnest are; + And the moderate drinker stands, + Kind, at the head of the way, + And opens the gate, with friendly hands, + Of the road that leads astray. + + Of the road that leads astray, + And never will stop to think + That the shroud is sewed, and the grave is dug, + For the lost by moderate drink; + And the banded are loath to strike, + They have friends on the other side, + And therefore "Hell hath enlarged herself" + And opened her mouth so wide + + The strong and the brave are lost, + Do we keep the tender and fair? + Does the demon who strikes down fathers and sons, + All the daughters and sisters spare? + Bar cellar saloon + Cellar, saloon and bar,-- + Oh! who will preach a new crusade, + Or join in this holy war? + + With garments for sorrow torn,-- + With eyelids heavy and red, + A woman sat by a new made grave, + Bewailing over the dead + Weep! weep! weep! + How many will weep in vain? + How many will rise in a holy cause, + That the slayer may be slain? + + + + + COMFORT YE, COMFORT YE MY PEOPLE + + (Noel.) + + + By the sad fellowship of human suffering, + By the bereavements that are thine and mine, + I venture--oh, forgive me!--with this offering, + I would it were to thee God's oil and wine + + I too have suffered--is it then surprising + If to thy sacred grief I enter in? + My spirit draws near thine all sympathising, + Sorrow, like love, "makes aliens near of kin." + + Thou'rt weeping for thy gathered blossoms, mother, + The Lord had need of him, and called him soon, + In morning freshness ere the dews of heaven + Were chased before the burning rays of noon. + + Thy darling child, like to God's summer blossom, + Was very fair and pleasant to the sight, + The sunny head that rested on thy bosom, + The loving eyes that were thy heart's delight, + + Made passers by look on him with a blessing, + Saying, "His mother is not all alone; + Her widowed sorrow, in that sweet caressing, + Will find some comfort for the lost and gone." + + I miss him from the doorway, blythely playing, + Where he has turned on me his winsome face; + O lovely child! I said, "by lone hearth staying, + Thou'lt make the widow's home a pleasant place." + + The little one, thy comfort in affliction, + With the sweet face earnest and innocent; + That was to thee like Heaven's benediction, + Such children for a little while are lent. + + Pilgrims and strangers are we in our praying, + But birds of passage to a brighter shore; + Yet build our nests as if for ever staying, + We and our treasures, here for evermore + + But when our nestlings by the Master taken + Up in God's Paradise to safely sing; + And by the empty nest we wail forsaken, + In the great loneliness of suffering. + + We lift our tearful eyes in sorrow's blindness, + And cry to him for very helplessness, + Then He reveals to us His loving kindness, + Even in bereavements 'tis His will to bless + + He says "Look up," that we may cease our crying, + Seeing our treasures in glad safety there, + And there our hearts will be--for upward flying + In longing love, they cast off earthly care + + Thy home is silent all the rippling laughter, + The sound of racing feet at play, is fled, + But he, thy darling led up by the Master, + Is with the living--not among the dead + + Thy little ones within the jasper portals, + There by the crystal sea he learns to sing + The new song only known to the immortals, + Promoted to the presence of the King + + The child is safe within the Father's mansion + Safe on the hills of God in light to range, + And heart ties stretched unto their utmost tension, + Will, by God's touch, to golden harp strings change + + On which the Master will soft music render, + Soothing with heaven's airs thy pathway dim, + On which love's messages all sweet and tender + Shall run between thee and thy angel kin + + And they will draw thee upward growing stronger, + When flesh and heart will one day faint and fail, + And thou wilt care for earthly things no longer, + For all thy treasures are within the veil + + + + + MAJORITY. + + + So friend of mine 'tis thy birthday morn, + And friends with fair gifts around thee come, + Outside the circle I stand forlorn, + My hands are empty my lips are dumb. + + O Thou who seest in secret still, + Who reads the heart when no word is said, + The wishes that rise in prayer fulfil + In royal blessings to crown his head. + + Entering the portals of manhood now, + The boy we loved from our knowledge slips, + With fresh consecration seal his brow, + With thy altar fire retouch his lips. + + He girds himself for the strife anew, + And love foresees what the dangers are; + But thou, O Captain, art tried and true, + 'Tis at thy charge he goes forth to war! + + My empty hands to thy throne I lift, + While parting sorrow my spirit swells, + Lord, thou wilt give him a birthday gift + Out of the place where Thy fulness dwells. + + He's called and chosen to dare and do, + To uphold Thy banner on battle field; + Be Thou to him strength and wisdom too, + In the day of strife, his sword and shield. + + More than I ask Thou wilt give, O King! + What is my friendship or care to Thine! + To the banquet house Thy hand will bring + And refresh his lips with the kingdom's wine. + + + + + MY OWN GREEN LAND + + + It was in the early morning + Of life, and of hope to me, + I sat on a grassy hillside + Of the Isle beyond the sea, + Erin's skies of changeful beauty + Were bending over me. + + The landscape, emerald tinted, + Lying smiling in the sun, + The grass with daisies sprinkled, + And with shamrocks over run, + The Maine water flashed and dimpled, + Still flowing softly on. + + The lark in the blue above me, + A tiny speck in the sky, + Rained down from its bosom's fulness + A shower of melody, + Dropping through the golden sunlight, + And sweetly rippling by + + Afar in the sunny distance, + O'er the river's further brim, + Like a stern old Norman warder, + Stood the castle tall and grim, + And, nearer a grassy ruin, + Where an old name grew dim + + I knew that the balmy gladness + Was brooding from sea to sea, + But I felt a note of sadness + That sobered my youthful glee, + The love of my mother Erin + Stirred all my heart in me + + Oh Erin! my mother Erin, + Thou land of the tearful smile, + Hearts that feel, and hands of helping + Are thy children's blessed Isle' + The stranger is so no longer + That rests on thy breasts awhile + + Be he Saxon, Dane or Norman, + That steps on thy kindly shore, + Who sets his foot on thy daisies + Is kinder for evermore, + For thy _cead mille failtha_ + Thrills warm to his bosom's care. + + But Erin, never contented + Struggles again and again, + As all proud and free born captives + Must strive with the conqueror's chain. + That, if ever snapped asunder, + Is riveted firm again + + The words of an Hebrew exile, + Like to some sweet song's refrain, + That sweetly goeth and cometh + And echoes through heart and brain, + "Be sure that the day is coming + "When Erin shall rise again + + "She only of all the nations, + "Since in dust our temple lies, + "Has not our blood on our garments + "Has brought no tears to our eyes, + "He says, they prosper who love us + "Thy Erin at last shall rise." + + I waited, watched for the blessing + Promised, oh so long ago, + I looked for the brilliant future + The end of the long drawn woe, + My hopes, with my years, Time the reaper, + Hath laughingly laid them low. + + Oh Erin! my mother Erin! + Will "to be" repeat what has been? + Will your sons ever "shoulder to shoulder" + Be strong and united seen? + Will ever the foreign lilies + Blend with the nation's green? + + For in other lands the peoples, + Quite forgetting ancient wrong, + Have blended and fused, becoming + Because of their union strong, + Leaving all old feuds and battles, + As themes for romance and song + + From party's Promethean vulture, + When wilt thou get release? + When will the strife of races, + The strife of religions cease? + And the hearts of thy loving children + Mingle and be at peace? + + + + + BEREAVEMENT. + + (Job iii. 26) + + + It was not that I lived a life of ease, + Quiet, secure, apart from every care; + For on the darkest of my anxious days + I thought my burden more than I could bear. + The shadow of a coming trouble fell + Across my pathway, drawing very near; + I walked within it awestruck, felt the spell + Trembled, not knowing what I had to fear. + The hand that held events I might not stay, + But creeping to His footstool I could pray. + + With sad forebodings I kept watch and ward + Against the dreaded evil that must come; + Of small avail, door locked or window barred, + To keep the pestilence from hearth and home. + The dreadful pestilence that walks by night, + Stepping o'er barriers, an unwelcome guest, + Came, and with scorching touch to sear and blight, + Drew my fair child into her loathsome breast; + Nothing had ever parted us till then, + O child! when shall I hold thee once again? + + As if the plague's red cross upon my door, + With "Lord have mercy!" scared the passers by, + So friends of mine that I had had before, + Fled from the face of my calamity. + Shut in, and yet shut out, my days went on, + Shut in with woe, shut out from human kind + Within my boundaries, watching sad and lone, + Hope with despair kept struggling in my mind. + It is not always human hearts can say + To Him who smites, "I trust Thee though Thou slay." + + They're taught of God who say "Thy will be done," + When in the presence of the thing they fear, + Both flesh and spirit fail when hope is gone, + And what we dread the most is drawing near; + I said, "an end comes to the darkest day, + And the bright, sunshine follows after rain, + This fearful pestilence will pass away, + And I can comfort those she holds in pain; + I'll take them to my heart, nor will I care, + That her touch marred the faces I thought fair" + + I clung to hope I would not let it go-- + And praying thoughts went up with every breath, + For when the sickness came I did not know + That with her came the angel they call Death. + My child will be restored to me I said, + Death took her hand-and almost unawares, + She slipped away from me and joined the dead + Back on my heart fell my unanswered prayers, + Stunned I took up my child that was so sweet + And wrapped her poor form in the winding-sheet + + All desolate I bore her to her bier + With unaccustomed hands I laid her down, + With grief too hard and deep to shed a tear + We stood beneath the heavens gathering frown, + And then the storm burst on us in its might, + The loosened winds rushed round to moan and rave, + 'Twas fittest so--they bore her from my sight, + Through the wild ram and laid her in her grave, + Then conscious only of a dreadful loss, + I sat with sorrow underneath my cross + + The little ones whose mother's with the dead + Came with their many wants around my knee + And added, needless burden some one said, + But ah! they were God's messengers to me, + For here were duties that my hands must do, + Although my wound might only bleed and smart, + And so there came some solace to me through + The helpless hands that touched my aching heart + Ah! little children bringing everywhere + God's blessed comfort mingled in with care + + And so I do my task, my daily task, + Working the work that's given me to do, + Getting the daily strength for which I ask, + The needed courage still to help me through; + And my great sorrow passes out of sight, + I have not time to sit and make my moan; + But in the solemn stillness of the night, + My woe comes back to me with heavy groan. + And yet our Father weaves His golden thread + Into the warp of duty's homespun web. + + + + + OUT OF THE DEPTHS. + + + Thou art, and, therefore, Thou art near, oh God! + Thick darkness covers me, I cannot see; + Is this the Shepherd's crook, or the correcting rod, + And by Thy hand, O Father, laid on me? + + I cry to Thee, and shall I cry in vain? + My soul looks up as if through prison bars, + Up through the silent Heaven, ah, turn again + Thy face to me, hide not behind the stars. + + Thy presence hath been with me in the past, + Where "heaps of witness" mark out all the way; + Thy years change not, Thy love is still as vast, + I look to Thee, I trust Thee though Thou slay. + + My friends walk on the hills the sun hath kissed, + Flowers at their feet, their sky is blue and fair; + I'm prisoned in this vale of tearful mist, + Shut in with sorrow, darkened by despair. + + I, too, once walked with footsteps glad and free, + Light round my head, and in my mouth a song; + Manna fell round my dwelling-place for me. + For me the living waters flowed along. + + Thy hand had set my feet upon a rock, + That Rock stands fast, why then this loss and harm? + I cannot find the footsteps of the flock, + I cannot feel the Well-Beloved's arm. + + They hold me in derision, for they say, + Where is the God in whom you seemed to trust! + Righteous art Thou O Lord! and if I may + But find Thee I will lay me in the dust. + + Saying, awake, arise my God, to me + Turn in Thy love the mercy of Thy face; + Then shall the day break, and the shadows flee, + And I will sing of Thy sufficient grace. + + + + + ERIN, MAVOURNEEN. + + A Prize Poem. + + + I know Canada is fair to see, and pleasant; it is well + On the banks of its broad river 'neath the maple trees to dwell; + But the heart is very wilful, and in sorrow or in mirth, + Mine will turn with sore love-longing to the land that gave me birth; + And I wish that, oh but once again! my longing eyes might see + The green island that lies smiling on the bosom of the sea; + That is fed with heaven's dew and the fatness of the earth, + Fanned by wild Atlantic breezes that sweep over it in mirth. + + Its green robe is starred with daisies; it is brilliant fresh and + fair, + With a verdure that no other spot of earth affords to wear. + It has banks of pale primroses that like bits of moonlight glow; + There are hawthorn hedges blossomed out like drifts of perfumed snow, + Bluebells swinging on their slender stems and cowslips on the lea. + I was better for the lessons they in childhood taught to me; + And still sweet is every memory, and blessed each regret + That twines round that dear island home, which our hearts cannot + forget. + + From where Antrim's giant columns at the north are piled on high, + The sentinels of centuries tow'ring up against the sky, + From mountain top and purple heath, from valleys fair to see, + Where streams of flashing crystal bright are flowing merrily, + To Kerry's lakes of loveliness that dimple in the sun. + 'Tis fair as any spot of earth that heaven's light shines upon. + O Erin, my mother Erin, dear land more kind than wise, + I think of thee till loving tears come thronging to my eyes. + + Thou hast nourished on thy bosom many sons of deathless fame; + Who, while the world will last, shall shed a lustre on thy name. + While Foyle's proud swelling waters roll past Derry to the sea; + While yet a single vestige of old Limerick's walls there be; + Shall those who love thee well, fair land, lament that feuds divide + The sons of those who for each cause stood fast on either side. + From every ruined castle grey, well may the banshee cry + O'er bitter waters once let loose that have not yet run dry + + O would the blessed time might come when, party feeling done, + The noble deeds of both sides will be gathered into one! + On the battle-fields of Europe thy sons quit themselves like men, + Till those who made them exiles longed for their good swords again, + Wherever fields were fought and won, in thickest of the fray, + Where steel bit steel, thy sons have fought and laurels bore away + And thou hast bards in deathless song thy heroes' praise to sing, + Or make hearts throb responsive when for love they touch the string + + Thou hast lovely, white-armed daughters so tender and so true, + As modest as the daisies, and as spotless as the dew, + With flashes of sweet merriment, and virtue still and strong + They fire the patriot's heart and charm the poet into song + Thou hast nourished those right eloquent to plead with tongue and pen, + For those eternal rights which men so oft deny to men, + And land of saints in song like mine, but little can be said + Of those who stand for God between the living and the dead + + Thou'rt not without His witnesses for children of thy sod, + In lofty and in lowly life, are found who walk with God + Land of the hearty welcome! who travels thy valleys o'er + Knows more of human kindness than he ever knew before. + While some are kind to friends alone, thy sons whate'er befal + More like the blessed sun and rain have kindliness for all. + O Erin, my mother Erin! much my love would say of thee, + Were my lips but half so eloquent as my heart would have them be. + + As Moses longed for Lebanon, so I long that once again + My feet might press the shamrocks in the meadows by the Maine. + Oh to see the wee brown larks again, once more to hear them sing, + As up to heaven's blessed gates they soar on tireless wing! + I'd watch them till I'd half forget the burden of my years, + And tender thoughts of childhood would well up in happy tears. + I may never see thee more, _mo run_, but with each breath I draw + Thou art still to me _mavourneen_, so _an slainte leat gu bragh._ + + + + + WRITTEN FOR THE O'CONNEL CENTENARY. + + + Sons of the bright, green island, + Gathered by the pine-fringed lake, + In honour of his memory, + Who battled for your sake, + Listen, we too pay our tribute + To a fame that well endures; + He, who ventured much for liberty, + Is ours as well as yours. + + Men fought in vain for freedom, + And lay down in felon graves; + "Your noblest then were exiles, + Your proudest then were slaves" + When the people, blind and furious, + Maddened by oppression's scorn, + Struggled, seethed in wild upheaval, + Was the Liberator born. + + Who took the sword fell by the sword, + This man was born to show, + How thoughts would win where steel had failed + One hundred years ago + By force the patriot tried in vain + To stem oppression's might, + This man arose and won the cause, + By pleading for the right. + + He stood to plead for liberty + On Dunedin's Calton-hill; + No man had ever greater power + To move men's hearts at will + Erin, without name, senate, flag, + This, her advocate and son, + Pleaded for those who tried and lost, + With those who tried and won + + He stood to ask for justice, + For ruth and mercy's grace, + For a people of another faith, + And of another race + He stood on ground made holy + By resistance unto wrong, + And Scotia's freemen gathered round, + Full twenty thousand strong + + And rock and distant city, + The broad Forth gliding clear, + Yea, every heath-clad hill-top + Had hushed itself to hear, + From the shades of hero martyrs + Of patriotic fame, + From the land they thought worth fighting for, + High inspiration came + + He won the cause he strove for, + With bold undaunted brow, + And his name and fame roll brightening on + Along the years till now, + All honour to his memory, + May his words, where'er they fall, + Bring forth the love of liberty, + And equal rights to all + + + + + WE LAMENT NOT FOR ONE BUT MANY + + + 'At last he is dead' + So the wondering, horror-struck neighbours said, + A skilful touch of his knife + Has cut the thread of a wasted life + He has reached the end of the downward road, + And rushed unbidden to meet his God, + Over every duty past every tie, + Unwarned, unhindered, he rushed along, + Through the wild license of sin, and wrong, + And into the silent eternity + + Relax thy anguished watch, O wife + And fold thy hands--and yet--and yet, + After all the tears which thou hast wept, + Through nights when happier mortals slept, + Thou only wilt weep with fond regret, + Over the corpse of the hopeless dead + For the cause accursed, of drink he has bled, + For that cause he lived and suffered and died + Many deaths in one horrible life,-- + The death of his honour, the death of his pride, + On that altar he sacrificed child and wife + Hope, liberty, purity, more than life + Lifes life, God's image, he crushed and killed, + Tore and defaced, wasted and spoiled, + Uncurbed in passion, iron willed, + For _this_ long years he has laboured and toiled, + Devoted his talents, his time his breath, + And at the last his blood he has shed + Truly the wages of sin is death + + He was once a babe on a mother's breast, + Tenderly nourished, cared for, caressed + Watched with a mother's love and pride + Dreams of the future warm and bright, + High hopes ambitions in rainbow light + Clustered around him a fairy swarm + Of tender fancies sweet and warm, + As she hung over his cradle bed, + In all this world there's none so bright, + So clever as mother's heart's delight + My child of promise," she proudly said + + Oh would to God that he then had died + Died when the anguish of heartstrings torn, + The sudden stilling of childish laughter, + The awful vacance that fills the place + Of the soft, warm touch, of the dear, dear face, + Of the sweet dead child that the heart gropes after + For God's own voice to the mourner saith, + "Be still, I am God, there is hope in his death' + + Alas! for the woe that under the sun + Can find no comfort! this child lived on. + What must be his mother's sorrow and sin, + If she held the glass to his infant lips + Taught him the taste of sweetened gin, + As a cure for every childish pain, + To be tried and tampered with once and again + If she taught him to worship at fashion's shrine, + In its magic circle to look on wine. + To pour it sparkling in ruby light, + The adder's sting the serpent's bite, + Came to him at last among evil men, + But he once was a boy, + A mother's joy, + Clever and gifted with tongue and pen, + The cup of temptation + Was inspiration, + Oh would to God he had died even then + The mother's tears shed over the slain, + Had then had hope in their bitter pain + + O mothers, stronger than life is love + And your love is most like God's above, + And power likest God's to you is given, + With the greatest trust that is under heaven + He gives to your hands to have and to hold + More precious than rubies, better than gold + God's little children to teach and to train, + And to lead them upward to Him again + God keep you and save you from earning the curse + That shadows the life with hopeless remorse + He once was a lover an innocent maid + Into his keeping gave up her life, + Into his hand her own she laid + For better, for worse + As a blessing, a curse, + Took on her the sacred name of wife, + And stood at her post through all these years + Of sorrow and sin, of anguish and tears + There have been martyrs for God and right, + Passed through blood and fire into endless light + Count all the martyrs to right that died + Since Abel's blood to Jehovah cried + There are but few in that shining throng + Compared to the martyrs of sin and wrong + Count not that woman's life by years, + Count by the dropping of heart-wrung tears + To the common lot of toil and care, + That dims the eye and the heart strings wring, + He added, of woe that none could share, + Whole ages of sorrow and suffering + + She bore her torture for duty's sake, + Firm as saint in the tower and at the stake, + Bore want and woe, and his evil name, + For him who for years was dead to shame + She saw his brood about her knee + Into an evil lot they were born + To bear for his sin the cruel scorn + Of the world unthinking, hard and cold + Prematurely saddened, early old, + They never knew home as a place of rest, + Except when their home was the mother's breast, + And worse than all she had to see + Them taught the secrets of sin and woe, + Which happier children never know + Alas! that such a thing should be + Her darlings were made to pass through the fire + To the Moloch of vice and sinful desire, + The father's example of life and tongue + Brought the knowledge of evil to them while young, + And in sorrow and shame, + That none may name, + In strife and sin all tempest-tost + The innocence God gives to babes was lost + All is over, nought's left but dishonoured clay, + But the evil men do lives longer than they. + Of a truth the saddest for tongue or pen + Are these words o'er a ruin--"He might have been," + And sadder the words in jest set free + "This is; but alas! it should not be." + He has passed into darkness who lived in vain; + But what shall their future portion be, + Who, passing by on the other side, + Themselves from the curse secure and free, + No plan of relief or rescue tried? + Or worse, made profit out of his pain, + And lured him on to his death for gain? + + + + + LINES FOR THE BRIDAL + + + They will place a bridal wreath, maiden, + To crown all your shining hair; + The mist-like cloud of the bridal veil + Will float round a face most fair. + + They will dress you in bridal robes, maiden, + And the holy words be said, + And the ring put on and two made one, + And the maiden we love be wed. + + You'll give him your virgin hand, maiden, + And become a wedded wife; + That hand will mingle "honey for two" + To sweeten the bitter of life. + + They will give you costly gifts, maiden, + And many a wish beside + Will rise in prayer in blessings come down + On thy head O fair young bride + + And kind will the bridegroom be maiden + True and tender as years roll on + Who learns to love in the school of Christ + Will cherish what he has won + + And so what can I say more maiden + Wooed and won and to be wed, + Pray that His blessing who loved till death + May rest on your fair young head + + In the hollow of His hand maiden, + He will keep you who fainteth not + He will cause the splendour of His face + To shine on your happy lot + + + + + WELCOME HOME + + + You are coming home with the breath of spring + Flying home to a love-lined nest, + Most loving care hath made it fair + Your hands will do the rest + + And the bridal robe you have laid aside + And the vail all of lacy foam, + The maiden's wed, the tour is sped + So welcome, welcome home + + The past is laid by with the bridal wreath + The bride has come home a wife, + And now we pray that blessings may + Crown all your wedded life + + What shall be the blessing, my dearest dear, + When it's all that we have to give? + That peace and love, from God above, + Be yours while ye both shall live. + + That high love that makes of the wife a queen, + Of a cottage a palace home, + The coarse web fine, life's water wine, + The fire-side chair a throne. + + Love that drops like dew from heaven to fill + With all blessing your earthly cup; + That draws you nigh to Him Most High, + Bidding your souls look up + + Unto Him who has ordered all your lot, + To the Hand that will give the best, + That bids you come up to His home + To be His wedding guest. + + + + + BAPTISM IN LAKE ALLUMETTE + + + Oh Allumette, hemmed with thy fringe of pine, + Watched over by thy mountains far away, + Thy waters have been troubled oftentime, + Never before as they have been to day! + + The red man on the war path, with light stroke, + Hath cleaved thy waters moving stealthily; + Hunter and hunted deer thy surface broke + With splash and struggle of the living prey. + + Across thy bosom venturous Champlain + And faithful Brule have pursued their way; + Seeking for distant golden Indian vain + Finding Coulonge while searching for Cathay + + The knights of industry the sons of toil, + Trouble thy waters in the eager strife + To win success and wealth, the glittering spoil + For which men daily peril more than life + + 'Twas a new motive from their homes to day + That drew an eager wondering people out, + Like those who from Mount Zion took their way, + From Judah and the regions round about + + It might have been the Jordan flowed along + Or that, sweet stream where people met for prayer, + Still expectation held the gathering throng + By the lake shore, in the hushed Sabbath air + + And earnest, fervent pleading prayer was made + Rose the sweet strains of the old Scottish psalm + And words of witness for God's truth were said, + The only sound that broke the sacred calm + + Then down into the waters of the lake, + The preacher and believer slowly came, + Not heeding scornful words for His dear sake, + Who bore the cross for us despised the shame + + Buried with Him by baptism to death + Following the path which He the Sa lour trod, + To rise with Him to that new life He saith + He hath laid up for us with Christ in God + + + + + GOOD-BYE. + + (To Miss E E.) + + + I cannot write, my tears are flowing fast, + Yet weeping is unnatural to me; + Oh! that this hour of bitterness was past-- + The parting hour with all I love and thee + + If I had never met or loved thee so, + To part would not have caused me this sharp pain; + Parting so oft occurring here below, + And they who part so seldom meet again. + + Yet over land or sea, where'er I go, + My home, my friends, shall flit before my eyes-- + And oft I anxiously shall wish to know, + If in thy bosom thoughts of me arise. + + Oh, I will think of bygone days of glee, + Though on each point of bitter sorrow driven; + I will not bid thee to remember me, + But oh! see to it that we meet in Heaven. + + 1844. + + + + + WEEP WITH THOSE WHO WEEP. + + (Mary Maud.) + + + O friends, I cannot comfort, but will share with you your grieving, + In the valley of the shadow where you sit in helpless tears; + Greater is the parting anguish, than the joy of first receiving + The sweet gift that was your treasure through five happy, golden + years + + When I laid within your arms the dear babe that God had given, + There was hidden in the future all the tears that you must weep, + Ah! the little ones so tangled in our heart-strings, they are riven + In the parting, are but treasures lent not given us to keep + + There's silence in the places her voice filled with happy laughter, + Stillness waiting for the echo of the patter of her feet, + You are gazing on her picture, and your heart is longing after + The tender touch of the little hands, the mouth that was most sweet + + In the valley of the shadow, where by God's will you are sitting, + Earthly sounds shut out and stilled, yea, and heaven so very near, + That the little golden head, through the open doorway flitting, + Might come smiling any moment and be greeted without fear + + With earthly toil and serving we will not get encumbered, + Our hearts rise to our treasures that are laid up with the King, + There your little maiden, Maud, with His jewels fair are numbered, + There she learns the songs of gladness that the heavenly children + sing + + Among those pure and precious who have known no earthly sinning, + The Beloved's fair white lilies in the Paradise of God, + Those He looked upon and loved, when their lives were but beginning, + And brought home before their tender feet grew weary of the road + + There clothed on with his beauty, round the child all bliss will + gather, + All the brightness of the Father's face when looking on His own; + For the little children's angels see the bright face of the Father, + And gather on the rainbow steps that are around the throne. + + For evermore in safety, by the Lamb led to the valleys, + Where the light of God is brooding, and life's storms are ever + furled; + No more watching, no more praying, no more guarding from the malice + Of all evil, lest her garments should be spotted by the world. + + Heaven draws nearer in our sorrow, and the earth-born cares keep + silence, + And the still, small voice says kindly, "Though the child may come no + more, + Time is passing, and the moment approaches from the distance, + When the message to come after will appear within the door." + + Oh, well it is for baby, safe, and past all toil and grieving, + The dear head is laid so early on a loving Saviour's breast; + Be not faithless, oh my friends, but submissive and believing, + The Hand that makes no blunders hath laid the babe at rest + + + + + TO ELIZABETH RAY + + + First of women, best of friends + Take what a village rhymer sends, + A tear wet trifle sent to tell + The giver must bid thee farewell! + And shall I then when o'er the sea + Forget thee? No, it cannot be + When thinking of much loved Grace Hill, + [1] Its drops of joy, its drafts of ill + I shed the fond regretting tear, + For those I did I do hold dear, + First shall mid those I parted with + Stand Friendship's Ray Elizabeth + + [Footnote 1: Burns] + + 1844 + + + + + FAREWELL TO LORD AND LADY DUFFERIN + + + In leaving us, whom thou hast governed well + Holding the helm of state through all these years + The land at large unites in a farewell + That's mingled with regret akin to tears + + My Lord, we welcomed you in coming here + As one our gracious Queen thought fit to send + Your term of office hath so made you dear + We say farewell to you as friend to friend + + It is not homage paid to honours worn + Lightly, as that which comes to one unsought; + Nor to thy high desent, oh nobly born + Nor to the aristocracy of thought. + + And yet we do not undervalue here + Honours the nobles of our land enjoy; + We hold in high esteem the British Peer, + Warm to the ancient name of Clandeboye. + + Warmly we feel to one who is akin + To that most marvellous genius Sheridan; + But warmer still the tribute that you win, + Paid, not to Lord, or Viceroy, to the man, + + Who of no party, yet both far and near, + In distant wilderness and crowded mart, + With words that rouse and stimulate and cheer, + Has drawn the whole Dominion to your heart. + + From Essex, by thy waters, sweet St. Clair, + To Gaspe, sentry on a stormy coast; + From Prima Vista to Vancouver, where + Will your departure be regretted most? + + No Viceroy of this land has ever left + Such large regrets, as you my Lord, will do; + For admiration, confidence, respect + Are felt for you the wide Dominion through. + + The miner at his work, the axeman where + He hews out fortune with enduring toil; + The farmer with his plenty and to spare, + For laughing harvests crown our fruitful son. + + The fisher on our coast, the pioneer + Who strives the distant wilderness to tame; + The Indian hunter, wild unknown to fear, + On his swift horse swooping upon his game + + From settlers fanned by keen Atlantic air, + To those the broad Pacific's breezes cool, + To forest shade and prairie verdure, where + Sit Indian maidens in the mission school + + Never did Governor before receive + Such loyal homage as your heart has won, + Nor left so fair a record as you leave, + Or stood so near to us as you have done + + You have the kindly sympathetic heart + Of her who loved the common people well, + The noble lady who with witching art + Taught us to sing the "Emigrant's Farewell.' + + And the dear lady who has reigned your queen + Over the gaieties of Rideau Hall, + Her genial, gracious courtesies have been, + A talisman to win the hearts of all + + Oh, Earl, and Countess, if good wishes may + Add anything to your most brilliant state, + The wide Dominion with one heart will pray + You may be blessed of God as well as great + + + + + A WELCOME + + THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING + + + Gather, oh gather! gather, oh gather + On with the philabeg every man + And up with the bonnet and badge of your father, + Belt on the plaid of the great Campbell clan + From the heather clad hills of that island + In whose straths and glens your fathers were born + They come, and so gather, ye hearts that are Highland, + Welcome the Lord and the Lady of Lorne! + Gather, oh gather, &c. + + Ocean to ocean the welcome is ringing, + Fair Indian summer, with blush and with smile, + O'er forests her right royal vesture is flinging + To welcome the bride and heir of Argyle. + Princess of Lorne, we rise to receive her, + First royal lady our country has seen, + To this, the wide land of the maple and beaver, + We welcome thee Princess, child of our Queen. + Gather, oh gather, &c. + + We had regret we sought not to smother-- + Kind Earl, dear Countess were called to depart; + But thoughtfully, kindly, the fair Queen our mother, + Sends the son of her choice, the child of her heart. + There is a stir, a bustle, a humming, + The tartans are waving, plumes floating free, + While trumpet and drum sound, "The Campbells are coming" + We are all Campbells in welcoming thee. + Gather, oh gather, &c. + + Son of Argyle, so near to the sceptre, + And Princess Louise fair child of a throne, + We welcome to stand for our Queen in this empire, + Rule us, and love us, and make us your own + Blow, wild pibroch, that welcomes no other! + Shout million-voiced _failte_, wave banners the while; + She's worthy, fair child of so royal a mother, + He's worthy the name and fame of Argyle. + Gather, oh gather, &c. + + + + + DEATH OF NORMAN DEWAR + +(Mr Norman Dewar, commission merchant, a native of Glengarry, Canada +who had been assisting Captain McCabe as commissary of the Memphis +Relief Committee, died of yellow fever after three days illness A +brave and gentle nature, he was loved by a host of friends and will +long be remembered as among the noblest of the band of gallant men who +during this fearful epidemic died at the post of duty) + + + Far away from stricken Memphis + Came the tidings sad and sure + That among the many fallen, + Fell the clansman Norman Dewar + + There are eyes unused to weeping + With the tears of sorrow dim, + Hearts with nature's anguish heaving, + Yet 'tis wrong to weep for him + + None who fell in glorious battle, + In the shock of meeting steel, + Fell more bravely, died more nobly + More like son of true Lochiel + + When the cry arose in Memphis + That the yellow death had come, + When the rich in fear were fleeing, + And the poor with terror dumb, + + Famine following the fever, + Want of all things awful death, + When forsaken by their kindred, + Human souls gave up their breath, + + There were men who felt God's pity, + Strong to do and to endure, + And among these brave and noble, + At his post stood Norman Dewar + + Firm and gentle, true and tender, + Knowing all the danger well, + This true son of old Glengarry + Stood on duty till he fell + + Highland hearts have breasted battle, + Highland veterans show their scars, + Highland blood has flowed like water + In our Gracious Sovereign's wars. + + We have praised in song and story, + Those who bravely fought and fell, + For Old England's might and glory, + For the Queen they love so well. + + And shall we this time be silent + O thou clansman firm and true, + Shall not loyal brave Glengarry, + Through her tears feel proud of you + + Thou hast fought the sternest battle, + Thou hast met the grimmest foe; + Christ-like stood by the forsaken + Stood till death has laid thee low. + + Praise thy sons, dear old Glengarry, + Prompt to do, calm to endure; + And among your very noblest, + Set God's hero Norman Dewar. + + + + + THE SHADOW OF THE ALMIGHTY + +The Rev Mr Young was one stormy day visiting one of his people, an +old man, who lived in great poverty in a lonely cottage a few miles +from Jedsburg. He found him sitting with his Bible open upon his +knees, but in outward circumstances of great discomfort, the snow +drifting in through the roof and under the door, and scarcely any fire +in the hearth. "What are you about to day, John?" asked Mr Young on +entering "Ah, sir," said John, "I am sitting under His shadow with +great delight." + + + They only see the snow heaped on the moor, + The bare trees shivering in the winter's breath, + The icy drift that sifteth through the door, + Me, old and poor, waiting the call of death. + + They think my cot is bare and comfortless, + With broken roof and paper-mended pane, + They see but poverty and loneliness, + And think in pity that my death were gain. + + They know not, Master, that Thou art so near, + Thou holdest me, I lean upon Thy might, + I know Thy voice, Thy whisperings I hear, + I stay beneath Thy shadow with delight. + + The royal purple of Thy garment died, + From Bozrah, is spread over even me, + All my unworthiness, my want I hide + Under Thy princely vesture shelteringly. + + Thy hand is underneath my weary head, + Thy strong right hand that saved me long ago; + I'm cradled in Thy arms and comforted, + What more have I to do with want or woe + + What more indeed! so sheltered, so embraced, + For ever Thou art mine and I am Thine, + Thy banner's love, Thy fruit sweet to my taste, + Thou givest to my lips the Kingdom's wine. + + How sweetly solemn is this awful place! + Where all of earth fades out and vanishes, + I cannot fear while I behold Thy face, + My help, my friend, the Lord my righteousness. + + I do not feel the waters cold and deep, + Waters to swim in through whose waves I come, + The love that holds me up is strong to keep, + 'Tis but a little way from this to home + + My sight grows dim, my one Redeemer, Lord, + Bring nearer still the brightness of Thy face, + I hear Thy voice, assuring is Thy word, + Close to Thy heart is my abiding place. + + We're nearing home--forever all is well, + In through the agate windows I can see + The place prepared--glory ineffable, + To which in royal love Thou leadest me + + + + + IN MEMORY OF JOHN LEACH CRAIG + + In the midst of Life we are in Death. + + + What is it that has stilled the usual hurry, + Checking the eager tread of rapid feet? + Why does the business face look sad and sorry + Within the place where merchants choose to meet? + A something not unusual or strange, + One face is missing on the Corn Exchange. + + Alas! they say he had uncommon merit, + High the esteem and confidence he won; + He brought to business life a joyous spirit, + And mixed commercial tact with boyish fun. + We miss his breezy laugh, his pleasant face, + The skill that marked him for the foremost place. + + There is a ship steaming across the billow, + That should have brought him to his mother's knee; + Did warning dreams hover around her pillow, + Of the dear face she never more shall see? + She sits at home deeming that all is well, + Who shall the tale of her bereavement tell? + + She waited for him in the bright May morning, + When the spring buds were blooming in their prime, + And the green earth was crowned with their adorning, + To greet his coming with the summer time. + The mists have fallen and her eyes are dim, + Looking across death's valley after him. + + The good ship sailed upon the day of sailing, + And furled her sails in port the voyage o'er; + But in his home waiting is changed to wailing, + For he will come to them on earth no more. + The Master called--he answered speedily, + And sailed away across the "silent sea." + + They praise him in the land of his adoption, + Say what he was, and what he might have been, + Speak of the honours that were at his option, + Since he came here a fair lad of nineteen. + That upward has his path been ever since, + To sit among the first a merchant prince. + + The "never more" chills through the friendly praises, + Never to see his face, his coming form; + Never his foot shall stand on Antrim daisies, + Or tread again the Parks of old Galgorm; + Nor sleep among his fathers, silent, still, + Beneath the sycamores in fair Grace Hill. + + His mother in her island home is weeping, + For what her eyes desired she shall not see; + The fair young wife her widowed vigil keeping + Among her babes on this side of the sea-- + One in their sorrow which is all too deep + For comfort--theirs to sit apart and weep. + + Mother and wife one in their poignant grieving, + One in their anguish over lifeless clay; + One in the consolation of believing + That he was worthy who has passed away. + By sorrow consecrate and set apart, + To ponder all the past within their heart. + + The mother, with her heartstrings quivering after + The Master's stroke, sits underneath the cross; + The sad wife stilling all the childish laughter + Of his sweet babes, too young to feel their loss. + Who wonder in the quiet, darkened home, + Why their glad-voiced papa will never come. + + So in his home beside the terraced mountain, + They sit within the shadow of his death; + So they who were the tardy moments counting, + Till he would come to them with summer's breath. + His kith and kin by the Maine water's side, + Weep very sore for love of him that died. + + Oh Death is ever coming, loved ones going, + Hearts rent with sorrow because one is not; + The waves of trouble ever swelling, flowing, + Past the tall castle, past the sheltered cot! + "I am bereaved!" is the unceasing moan, + Rising forever to our Father's throne. + + O Christ Thou dost remember earthly weeping, + When the bereaved at Thy dear feet have cried, + Beside the grave where the much loved lay sleeping, + "Lord if Thou hadst been here he had not died." + Comfort the mourning friends, the sorrowing wife, + O Thou the Resurrection and the life! + + + + + FAREWELL + + + My brother George has gone from me, + Far away o'er the trackless sea. + His gladdening voice I hear not now, + I see not the light of his sunny brow. + My cheeks with lonely tears are wet; + But go where he will he will love me yet. + O Thou whose blessings the heart enlarge, + Keep from all evil my brother George! + + 1842. + + + + + THE PRINCE OF ANHALT DESSAU. + + From Carlisle. + + + The young Prince of Anhalt Dessau, + The Dowager's only son, + Was a sturdy strong-limbed fellow + And a most determined one. + + Shook the tutor his locks of silver, + "And if I have any skill, + This young Prince of Anhalt Dessau, + He will always work his will. + + "I cry to the Wise for wisdom, + I cry for strength to the Strong, + That I train him to stand firmly + For the right against the wrong. + + "If he grow to gracious manhood, + I shall not have wrought in vain, + And my Fatherland so noble + Shall most surely reap the gain." + + The Dowager in her chamber, + With pride did her blue eyes shine; + "Fatherland hath many princes, + But none of them all like mine. + + "He has courage, fire and wisdom, + Yet tender of heart is he; + Proud, but just and full of pity; + This is as a prince should be. + + "My son, growing up so worthy, + Shall comfort my widowed fears; + And he shall be my strong right hand, + Through the cares of future years." + + The Dowager's waiting women + Said; "Our Prince gives up the chase, + And every day his steed reins he + Down there in the market-place. + + "He forgets his rank so princely, + To his grievous harm and loss; + A trap for his youth so tender + Is laid by the damsel Fos." + + The Princess rode in her chariot, + Away to the market-place, + With her own proud eyes beholding + The beautiful tempter's face. + + But she saw a stately maiden, + With such pure and dove-like eyes, + Clothed in beauty like a flower, + Or a saint from Paradise. + + "No wonder my son, so youthful, + Fixed his heart on one like thee; + For if I were a Prince of Dessau, + Willing captive I might be. + + "But you are a doctor's daughter, + My son's of a princely line; + You may wed with one more humble, + But never with son of mine. + + "But my son is very wilful, + We must conquer him with guile; + To foreign courts he shall away, + Where most noble ladies smile. + + "One he'll see whose rank is princely, + Fair of form and fair of face; + She shall win him by her beauty + From his love in the market-place." + + Said the lily maiden weeping, + "'Twere well we had never met, + Go, my Prince, to be with princes, + Be happy, and so forget." + + Said the Prince of Anhalt Dessau: + "What's to be God keeps in store; + I am Prince of Anhalt Dessau, + But your lover for evermore. + + "Duty is the yoke of princes, + It is good I go away; + For that widow's son there's blessing, + Who his mother can obey. + + "But we who are ruling princes, + Should be patterns of faith and truth, + The Prince thou hast loved, my lily, + Shall never deceive thy youth. + + "For as sure as to the ocean + Arrow-swift flows on the Rhine, + I go for my mother's pleasure, + I am coming back for thine." + + A year past--the waiting-women + Said: "Our Prince is back again," + And he shows before the Empire, + That his mother's plans are vain. + + He came from the courts of Europe, + He came to his mother's knee; + But first went to the market-place, + The maiden he loved to see. + + Said the Princess, "Son, you're welcome, + Anhalt Dessau's hope and pride; + Have you well and wisely chosen + For Dessau a high-born bride?" + + "I saw many royal beauties, + Dames courtly and fair and kind, + But with married eyes I saw them, + For my heart was left behind." + + Said the lady to her council: + "So our plans have failed thus far, + He'll forget his low-born chosen + When he learns to look on war. + + "While he's gone I'll seek to rid me + Of the beauty which I dread, + I will give a precious dower + To him who shall woo and wed." + + Said the Doctor to his daughter: + "Here's a life of wealth and ease, + And a fair bridegroom too, daughter, + For we must our Princess please." + + "Ah me!" said the lily maiden, + "That I am the cause of strife! + Woeful is the gift of beauty-- + I'll be an unwilling wife. + + "I have no strength for the battle, + No more than a wounded dove; + O Leopold Anhalt Dessau, + Where art thou, my only love?" + + With a moan of helpless sorrow, + From the bridegroom turned her face, + And saw a gallant troop of horse + Drawn up in the market-place. + + A strong arm is soon around her, + Young Dessau is by her side, + "Draw and defend yourself, you wretch! + Who would dare to claim my bride." + + Then he stood before his mother, + With a stern and angry face; + "I have stopped a gallant wedding, + Begun in the market-place. + + "The maid thou wouldst give in marriage, + Is mine by her plighted word; + And his blood who would supplant me, + Has reddened on my good sword. + + "Be a queen in Anhalt Dessau, + Let tower and town be thine; + But leave unto me my treasure, + This fair low-born love of mine. + + "She's my first love and my last one, + And never we two shall part; + I'll take her--with rites most holy + I will bind her to my heart." + + Now the holy words are spoken, + At the young Dessau's command. + He wedded the lily maiden, + And he gave her his left hand. + + "What's to be," said Anhalt Dessau, + "Is known but to God above, + But I have obeyed my mother, + Been true to my early love. + + "Now must I go to the battle, + Leave mother and bride behind; + My wife, be a child to my mother, + Mother, to my love be kind. + + "A soldier's life is uncertain, + Let us sternly do our best, + Love and duty be our watchword, + And leave to our God the rest." + + And thus the high Prince of Dessau, + While giving obedience due + To his gracious lady mother, + To his own first love was true. + + * * * + + He is gone away to battle, + He's always in high command; + As a man of vast resources, + Who is as the king's right hand. + + Drilling, battling, planning, seiging, + The bravest of all the brave; + The wisest of all in counsel, + Loyal, courteous, kind and grave. + + This was in the time of battles, + Battles for the native land; + Whatever was in safe keeping, + Was held by the strong right hand. + + Anhalt Dessau, bold and daring, + Anhalt Dessau wise and slow, + With a brain full of expedients, + To subdue or outwit the foe. + + In each conflict still to conquer, + In each counsel wiser grown, + Till he stood above his fellows, + A supporter of the throne. + + Till the king in council chamber, + Said: "My lords we must devise + New honours for Anhalt Dessau, + My general brave and wise. + + "Leopold of Anhalt Dessau, + First in counsel, first in fight, + What high reward you choose to name + Is yours by undoubted right." + + "My Liege, to have served my country + And King till the strife is o'er, + To be Sovereign Prince of Dessau, + Is so much that I ask no more. + + "Nought for me but that I labour + For my country all my life, + If you wish to do me honour, + Make a princess of my wife. + + "I married her with my left hand, + For she was of low degree, + I'd wed her with my right--with both, + For so dear is she to me." + + "We will make thy wife a princess." + Said the King with kindling brow, + "God grant she may bring to Dessau, + Many sons so brave as thou. + + "You are Sovereign Prince of Dessau + By the right of princely birth, + She is Sovereign Queen of Beauty, + As fair as there walks the earth. + + "She's fairest, and you the bravest, + With love for a joining band, + Shall rank equal with the noblest + That walks in our Fatherland." + + * * * + + Tears passed over Anhalt Dessau, + And sprinkled his locks with snow, + He had wealth, success and honours, + And his share of human woe. + + His fair wife and his goodly sons + Filled his heart with joy and pride; + But that heart was wrung with sorrow, + When his only daughter died. + + For ah! she was long in dying, + And his love was strong and warm; + To keep her from an early grave, + He'd have given his right arm. + + She was a most winsome maiden, + And she had her mother's face; + She brought back all his wooing time, + His love in the market place. + + "My daughter," he said, "you're dying, + You are fading fast away; + What is there you would have me do, + Love, before your dying day." + + "Thou the kindest and the bravest, + My father most dear!" she said, + "Whate'er you've done has pleased me, + Take that comfort when I'm dead. + + "But if you would do me pleasure," + She said with a lovely smile, + "The men whom you've led in battle, + Poor fellows! the rank and file. + + "I'd like to see them marching, + To feast them with mirth and glee; + When laid in my grave so early, + They'll think kindly thoughts of me." + + "My daughter, of all my treasures, + The loveliest and the best; + I know that my king so gracious, + Will grant you your last request." + + With banners and martial music, + With drum-beat and trumpet-blare, + They all marched to Anhalt Bernberg, + To the palace court-yard there. + + With all martial pomp and clangour, + Were the salutations made, + Where, supported at the window, + The dying one was laid. + + And tables were spread to feast them, + With plenty that made them groan, + But away by the Saale river, + Old Leopold wept alone. + + * * * + + Leopold of Anhalt Dessau, + He has reached three score and ten; + They think it time he step aside, + Giving place to younger men. + + For old fashioned are his tactics, + And old fashioned too is he, + And a new king has arisen, + And new counsellors there be. + + Still the old man leads the army, + But he gets no word of cheer; + For the young king is impatient, + And the courtiers laugh and jeer. + + The troops are drawn up for battle, + For the long expected fight; + "'Tis my last," said Anhalt Dessau, + "May our God defend the right!" + + He stood among the veterans, + Whom he had so often led; + And, according to his custom, + He uncovered his grey head. + + "We are going into battle; + How many shall come away + Is known to the God of armies, + Who shall lead us through this day. + + "For we have come here to conquer, + As we conquered everywhere; + Uncover, my lads, and ask for + The help that we need, in prayer. + + "O God, who through life hast led me, + Help me still, this once I pray; + Nor let the shame of first defeat, + Come now when my head is grey! + + "Be thou present with our army, + Do Thou let Thy might decide; + But oh! if Thou be not with us, + Be not on the other side. + + "But leave it to drill and manhood, + Amen. In God's name come on." + So Leopold Anhalt Dessau, + His last battle fought and won. + + And the King rescued from danger, + By the victory that day, + Lighted from his horse to greet him, + Clad in his roquelaure grey + + Bowed low to him as a master + In all the warrior's art, + And then, as a friend in greeting, + Pressed the hero to his heart + + Now his sword rests in the scabbard, + He has done for aye with war, + For Leopold Anhalt Dessau, + Now sleeps with the sons of Thor. + + + + + MARY'S DEATH + + + Mary, ah me! gentle Mary, + Can it be you're lying there, + Pale and still, and cold as marble, + You that was so young and fair. + + Seemeth it as yestereven, + When the golden autumn smiled, + On our meeting, gentle Mary, + You were then a very child. + + Busy fingers, flitting footsteps, + Never resting all day long; + Shy and bashful, and the sweet voice + Ever breaking into song + + Always gentle, kind and thoughtful, + Blameless and so free from art, + 'Twas no wonder one so lovely + Found a place within my heart. + + You, while life was in its spring time, + Made the Scripture Mary's choice; + Jesus saw you, loved you, called you, + And you listened to His voice. + + Ever patient and rejoicing, + Shielded thus from unseen harm; + On you journeyed, safely leaning + On an everlasting arm. + + Three short years have not yet passed us + Flitting rapidly away, + Since we shared in the rejoicing + On your happy bridal day. + + He, the lover of your childhood, + Won a bride both good and fair; + Three short years have not yet passed us, + Mary dear--and now you're there. + + Well may he grow sick with weeping, + And with sore heart mourn his loss; + Sadly look on those two babies, + Left so early motherless. + + Not for thee we weep, my darling, + An eternal gain is thine; + We weep because we dearly loved thee, + And for those you left behind. + + + + + TO ISABEL. + + + I often thought to write to thee, what time + I almost fancied heaven-born, genius mine, + And fondly hoped my island harp to wake, + To some new strain sung for my country's sake. + 'Twas a vain hope and yet its presence smiled + Upon my day dreams when I was a child, + And only faded when my heart grew cold, + For head and heart alike are getting old. + Had I been gifted, some bright lay would be, + With touching melody, poured forth for thee. + Now, what I think the best I wish for thee. + + * * * + + May you never be a stranger; + Ever living with your own, + With the same eyes beaming round you, + That on your childhood shone. + + Friendship knitting true hearts to you, + From youth to kindly age; + And affection brightening, gladdening + Your pleasant heritage. + + Yet not wishing to live always, + Or shrinking back afraid, + When you come--as come we all must + And pass over to the dead. + + With a hope then firmly anchored, + Of a living faith possessed, + Passing from among your kindred + Into everlasting rest. + + + + + LINES ON ANNEXATION. + + + We honour Brother Jonathan, + For what he has done and dared; + Nobly and firmly he hath stood + His freeborn rights to guard. + + And when we see him, go ahead, + We are not with envy vexed; + We wish him all prosperity + Yet will not be annexed. + + We know he has much moral force; + Much that is good and great; + Much enterprise and energy, + Which we would imitate. + + But there's upon his scutcheon stains, + Which we lament to see; + And will not share--will not annex-- + Our soil and air are free-- + + And far more glorious is the flag + Which o'er the Briton waves, + Than that whose stars of freedom shine + Upon the stripes of slaves. + + We love our Queen--we love our laws; + We feel that we are free-- + As independently we sit, + Each 'neath his maple tree. + + Serene, while over other lands + Rolls revolution's storm, + Where they can't speak their grievances-- + Dare not demand reform. + + We can, as freeborn subjects, make + Our wants and wishes known-- + Our voices move the parliament + And vibrate to the throne. + + We're Britons and as such we'll not + For annexation sue. + Our prayer is still, God save the Queen + And bless our country too. + + 1850. + + + + + TO MY FRIEND. + + + Dearest of all, whose tenderness could rise + To share all sorrow and to soothe all pain; + The blessings breathed for thee with weeping eyes + Will come to thee as sunshine after rain. + + My spirit clings to thine, dear, in this hour; + Thy sorrow touches me as though 'twere mine; + And pleading prayers for thee shall have the power + To draw down comfort from my Lord and thine. + + For thou hast felt the sorrow and the care + Of other lives, as though they were thine own; + And grateful prayers, for a memorial are + Laid up for thee before the great white throne. + + You sit bereaved, and I sit with you there + In sympathy, my soul and yours can meet; + Missing the face that was so very fair, + Missing the voice that was so very sweet. + + I know how hard to bear heart-hunger is + For her quaint words and bits of bird-like song; + The touch of dimpled hands, the soft warm kiss, + O Friend, it makes the "little while" so long! + + Take comfort, dear, the "little while" is brief, + It is His love sends pain to thee or me, + We gather fruit of peace from blossomed grief + And where our treasure is our hearts shall be + + 'Tis good to suffer, as He knows whose hand + Mixes the bitterness for every cup, + No grief befals but love divine has planned, + Every bereavement cries to us, look up + + Dearest, look up, and see where, sweet and fair, + Flow the bright waters ruffled by no storm, + Under the trees whose leaves for healing are, + See 'mid the blessed throng one angel form + + The tired pet, who wanted to go home, + The Elder Brother drew her to his breast, + Earth weariness earth soil alike unknown, + Crowned without conflict, bore her into rest + + Among the shining ones she walks my friend, + Robed in the garments of her Fatherland, + And your earth-weary feet shall upward tend, + Drawn by the beck of that dear pierced hand + + Who in his arms enfolds your little one, + And calls you, "Come up higher where we are, + For with the well belov'd the child is gone, + Follow and faint not, friend, it is not far + + "The little one for whom your fond heart bleeds, + The dear, dear lamb who sees her Father's face, + Up to the great white throne the rough path leads, + Where Christ shall fold you both in one embrace" + + + + + LITTLE MINNIE. + +Is it well with the child? and she answered, it is well. + + + If earth's weariness for rest is changed, + Rest on the far off shore, + If earth's sighing's changed for singing + Psalms of praise for evermore. + + And the bed of pain for roaming free, + Beneath the living trees, + Whose leaves of healing wither not + In any earthly breeze. + + And to mix with those who, robed and crowned, + Walk by the crystal sea; + To gather with the other lambs + Beside the Saviour's knee. + + We will keenly miss our absent child; + Lonely tears our loss will tell, + But His voice says, "It is well with her, + We answer, "It is well." + + It is well to know that safely home + Is this our dearest one; + To know she's with the children fair + Gathered around the throne, + + 'Tis no light thing that God has stooped + Our dear one home to bring, + From weariness and painfulness + To the presence of the King. + + Let weeping and rejoicing, + Mingled, our sorrow tell; + We are lonely, oh our Father + But Thou knowest it is well. + + + + + TECUMTHE. + + (From the "Globe.") + + + October's leaf was sere; + The day was dark and drear. + Wild war was loosed in rage o'er our quiet country then; + When at Moravian town, + Where the little Thames flows down, + In the net of battle caught was Proctor and his men. + + Caught in an evil plight, + When he'd rather march than fight, + Every bit of British pluck and resolution gone. + And sternly standing near, + As a British brigadier, + Stood Tecumthe, our ally, the forests' bravest son. + + A prince, a leader born, + His dark eye flashed with scorn, + He said: "My father, listen, there's rumours from afar, + Of mishaps, and mistakes, + Of disasters on the lakes, + My father need not hide the mischances of the war. + + "My braves have set their feet, + Where two great rivers meet; + We went upon the war-path; we raised the battle-song; + We met in deadly fight, + The Yengees in their might, + Till the waters of the Wabash dyed crimson flowed along. + + "They ask us, in their pride, + To idly stand aside, + To be false to our allies, and neutral in this war; + They think that Indian men + Will never think again + Of wrongs by Yengee spoilers, how false their treaties are. + + "Allies both firm and true, + For our Father's sake to you, + Our Great Father round whose throne the mighty waters meet; + When din of battle's high, + Only coward curs will fly; + It is not Shawnee braves show foes their flying feet," + + "This is insolence to me," + Said Proctor bitterly. + "But a paltry leader," said the brave red-skinned ally + "We stand in hopeless fray, + To meet defeat today; + A shadow falls around me, my fate is drawing nigh." + + High-hearted Indian chief + No thought of fear or grief + Stilled the swellings of his heart, tamed the lightning of his glance + Without lordship, without land, + "Lord alone of his right hand," + Of a heart that never beat retreat when duty said advance. + + He had looked on battle oft, + Now his eagle glance grew soft, + And who can tell what sights his prophetic vision saw + Events were drawing near, + And he was a mighty seer, + Even greater than the prophet, the grim Elskwatawa. + + For, in a waking dream, + He saw forest, vale and stream, + Which, by force or fraud, the white race wrung from doomed red men. + "Old things are passed," he said, + "No blood that can be shed, + Will ever give us back our broad hunting-grounds again" + + "Over the burial mound, + Over the hunting-ground, + Over the forest wigwam the greedy white wave flows, + In treachery, or wrath, + They sweep us from their path, + Backward, and ever backward, beyond Sierra snows + + "We tried to stem the wave, + We have been bold and brave, + We held the losing cause, the Great Spirit hid his face, + Our nation's place is gone, + The white wave will roll on, + Until from sea to sea we have no abiding place + + "Although we do not stand + To do battle for our land, + The allies that we fight for, though white men, do not lie, + Their foes are ours, stand fast, + This fight shall be my last, + 'Tis fitting, on the war-path, the Shawnee chief should die + + "Where we have pitched our camp, + Red blood shall dye the swamp, + The battle to the swift, the victory to the strong, + But be it as it will, + My braves shall vanish still, + Slain by pale face customs, snared by their treacherous tongue" + + He turned, where in their pride + Stood his warriors by his side, + For them to-morrow's sun might shine, to-morrow's breezes blow, + "But Tecumthe's lot is cast, + This fight shall be his last, + And they will do my wish," he said, "when I am lying low" + + Wyandot's chieftain grave, + Young and lithe, hold and brave, + Stood by Tecumthe, waiting the beginning of the fray; + Tecumthe silence broke, + And thus to him he spoke, + "My brother from this onset I'll never come away. + + "This scarf of crimson grand, + By brave Sir Isaac's hand, + Was bound round me with praise, when his heart towards + me was stirred; + I belt it around you, + My brother brave and true, + Think about Tecumthe, and remember his last word. + + "When on the red war-path, + War fiercely to the death, + Be pitiful and tender to the helpless and the fair, + I fought--have many slain, + But not a single stain + Of blood of maids or children dims the good sword I wear. + + "Brother, a forest maid + Within my wigwam stayed, + She is called before me, far beyond the glowing west, + This battle lost or won, + You'll take my little son, + Train him a Shawnee brave, let him be in deer skin drest. + + "When grown a warrior strong, + To feel his nation's wrong, + When he is fierce in battle, and wise in council fire, + Worthy my sword to wear, + Then with a father's care, + Let thy hand belt upon him the good sword of his sire. + + "Tell him, I lived and fought + For my nation and had not + A thought but for their good on resentment for their wrong, + Nor ever wished to have + Any gift the pale-face gave + Nor learned a single word of the fatal pale-face tongue + + 'Tell him, he is the last + Of a race great in the past, + Before the foot of white men had stepped upon our strand + And if fate will not give + Any place where they may live + Let him die among his people and for his people's land. + + 'I strip this coat off here + Of a British Brigadier + It is a costly garment with gold lace grand and brave, + The Shawnee chief is best, + In shirt of deerskin drest, + Not in pale-face gift they'll find me who lay me in the grave. + + "I have lost all but life + To meet in mortal strife, + To kill many, that the white squaws weep as ours have done, + To lie among the dead, + With garments bloody red, + And go to happy hunting grounds beyond the setting sun. + + 'This will be, Wyandot brave, + You'll give to me a grave, + In dimness of the forest, in earth my mother's breast, + Each tall tree a sentinel, + Will guard the secret well + Of where you laid Tecumthe down to his lasting rest' + + After the fatal fight + The strife became a flight + They found the chief Tecumthe lying still among the slain + Never to fight again. + Ah! little recked he then + That dastard white men outraged his body to their shame. + + After the headlong flight, + In the dark dead of night, + They came, from further outrage his loved remains to save + Within the forest deep + They laid him down to sleep; + And the forest guards the secret! no man knows his grave. + + Our land, our pride and boast, + Spreads now from coast to coast, + Stands up a great Dominion among the ruling powers. + For us this chieftain fought, + An ally unbribed, unbought; + We guard his name and fame in this Canada of ours. + + We have grown strong and bold, + Able to have and hold; + Our allies the red men are cared for with our care. + East or in the wild Nor-west, + In peace they hunt or rest; + No man their lands may covet because they're broad and fair. + + + + + CREED AND CONDUCT COMBINED AS CAUSE AND EFFECT. + +The incident related in the following lines occurred thus:--At a +meeting of Presbytery appointed to deal with the case of the Reverend +David Macrae, of Gourock, Scotland, one of the members of the Court +had stolen out to enjoy his pipe and the quiet of his own thoughts for +a few minutes before engaging in the strife of debate, when he was +accosted by a stranger, woefully dilapidated, who asked him with great +earnestness if he would tell him where he could see Mr. Macrae, as he +was most anxious to have some conversation with him. "Do you know, +sir," said this poor, ruined one, "that on the doctrine of future +punishment Mr. Macrae and I are in perfect accord, and I am very +desirous to tender him my cordial sympathy and support. I esteem it my +duty to do what I can to comfort and cheer this young and courageous +minister of the Gospel, in the cruel and unjust persecution to which +he is being subjected." + + + The Presbytery with one accord in one place, + Were met to consider and speak on the case + Of David Macrae, bent with reverend skill, + On putting him through th' ecclesiastical mill + I was there, I slipped out just the plain truth to tell, + To ha e a quate thinkin time a by mysel + On the new fangled doctrine o nae hell ava, + Which gies wrang doers comfort that is na sae sma'. + It's a gey soothm thoct aye, it pleases them weel, + Leavin hooseless an hameless the muckle black deil, + It delivers mankind frae a fear and a dread, + Sae I pondered along never lifting my head + Is it richt? is it wrang? is it truth or a lie? + We will cannily find oot the truth by and by + If it's truth or a lie that lies at the root + Should be shown when the doctrine grows up and bears fruit + Thus I daundered and pondered, on lifting my e'e + An answer to some o my thocts cam to me + There cam' doon the causey a comical chiel, + Wi an air an a gait that was unco genteel, + By the cut o' his jib an the set o his claes + He was ane o thae folk wha ha e seen better days, + He was verra lang legged hungry-lookup an lean, + His claes werna' new, nor weel hained nor clean, + Tight straps his short trews to meet shiny boots drew, + Where wee tae an' big tae alike keeked through, + His coat ance black braid-claith, was rusty enough, + It was oot at the elbows an' frayed at the cuff, + It was white at the seams, it was threadbare and thin + An' to hide a defects, buttoned up to the chin + Bruised and dinged in the crown and the brim was his hat, + But set jauntily on his few hairs for a that, + Paper collar an' cuffs showed in lieu of a shirt, + As he daintily picked his way over the dirt, + His face leaden and mottled with blossom that grows + Out of whisky, an' deep bottle-red was his nose; + His e'en bleared an' bloodshot, were watery an' dim, + Pale an' puffy the eyelids, an' red roun' the rim; + Thae e'en, that ha'e gotten a set in the head, + Wi' watchin' ower often the wine when it's red. + Eh, me, sirs! what wreck in the universe can + Be sae awsome to see as the wreck of a man! + Whatever of talents, or good looks, or gear, + What w'alth o' good chances had been this man's here; + What gifts that might make his life lofty and grand, + A blessin' to others, a power in the land. + All was gone, gifts an' graces, the greatest, the least, + Were hidden beneath the broad mark o' the beast-- + Stamped on, I may say, frae the head to the feet, + All lost of the man but his pride an' conceit; + Varnished ower wi' the airs o' the shabby genteel, + He was gingerly steppin' his way to the diel. + But now he is gaun to greet me on the way + Comin' forrid as ane that has something to say. + Takin' off wi' a flourish the bit o' a hat, + He booed wi' an air maist genteel ower that; + "Excuse me, sir, stoppin' you thus on the way, + Can you bring me to where I'll see David Macrae? + He's a preacher that men of my culture must choose; + I assure you he holds and he preaches my views; + A doctrine divested of all vulgar fears, + That I've held and believed in for years upon years. + A doctrine most sensible, likely, and true, + I endorse it, sir, as, I trust, you also do?" + I answered him, gien a bit shake to my head, + As I looked at the man and considered his creed; + "You'll see Mr. Macrae, my man, there is nae doot, + If you stan' aboot here till they're a' comin' oot; + But my frien', this new doctrine, that fits ye sae fine, + May be yours verra likely, but ne'er can be mine." + + + + + RETROSPECT + + + I sit by the fire in the gloaming, + In the depths of my easy chair, + And I ponder, as old men ponder, + Over times and things that were. + + And outside is the gusty rushing, + Of the fierce November blast, + With the snow drift waltzing and whirling, + And eddying swiftly past, + + It's a wild night to be abroad in, + When the ice blast and snow drift meet + To wreath round all the world of winter + A shroud and a winding sheet. + + There's a dash of hail at the window, + Thick with driving snow is the air; + But I sit here in ease and comfort + In the depths of my easy chair. + + I have fought my way in life's battle, + And won Fortune's fickle caress; + Won from fame just a passing notice, + And enjoy what is called success. + + As I sit here in ease and comfort, + And the shadows they rise and fall, + And the dear old familiar faces + Look out from the pannelled wall. + + Ah! reminders of living fondness + Gleam out in their pictured looks; + And in ranks round from floor to ceiling, + Are my life-long friends, my books. + + The bright wood fire crackles and sparkles, + Leaping up with a sudden glow, + Playing hide and seek with the shadows + That flit round me to and fro. + + They come and look over my shoulder, + And they vanish behind my chair; + Ah! the notice that life's November + Has sprinkled with snow my hair. + + Ah! the shadows that gather round me, + That will never more depart, + That are flitting around my chamber, + That are closing around my heart! + + All the shadows of undone actions, + And the shadow of deep regret, + Over many occasions wasted, + And of duties, alas! unmet. + + Over words that are left unspoken, + And of woe that was left unshared, + Over high resolutions broken, + And calls that would not be heard. + + And the shade of a deeper sorrow + Still hovers about my chair; + It is this, and not life's November, + Has sprinkled with snow my hair. + + For my life has passed into evening, + And I sit, mid the shadows here, + Hearing still the shadowy whisper + That success may be bought too dear. + + + + + TO THE RAIN + + + Come forth, O rain! from thy cool, distant hall, + And lave the parched brow of the feverish earth, + The little drooping flow'rets on thee call, + Come, with thy cool touch wake them up to mirth + They will lift up glad faces to the sky, + Drinking in gladness from the warm moist air, + Now, thirsty, hot, and faint they droop and die, + Thou only canst revive these fainting fair + The grain has shrivelled, pining after thee, + And waves light-headed from a sickly stalk, + There's no green herbage on the sunburned lea, + The glaring sun through glowing skies doth walk, + Looking down hotly on sweet Allumette, + Thinking to dry it with his ardent gaze, + Each day a strip of sand left bare and wet, + Tells how she shrinks from his pursuing rays + + 1870 + + + + + DIVIDED + + + We came to the dividing line, + Then he passed over and I am here, + Sad and sore is this heart of mine + That has no power to shed a tear, + For, like one who rises and walks in sleep, + I am lost in a dream--I cannot weep. + + Yet he was good and fair to see + I know in my heart he loved me well, + What separated him from me, + I cannot tell, oh! I cannot tell, + For the blow came sudden, and sharp, and sore, + And I am alone now for evermore. + + I thought to walk through all our time + Together, linked to a lofty aim; + With sudden wrench I'm left behind-- + My heart is slain! oh, my heart is slain! + And the ghost of my heart within me cries, + Why, alas! was I made a sacrifice? + + My royal eagle ordained to soar-- + Breast to the storm, and eyes to the sun-- + Up be thy flight! and think no more + Of one the life of whose life is done; + While I, stunned and sick with a dumb despair, + Still mourn by the grave of a hope so fair. + + + + + TO MARY. + + + It is not very long since first we met, + Thy path and mine lay very far apart; + We are not of one nation, dear one, yet + Thou hast awakened love within my heart. + + It is a love that sorrow never tried, + And yet, like tested love, it is as true + As love that stood in dark hours by your side, + If hours were ever dark or sad to you. + + Not for your beauty, though I think you fair, + Not for the kind heart or the tender word; + But for the kindredship,--because you were + One who both knew and loved my gracious Lord. + + One who had often met with Him alone; + One over whom His garment had been laid; + Clothed on with beauty that was not your own, + Bought with a price no other could have paid, + + Divided by the ridge of time are we, + Yet we are near akin at heart my friend, + Our prayers and praises will together be + Blended and fused in one as they ascend + + For I, too, heard the Well-Beloved's voice, + Calling the new life in the soul to wake, + Drawing us after Him in loving choice, + Making us love His loved ones for His sake + + + + + TO FRANCES + + + Dear love, life has dewy mornings, + And the shadeless blaze of noon, + Flowers, that we stop to gather, + That fade from our hands so soon + + Dear love, there are meetings, partings, + We have sunshine, we have shade, + There's no continuing city + That our human hands have made + + We go onward, joy and sorrow + Checkers all the path we tread, + But our Father loves His children + And with loving care they're led. + + Dear love, His great wisdom chooseth + The path that we both have trod, + And through storm, and calm, and sunshine, + We rest in the hand of God + + + + + A NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS, 1870. + + + With noiseless footstep, like the white-robed snow, + The old year with closed record steals away; + Record of gladness, suffering, joy, and woe, + Of all that goes to make life's little day. + + Here, in this bright and pleasant little town, + As everywhere, a noiseless scythe hath swept; + The bright, the green, the flow'ret all cut down, + For heart ties severed loving hearts have wept. + + And some are gone we very ill can spare, + And some we gladly would have died to save, + And the young blossom of the hearth, so fair; + But all alike have passed thy gates, oh, grave! + + We see so many sable signs of woe, + Each, with mute voice, _memento mori_ saith; + As if our town that erst has sparkled so + Were passing through the vale and shade of death. + + But louder rumours from a far-off world + Come to our valley, where secure and free, + With the sword sheathed, the flag of battle furled, + We sit in peace beneath our emblem tree. + + At peace, because the madly-wicked men + Who sought to kindle flames of border war + Have in confusion failed yet, once again, + Their braggart plans dissolved in empty air. + + In the Nor' West threat'nings of strife arose, + The muttered thunders all have died away; + Unstained by blood may sleep their mantling snows; + Unmarred by civil strife their wintry day. + + War clouds seemed o'er the hapless land to brood, + The warning bugle sounded far abroad; + Red River might have ran with kindred blood, + But Manitoba heard the speaking God. + + Our summer skies were clouded dark and low; + 'Twas not the blessed rain that bowed them down, + But smoke wreaths rolling heavy, huge, and slow, + And thick as rising from a conquered town. + + And where rich crops, and wealthy orchards fair, + Spread to the sun, rustled in breeze of morn, + The fire passed through, and left them black and bare, + Rushing like Samson's foxes through the corn. + + Then, like a giant roused, it onward came, + With red arm reaching to the trees on high; + Till the whole landscape in one sheet of flame, + Glowed like a furnace 'neath a brazen sky. + + O'er many a hearth red, burning ruin swept, + Till people fancied 'twas a flaming world; + All labour gained, and prudent care had kept, + And precious life were in one ruin hurled. + + But as the fire fast spread, 'tis sweet to know, + So loving kindness and sweet pity ran; + This wide spread wail of human want and woe, + Served to bring out the brotherhood of man. + + Here, on the lovely pine-fringed Allumette, + We hear the distant echoes of the jar, + Where Galile pluck and Teuton drill have met + In the long shock of cruel murderous war. + + We only read of fields heaped high with slain, + Of vineyards flooded red, but not with wine, + Of writhing heaps of groaning anguished pain, + Of wounded carted off in endless line. + + We read of all the stern eyed pomp of war, + The list of wounded and the number slain, + But know not what war's desolations are, + How much one battle costs of human pain. + + All the sweet homes beneath the chestnut trees + Blackened and waste, the hearth light quenched in gore; + What hecatombs of human agonies + Are laid war's demon-chariot wheels before + + When a few deaths so shadow a whole place, + Let us but think of that beleaguered town + Where famine's blackness sits in every face, + War cutting thousands, want ten thousands down. + + And France is one great grave, her native clay + Top dressed with human flesh and steeped in blood; + Hushed are the sounds of little ones at play, + And blackened wastes where pleasant hamlets stood. + + In spots the grain will yet grow rank and strong, + Over brave hearts that conquered as they fell; + Falling, left hearts to sorrow for them long, + By the swift Rhine, or by the blue Moselle. + + When will the nations learn to war no more, + Nor with red hands adore the God of peace? + O Thou, most merciful, whom we adore, + Bid this unnecessary war to cease! + + And look upon our country, young and strong, + With prospects of a future great and grand; + Grant us that Right still triumph over Wrong, + That Righteousness exalt and bless the land. + + That here where smiling peace and plenty reign, + Beneath the glory of unclouded skies + A Nation that shall know no honour stain + Girt by sons pure and peaceful, shall arise + + O! Canada our own beloved land, + Land of free homes, and hearts uncowed by fear, + Refuge of many, be it thine to stand + Foremost among the nations each New Year! + + + + + MY BABY + + + He lay on my breast so sweet and fair, + I fondly fancied his home was there, + Nor thought that the eyes of merry blue, + With baby love for me laughing through, + + Were pining to go from whence he came, + Leaving my arm empty and heart in pain, + Longing to spread out his wings and fly + To his native home far beyond the sky + + They took him out of my arms and said + My baby so sweet and fair was dead, + My baby that was my heart's delight + The fair little body they robed in white + + Flowers they placed at the head and feet + Like my baby fair, like my baby sweet, + They laid him down in a certain place, + And round him they draped soft folds of lace + + Till I'd look my last at my baby white, + Before they carried him from my sight, + By the sweet dead babe, so fair to see, + They tried in kindness to comfort me + + They said, he is safe from care and pain, + Safe and unspotted by sin or stain; + Before the mystery of the years + Brings heart ache or pang, or sorrow's tears. + + He's safe, sweet lamb, in the Shepherd's care, + Sorrow nor suffering enters there; + But with brow of gladness, clothed in light, + He is fair as the angels in His sight. + + I know what they said to me was true, + And should have fallen on my heart like dew; + For, although my grief was very sore, + My baby was safe for evermore. + + I know that they spoke with kindly care, + My grief to comfort and soothe, or share; + But I gave my baby the last, last kiss, + Saying, God alone comforts grief like this. + + + + + THE FATE OF HENRY HUDSON. + + + I, Louis Marin, mariner, born on the Breton coast, + Must pass from earth away, + And, because wild remorse + Pursues me--is my curse, + My guilty hand this day + Will write down of the crime that haunts my death-bed like a ghost. + + In sixteen hundred ten, + Bold Hudson and his men + Left London town behind with its castles, towers and fanes, + The crew were twenty-three, + Which, alas! included me + When the good ship _Discovery_ went sailing down the Thames + We were all picked men and strong, + We took willing hearts along + Yes, our hearts were bold and brave + Every eye was keen and bright, + When the wild Atlantic wave + Hid the homeland from our sight + + On a voyage of discovery bound to win a high renown, + That on the line of years our names be proudly handed down + As, with merry hearts and light, we flew on before the blast, + We little dreamed this voyage was ordained to be our last + All full of reckless venture and so fearless--could we know + Hope beckoned on a path of fame to lure us into woe, + As we sailed into the frozen seas, the place of ice and snow, + We sighted the ominous Farewell Cape + And steered north through drift ice up Baffin's Strait + Oh, lonely and drear to the weary eye + Were the vast ice-fields floating slowly by + Not a blade of grass not a leaf to tell + That the summer verdure was possible + Round the pale horizon, the aching sight + Met an awful vastness of barren white, + As if earth lay beneath the chilly sky + Struck to death by Gehazi's leprosy + We sailed on, and round us on every hand, + On the darkling wave, on the desert strand, + On the rock-bound coast, on the icy cape, + The ice heaved up in wild fantastic shape; + In mountain, and mosque, and cathedral dome, + Lofty peak, and column, and minaret, + And ponderous arches in order set, + Tower and spire and pinnacle high, + Soaring up to the deep blue sky + Statues ice sculptured, frost work and fret, + That had some weird likeness to sights at home. + + On and on we sailed through the waters dark, + Where the damp fog clung like a witch's veil, + And hid from the faces of watchers pale, + The dangers that crowded around our bark, + In this, the birth-place of the snow and mist. + Icebergs by the low clouds covered and kissed, + Clustered round us like ghosts to bar our way; + While the sharp sleet drove on the icy blast, + Cutting through the foam of the seething spray, + Sheathing in ice both sail and mast, + Northward still northward we sailed away. + + The wild air was thick with flurrying snow; + The winds broken loose, raging, swept and swirled, + Heaping mountain drifts on hummock and floe, + Deadly that wind as the cannon's breath, + To crush out life with the blast of death. + Wreathing winding sheets round an Arctic world. + Upon that wild day, on that dreadful day! + Amid grinding noises of crash and jar, + With the winds and snow, waves and ice at war, + In their wildest fury and greatest might, + We drove with the storm into that wide bay, + That forever will keep our captain's name, + And embalm in horror his death and fame, + And around us closed in the Arctic night. + Our ship was caught in jaws of ice, + That closed on it, held it as in a vice, + Ice was around us mountains high + Its dazzling spear points pierced the sky, + In every shape of vast and wild, + Heaps upon heaps were tossed and hurled, + Mountain on mountain roughly piled, + The chaos of an icy world + + It was a ghastly, beautiful sight, + The rosy flush of the Northern Light, + Lances of splendour shot through the sky + And blood-red banners were waved on high, + Creatures of light darted to and fro, + Dancing in mockery of our woe, + Unrolling with their luminous hands + Belts of glory, and quivering bands + Of heaving, pulsing, transparent green, + Throwing out light in shimmering waves, + That spread into a tremulous sea + Of wavering glowing brilliancy, + Clothing the heavens in delicate sheen, + From which darts, and arrows, and tongues of fire + Glancing in splendour higher and higher + Wove themselves into a glorious crown, + Letting bright streamers hang wavering down, + Until brilliant sea and crown of beams + Faded to mist like fairy dreams + Vanishing all away, away, + Away behind ice wall and icy caves, + Leaving us in the moonlight grey, + Pale skeletons sitting by frozen graves + + We in our misery cared not, + For splendours that mocked our wretched lot, + We were locked in a place by God forgot + He did not care + For sigh or prayer, + For He never answered to help or bless, + But death and fell sickness and loathsomeness + Of disease that cometh from extreme cold, + Joined to cow the hearts of the brave and bold, + The provisions rotted within the hold, + And the worm eaten bread was foul to use. + Sufferings and agonies manifold + Gathered round the end of that fatal cruise. + + The spring kept away so late, oh so late! + Through death our numbers waxed feeble and few; + And when famine sat down among the crew, + Came both sullen anger and fiery hate, + And we hardened our hearts and cursed our fate. + Some deserted to speedily fall and freeze + Some, swollen and blue with the fell disease, + Blasphemed and called on the saints in turn + With choking utterance and livid tongue. + We cursed the captain to his face + For bringing us to this wretched case. + He sat among us gloomy and stern, + His venturous heart was with anguish wrung; + While silent and sad + Was the little lad, + His only son, + Once so full of fun + When he sailed on the cruise that had no return. + + Sitting in our misery on a night, + Fresh wonders burst on our awe-struck sight; + For the stars were raining out of the sky, + In a fiery shower, falling thick and fast; + Yea, and horrible sounds were on the blast, + Of crash and jar, and shivering moan, + As of rending earth; and all nature's groan + Were sent to warn us the end was nigh. + With awe-struck gladness we looked around, + Waiting to hear the last trumpet sound. + From living death in that desolate Bay, + We had sprung to welcome the judgment day; + Although in the pit should our lot be cast, + So that this our great woe should end at last. + The bleak spring came, the ice did part; + Devils entered each sailor's heart; + No blessed thoughts sweetened our wretched lives, + Of the distant mother's, sweethearts, and wives; + Of innocent pleasures we valued most, + In the greenwood haunts of our childhood's home, + In sweet English vale, or bold Breton coast, + That we left to sail on the salt sea foam. + + We launched the boat--we, the wicked crew-- + Strong in the evil we meant to do, + To leave the most helpless ones behind-- + The men who were loathsome, sick and blind. + We tumbled them in without sail or oar; + We forced in the captain and his son; + And when the horrible crime was done + We mocked them and told them to go ashore. + O, Mighty God of the sea and land! + Where hadst Thou hidden Thy strong right hand; + That this should happen under the sky, + And be looked at by Thy All-seeing eye + For we spread our sails to leave that spot, + Secure in that God regarded not. + As we steered the ship away, away, + From the boat that rocked on that dismal Bay, + There arose from the wretches left behind, + Helpless by famine, sick and blind, + A cry that would pierce through iron bars; + The despairing groan + Of those left alone + Passed through the ranks of the shivering stars, + To the dreadful God on His holy throne. + When out of that accursed Bay, + Southward, homeward we sailed away. + We had favouring winds, we hurried fast, + Had our sails been of the hurricane's blast, + Our guilt so surrounded and hemmed us in + That we could not sail away from our sin; + For all nature knew that we had done + The awfullest deed beneath the sun + Our burning eyes were forbid to weep, + We lost the rest of the blessed sleep; + For scared by dreams and terrified + By visions, leaving us weary-eyed, + We knew that the tempter's work was done, + We had staked our souls and the fiend had won. + + I stood one night at the wheel alone: + Stars in millions were in the sky, + Every star an accusing eye; + I heard again that horrible groan + Of horror, of helpless terror and pain, + I had hoped to nevermore hear again-- + The cry of those we had left alone. + + The sky was changed, an angry glare + Lit up the billows, and through the air + Flaming swords flashed in invisible hands, + Ready to execute God's commands. + The solemn light of the pale moon's glance + Glowed with the wrath of His countenance. + At the far horizon shadowy things + Shod with the lightning, with fiery wings, + Were darting with messages to and fro, + I saw them flitting on, noiseless, swift, + Through the holy vail of luminous mist, + Where God was apportioning our woe. + I knew the time had come when He meant + To mete out to us our punishment. + An awful voice from the maintop fell: + "Where is the captain and sick of the crew?" + It filled my brain with the pains of hell; + The cold sweat started like drops of dew. + My hair stood up--for, over the side, + On the rolling swell of the heaving tide, + Gliding along on the crest of a wave, + I saw, in the moonlight's shimmering track, + Our messmates, the feeble, sick and blind, + That leagues away we had left behind; + To the vessel groping their blind way back + Coming again to join the crew; + Led by the captain looking as brave, + As full of command, as he used to do + + The wave heaved up to the bulwark's side, + And one after one they stepped on board. + Dead men, with eyes that opened wide + With the stare of blindness--gracious Lord! + One of them groped his way abaft, + And laid his swollen hand on the wheel. + His hand that in death was clammy and damp; + His blind eyes stared at the binnacle lamp, + As if the dead hand had nerves of steel, + He altered the ship's course in spite of me + Who could only stare at him and gasp, + For I was in the nightmare's grasp. + Fiends in the air around me laughed; + But the dead man worked on all silently, + Nor noticed the ecstacy of my fears; + Yet he was a man I had known for years. + A messmate at sea, a comrade on shore, + And in jolly carouse, in wassail roar. + My holiday time with him I spent + When I was of life-blood innocent; + But he never looked or spoke to me, + But steered away from the open sea. + Towards the shore beyond the desolate strait, + Where suffering and crime had been so great. + + Dead hands pulled the ropes and trimmed the sails, + But no cheery cries the night wind hails. + They worked the ship like men who slept + But steadily, oh so steadily! + They took in sail, the watch they kept, + And groped about blindly, silently. + Fore and aft on the waves swarmed fiendish things, + Vile creatures that seemed to be heads with wings. + Like a shoal of porpoises millions strong, + Alive with motion that could not rest, + Twisting out ropes from the breaker's crest, + From the fleecy foam of the yeasty spray, + With hands that appeared and vanished away; + Chattering, they towed the ship along; + And we, the living, stood looking on, + Until that horrible night was gone. + + When the grey of dawn came in the sky, + With a scream and a cheer the fiends vanished; + Over the side filing silently + Went our messmates, the corpses swollen and dead, + Gliding over the waves with the vanishing night + Till the low clouds covered them up from our sight. + + We, like men who have got respite from pain, + Put about the ship toward home again, + The sails swelled out with a favouring wind; + The coast of horrors we left behind. + And cheerily sailed in the blessed light; + But the ghosts of the crew came back at night. + Whatever distance we gained by day. + They steered us back in the moonlight grey. + + How it came to pass I can never tell, + But I thought of God in the jaws of hell-- + Through my despair came the thought that He + Was a helper in extremity + For the first time in my wandering years, + My burning eyes felt the bliss of tears + Like refreshing dew on soul and sense + Fell the softening grace of penitence + The Grace Divine that maketh whole, + Stole into the darkness of my soul + + Sad thoughts were rising into prayer, + By the wheel on the night air chill and raw + The ghost of my messmate stood by me, + And looked in my face with eyes that saw + The blue lips said "Be awake, and aware, + The enchanted ship will touch the shore, + Fly then from us, and you will be free, + Your penance of suffering will be o'er + But the rest, for the deed that they have done + Shall sail on without rest beneath the sun." + + I made my escape when we reached the shore, + And I saw the ship and the crew no more + Alone I laid myself down to die, + No human aid, as I thought, was nigh + I longed for death, I was not afraid + I was found by roving hunter bands, + Brought back to life by merciful hands, + The hands of a dark skinned Indian maid. + She nursed me with skill and tenderness, + And recovered me from loathsomeness + But the day has come and the hours draw nigh, + When I, Louis Marin, must surely die + I write down my crime, that soon or late + The world may know Captain Hudson's fate + + I write of our crime and our sufferings, + Of vengeance that follows, remorse that stings + Messmates remember though crime is done, + In the lonest spot beneath the sun, + Where footstep of man has never trod, + It's under the eye of an avenging God. + He comes near, a Swift Witness, with intent + That they who sow crime shall reap punishment. + + + + + FORSAKEN. + + + Beside the open window she is lying, + Through which comes softly in the balmy air, + And fans her wasted cheek; but slowly dying, + She seeth not that autumn's finger fair + Tinges the golden landscape everywhere. + + She seeth not the glory of the maples, + That in their crimson robes surround her home; + Nor the rich red of the ripe clustering apples + In the old orchard, where can never come + Her flying feet to stoop and gather some. + + That is her home where in life's young May morning, + She careless sung the joyful hours away; + A happy-hearted child, to whom no warning + Came of the future shipwreck by the way, + Or of the worshipped idol turned to clay. + + The place has passed to strangers; unregretting, + She looks upon the home, no longer hers, + Of all the happy past she's unforgetting; + But deeper anguish now her bosom stirs, + The sorrow that can find no comforters. + + Father and mother lie beneath the grasses, + That lonely wave within the churchyard gloom; + And the sad wind is wailing as it passes + Asking the dead to hasten and make room, + For her that's slowly sinking to the tomb + + Seeing as if she saw not, one sore longing + Is she awake to, as she lieth here, + Dead to regretful thoughts that round are thronging, + All too absorbed to shed repenting tear, + Or look into the future drawing near + + She hath lost all the keen desire of living, + The power to grieve over a vanished name, + She thinks one thought, poor child, her heart forgiving + All of her wrongs, all of her suffered shame, + And has no power left with which to blame + + Never again shall hope with her awaken, + For all hope buried in one small grave lies, + But her heart longs that he who has forsaken + Should look once more with kindness in her eyes + And take her poor forgiveness ere she dies + + So in a calm that hopes for no assistance, + With longings that are lost in empty air + Her dying eyes are fixed upon the distance, + Lest he should come upon her unaware, + "He cometh not," she whispers in despair. + + + + + KEEPING TRYST + + + Who is the maid with silken hair + By clear Maine Water roaming? + For the fairy Queen is not so fair + As she in the lonely gloaming + + It is sweet Mysie of Bellee, + John Millar's lovely daughter; + She is waiting where the old elm tree + Droops over the sweet Maine Water. + + "The trysting time has come and past, + The day is fast declining; + Oh my true love, are you coming fast, + For the star of love is shining?" + + "The moon is bright, the ford is safe, + The market folks crossed over; + Oh, come to me, it is wearing late, + And I wait for thee, my lover. + + "I fear me there will be a storm, + The clouds, with murky fingers, + Are muffling the stars o'er far Galgorm, + Where my own true lover lingers." + + She turned her from the trysting tree, + So sadly home returning, + Saying "He has broken tryst with me, + And his ship sails in the morning." + + She took three steps from that sad place, + Where doubt of him had found her; + And he stood before her face to face, + And he drew his arm around her. + + "I thought, without one last farewell, + We had for ever parted; + And I could not of the anguish tell + That had left me broken hearted. + + "My love I'm going far away; + Whatever may betide us, + Our loving hearts are one for aye, + Though the roaring seas divide us." + + He broke a ring between them two; + He made a vow to bind him + To death, and beyond it to be true + To her he had left behind him. + + Years passed, the maiden secretly + Watched on with anxious wonder, + For some love message; but treachery + Kept the two fond hearts asunder. + + She lived in hope that he would write, + And some love token send her; + Her step grew feeble, her face grew white, + And her eyes got unearthly splendour. + + And lovers they besieged her sore; + For love that she had given + To one who would come to her no more; + So she faded into heaven. + + They made her grave where robins sing; + Trees whisper requiems daily; + They laid her down with her broken ring; + In her grave at Kirk ma Rielly. + + Word went out of the maiden's death, + Who for true love departed; + It found him who mourned her broken faith, + And mourned her as false, falsehearted. + + He turned as cold as cold, cold clay, + And fell struck down with sorrow; + "I know how my dear love died to-day, + I will die for her to-morrow. + + "My love is dead so sweet and fair, + Blighted and broken hearted, + I'll keep my tryst, and together dead, + We'll rest who were falsely parted. + + "Gold that my darling could not save, + That made my love derided, + Shall carry me home and dig my grave, + We'll not be in death divided." + + They made his grave on Erin's breast, + Where the birds sing requiems daily; + And laid him beside his love to rest, + In the grave-yard of Kirk ma Bielly. + + + + + EDGAR + + + I have not wept for Edgar, as a mother + Weeps for the tender lamb she lays to rest; + And yet it cannot be that any other + Baby like him shall lie upon my breast; + For he was with us but a passing guest, + A birdling that belonged not to the nest. + + Looking upon his large dark eyes so tender, + Filled with the solemn light of Paradise, + I knew that word would soon come to surrender, + My babe, not mine, but native to the skies; + As the sweet lark that ever upward flies, + He would be taken from my longing eyes. + + For from the first he looked to be earth-weary, + And clung to me with no desire to play; + He never laughed and crowed with spirit cheery + Like my earth babies; but from day to day + Seemed ever yearning for the far-away, + And well I knew he could not with me stay + + The angels whispered things I knew not of, + My babe had visions of a far-off land, + I knew it, that he yearned for higher love, + And reached to touch another unseen hand, + That drew him from my little household band, + They wailed for him of whom they were so fond + + And when he closed his eyes and fell asleep, + Loosening his baby grasp away from mine, + Turning from me that had no power to keep, + The glory of a placidness divine + Beamed on his face, I took it for a sign, + And bowed my head to say, Thy will is mine. + + I weep for him in silence of the night, + I see him where the holy angels are, + His radiant eyes have lost their mournful light + And beam with happy glory like a star, + I weep with mournful joy to think that, where + The Master is, my little babe is there. + + + + + GONE + + + Mournfully, mournfully + All around me are crying, + For my dark-eyed baby boy + Is dying, dying + + Tenderly, tenderly + To him I am clinging, + But he slips from my fond arms, + Death bells are ringing + + Joyfully, joyfully + Angels are receiving + My babe--by the empty cot + I must sit grieving. + + + + + WHAT WENT YE OUT FOR TO SEE? + + + On Jordan's banks gathered an eager crowd, + The Royal city poured its dwellers out; + The vintage was untouched in Ephraim; + No fisher's boat from Magdala put out. + + Up from Engedi's fountain, down the slope + Of terraced Olivet, an eager throng, + Filled with one purpose, one absorbing hope, + Unto the Jordan take their way along. + + The priestly robe, the saintly Pharisee, + The publican, the sinner, all were there, + The doubting, sneering, questioning Sadducee, + Just risen from his seat, the scorner's chair. + + All carried there the consciousness of sin; + A wish for some one having power to save; + Ready to do some great thing peace to win; + So came they to the ford by Jordan's wave. + + What did they see? not one in purple vest, + Who lives deliciously, abides by choice + In palaces, and he in hair doth drest, + And leathern girdled is--Is what? a voice. + + In poor array, the greatest prophet stood + Beside the waters where the banks are green. + "Art thou the looked-for one? Will Jordan's flood + Touched by thy hand have power to make us clean?" + + "The Jordan will not wash your guilt and shame; + Sin must be washed away in sinless blood." + And looking upon Jesus as he came, + He said to them, "Behold the Lamb of God." + + + + + THE IROQUOIS SIDE OF THE STORY. + + + I, an Iroquois brave, + Speak from my forest grave, + Where by Utawa's wave + I sleep in glory. + Listen, pale faces, then, + Let years roll back again, + While of Iroquois men + I tell the story, + + We were the foremost race, + That roamed the forest space; + None stood before our face, + Rousing our fierce wrath; + By Stadacona's steep, + Where Santee's waters sleep, + Prairie broad, valley deep, + Have been our war path. + + Eries by inland seas, + Mountain bred Cherokees, + Of us, Hodenosaunees, + With fear grew frantic; + Feared us who made their home, + Under the pinetrees lone, + Where the winds lash to foam, + The wild Atlantic. + + Tribute from east and west, + Of what we loved the best, + Wampum belt, necklace drest + Gladly they grant us. + White men can wisely tell, + How we fought, how we fell; + None could our glory quell, + No tribe could daunt us. + + Eagles for swiftness we, + Panthers for subtlety, + Wise when in counsel free, + We took our stations. + Where was the tribe so brave, + Whose war craft could them save + From being conquered, slave + Of the Six Nations! + + Wah! we all heard the news, + Of the winged war canoes, + Swift as the wild sea mews, + Objects of wonder; + Spreading their white wings wide, + Breasting the mighty tide, + Black lips from out their side, + Spoke lofty thunder. + + Upward their way they steer, + Swifter than swimming deer, + Furled they their white wings near + Green Hochelaga. + We heard their name and fame, + Sweeping like forest flame, + To our great lodge it came, + In fair Onondaga. + + Shy on their native strand, + The mild Algonquins stand + And gave the heart's right hand + To the white stranger. + With speech and gesture fair, + Gave a free welcome there, + Proud they to spare and share, + Fearing no danger. + + Pale face and red man met, + Smoked they the Calumet, + And the peace feast was set + For the pale faces; + All of sweet wild wood cheer, + Fish from the river clear. + Haunch of the antlered deer, + Feast the two races. + + If peace and trust were slain, + Whose the loss? Whose the blame? + Let the white scribes explain, + Our foes be our judges. + They sat down as conquerors, + Took the land, took the furs, + Let the braves starve like curs + Outside their lodges. + + Vanished the hunter strong, + Stilled was the husking song; + No corn fields stretched along + In green Hochelaga. + Like to the forest flame, + Devouring the white man came; + Soon spread their evil fame + To far Onondaga. + + Should we be pale face prey, + Fade like the mist away? + Fiercely we turned to bay + Not like the others. + The mild Algonquin race, + Melted before their face, + Leaving a roomy place + For their white brothers. + + But we from sea to lake + Had made the wide earth shake, + And braves like women quake + As they were drunken. + We give our hunting grounds! + Give up our burial mounds! + Whimper like beaten hounds + Like the Algonquin! + + We of the forest free, + Born into liberty, + We, lords of all we see + In our own valleys. + Their chief across the waves, + Asked for Iroquois braves, + To be the chained slaves, + Of his war galleys? + + Should we the mighty, then, + We, the Iroquois men, + Smoke the peace pipe with them + With these marauders! + No! we, the feared in strife, + Hunted the precious life, + With the red scalping knife, + Through all our borders. + + If the fierce war-whoop rung, + In the Iroquois tongue, + And the red warriors sprung + On the pale faces; + Let, then, the guilt accursed, + Fall heaviest and worst, + On who raised the hatchet first + Of the two races. + + In the sweet moon of leaves, + When birds the soft nest weaves, + And the free water heaves + Beneath the blue heavens. + Upwards the white braves go, + Vowed to meet us foe to foe, + Landed at the wild Long Sault, + In the calm spring even. + + Danlac, their biggest brave, + Gathered a band to save, + The rest from a bloody grave, + From our revenges. + Not for their own land they + Fought as they did that day; + But to take ours away + And to have vengeance. + + We vowed, in warrior pride, + To rise, a rushing tide, + And sweep the country wide, + With a death riddance. + To burn their palisades, + And to the forest glades, + In change for Indian maids, + Bear their white maidens. + + In painted plumed array, + Hot, panting for the fray, + Our paddles beat the spray + Of the wild water. + Shot through the rapids white, + The war cry of our might, + Rose as we flashed in sight, + Eager for slaughter + + Then scouting watchers run, + Then loud alarm of drum, + Shouts of, "The foe! they come," + Rung through the forest. + Then we, three hundred strong, + Burning with sense of wrong, + Raised our loud battle song, + Sounding the onset. + + From the old fort there broke, + Volleying flame and smoke, + And the loud echoes woke + With pale face thunder. + And shot in torrents fell, + As if the hottest hell, + Of which the black robes tell; + Opened in wonder, + + Woe to the white race, woe! + Wild we dashed at the foe, + Showering blow on blow + On their defences + We with our bosoms bare, + Surged up against their lair; + They in a brave despair, + Behind their fences, + + Belched out a fiery hail + Like leaves in autumn pale, + Fell we before that gale + In the death heaping. + Till the young grass grew red + With the blood blanket spread, + Under Iroquois dead, + In glory sleeping. + + Sank down the big round sun, + And the red fight was done, + To be again begun + In the grey dawning; + Remained there but twenty two, + With whom we had to do, + Of that devoted few + For whom death was yawning. + + Charged we at the fort again, + Axes crashed through heart and brain, + Heaps on heaps fell our slain + The red price paying. + We fell as leaves before the gale, + But of the faces pale, + None lived to tell the tale + Of that grim slaying. + + The fort was taken at last, + Blood and fire mingling fast, + Death's bitterness was past, + For none were breathing. + Where lay our enemies, + Side by side were swart allies, + Brave and pale-face mingled, lies + Christian and heathen. + + This feat of arms that gave + Unto these bravest brave, + Death and a bloody grave, + Is told in story. + All the valour and the might, + Of the pale-face in the fight, + When the story's told aright, + We will share the glory. + + + + + A SATIRE. + + A HUMBLE IMITATION. + + + The rage for writing has spread far and wide, + Letters on letters now are multiplied, + And every mortal, who can hold a pen, + Aspires in haste to teach his fellow men. + Paper in wasted reams, and seas of ink. + Prove how they write who never learned to think; + Some who have talents--some who have not sense; + Some who to decency make no pretence; + But, skilled in arts which better men deceive, + They spread the slander which they don't believe. + A township turned to scribblers is a sight! + Venting their malice all in black and white, + And with, apparently, no other aim + Than merely to be foaming out their shame. + --My own, my beautiful, my pride, + I must lament where strangers will deride, + O'er thy degenerate sons whose strife and hate + Will make thee as a desert desolate + Men of gray hairs are not ashamed to strive + From house to house to keep the flame alive, + Whispering, inventing, without rest or pause, + With a "zeal worthy of a better cause." + Drilling low agents, teaching them to fly, + And spread on every fence the last new lie. + Oh that it were with us as in the past, + And that our peace had been ordained to last + When kindness reigned and angry passions slept, + E'er hatred's serpent to our Eden crept, + Are these the same or of a different race + From those who made this spot a pleasant place, + When cheerful toil, mingled with praise and prayer. + Wealth without pride and plenty without care, + When comely matrons wore the homespun suit, + And mocassons encased his worship's foot + No brawling then disturbed the quiet air, + No drunkard's ravings, and no swearer's prayer + The godly fathers all are passed away, + Gone to their rest before the evil day + The sons serve other gods, bow at their shrine, + Of the bright dollar or the gloomy pine + While envy, jealousy, and low purse pride + Those who were loving brethren now divide, + Like fabled pismires how the scrambling race, + For the small honours of a country place + And thou, who hast a spark of nature's fire, + What are thy aims son of a godly sire? + Thy good right hand, and calculating brain, + Have given thee wealth with honour in its train + Others may strive with anxious cares and fears, + Thou hast much goods laid up for many years, + Wilt thou forget the line from which thou'rt sprung? + Deem rich men always right and poor men wrong? + Forget thy early friends and bearing free? + When thou art angry have no charity? + Shall wealth, not worth and vulgar pomp and show, + Be the sum total of all good below? + Shall we, then, cease for innate worth to scan? + Look to the new made coat and not the man? + Those who are raised in such an atmosphere + Are they who have the ever-ready sneer + At honest poverty, and at the road + To competence which their own fathers trod + If men of worth will stoop among the vain, + We turn from them with sorrow and with pain + Man may repent, reform, his steps retrace, + But is there renovation for a place? + Will a community forego their strife, + Bury the tomahawk and scalping knife? + Will pride, and will self interest prevail, + Where reason and where revelation fail + Like cause makes like effect, abroad, at home-- + In this small township as in Greece or Rome. + One motto is my moral, true and sad, + Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad + + + + + JUVENILE VERSES. + + ON THE BIRTH OF ALBERT EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES + + + Sing and rejoice, + With heart and voice, + An heir is born to the British Crown, + A royal son, + A princely one, + One born to glory and renown. + + A nation's mirth + Rose at his birth, + On every side great joy prevails, + The nation's joy, + The royal boy, + Our dear Queen's infant, Prince of Wales, + + With gladness we + Rejoiced to see + A virgin wear Britannia's crown, + Then hailed the bride, + By Albert's side, + And saw her look benignly down. + + And now with joy + We hail thee boy, + Heir of thy royal mother's fame, + And see our Isle + With rapture smile, + Resounding Albert Edward's name + Edward, a name + Of deathless fame, + A name each British bosom hails, + That name we see + Revived in thee, + Another Edward Prince of Wales. + + O blessings rest + With kisses prest, + On that sweet infant bud that grows, + An early flower, + One born to power, + A scion of the royal rose. + + Our bosoms burn, + To thee we turn, + In willing homage bend the knee; + Hope of our Isle, + We see thee smile, + Edward the hero hail in thee. + + We pray for thee, + Our king to be, + The greatest prince the world e'er saw. + May the great King + His blessings bring, + And be His Book of life thy law. + + May God above, + In boundless love, + Guard thee and keep thee as his own, + And bless thee so, + That thou mayest grow + Up to support thy mother's throne. + + May glory shine, + And grace combine, + Pure as thy father's life be thine. + Mayest thou be strong + Against all wrong, + And be a Prince by Right Divine. + + May future days + Record the praise + Of our Victoria's royal son. + May all the earth + Hear of his worth, + And of the greatness he has won. + + Innocent babe, + In cradle laid, + Unconscious cause of all this joy, + Each Briton's prayer, + For Britain's heir, + Is "Angels guard thee, royal boy." + + GRACE HILL, NOV., 1840. + + + + + THE BIBLE. + + WRITTEN TO ---- WITH ONE. + + + The book of life to thee is given, + To warn of death, to guide to Heaven. + Wanderer on the wild astray, + Here wilt thou find the King's highway. + Has thy soul suffered, hunger, pain, + Trying to feed on husks in vain? + Here thou wilt find the palace fair, + Where there is bread enough to spare + Thou'lt find where living waters roll, + To satisfy the fainting soul. + Thou hast been thirsty, very sore, + Here come and drink and thirst no more, + Thou'lt find the pearl of greatest price + Hid in the Master's promises. + And so this book to thee is given + To warn of hell, to guide to Heaven. + + GRACE HILL, 1842. + + + + + THE ADIEU TO ELIZA. + + + The night was bright and beautiful, + The dew was on the flower, + The stars were keeping watch, it was + The lover's parting hour. + + The night wind rippled o'er the wave, + The moon shone on the two, + The boat was waiting, part they must, + "Eliza, love, adieu!" + + "You know how fondly I have loved, + How long, how true, how dear, + And though fate sends me far away + My heart will linger here. + + "Bright hope, the lover's comfort, can + Alone my heart console, + Or soothe the pain of parting with + The empress of my soul. + + "When other suitors vainly talk + Of fondly loving you, + Remember him who truly loved + As no one else can do. + + "I'll think upon the place contains + My dark-eyed source of bliss, + When roaming idly, blindly through + The gay metropolis. + + "Weep not, weep not, my dearest girl, + Your tears my bosom pain, + Remember," fondly added he, + "We part to meet again." + + He made her pledge him heart to heart + She would not him forget, + Asked her to sigh when at the spot + Where they had often met. + + He spoke much of how deep was stamped + Her image on his mind; + One more adieu, the boat was gone. + And she was left behind. + + True was the maiden, and she kept + While weeks and months took wing, + His name deep treasured in her heart, + As 'twere a sacred thing. + + And he--did he return again + Her long love to repay? + No! in good sooth, as Byron says, + He laughed to flee away. + + G HILL, 1839. + + + + + TO MY VALENTINE. + + 1844. + + + Adieu! Adieu! may angels guard thee, + Hovering near thee night and day, + For all thy good deeds God reward thee, + The rest forgive and blot away. + + May no gift nor grace be missing, + May He all on thee confer, + And add a heartfelt prayer and blessing + From the distant wanderer. + + O'er the trackless, foaming ocean, + In weal or woe, ever shall be + Mingled in my heart's devotion + Many a prayer for thine and thee. + + What tho' across thy memory never + Shall flit my once familiar name, + Hallowed by distance, thine for ever, + Memory shall conjure up again. + + All thy follies ever hidden, + All thy virtues raised above, + Thy name, so long, so much forbidden, + Strangers shall learn from me to love. + + Adieu! and may we meet in heaven, + Through Him, the Lord, who guides our ways; + And he to whom much was forgiven, + Shall swell the highest notes of praise. + + + + + FIRST LOVE. + + (A. S.) 1845. + + + We met--he was a stranger, + His foot was free to roam; + I was a simple maiden, + Who had never left my home. + + He was a noble scion + Of the green Highland pine, + To a strange soil transplanted, + Far from his native clime + + And well his bearing pleased me, + For I had never seen + Keener eye, or smile more sunlit, + Or more dignity of mien. + + His brow was fair and lofty, + Bright was his clustering hair; + I marvelled that to other eyes + He seemed not half so fair + + His it was to plead with men, + With "Thus my Lord hath said;" + He stood God's messenger between + The living and the dead + + When I heard how earnestly + His pleading message ran, + I said, "Here God has set his seal + To mark a perfect man." + + The rapture of a moment + Came suddenly to me; + With softened glance he asked me, + 'Could you learn to think of me?' + + The star of love shone o'er us, + His arm was round me thrown + And he fondly said he loved me + And loved but me alone + + I was but a simple maiden + Village born and village bred + And when this crown of gladness + Dropped down upon my head + + A simple maiden's feelings + That moment sprang awake + I wished myself rich, noble + And lovely for his sake + + Ah, love akin to sorrow + Ah, ecstasy so fleet! + Why is parting made the surer + When the meeting is so sweet? + + Quick as the flash of summer + Came bliss to fade too soon + My poor heart swelled, as ocean + Swells for the lady moon. + + I saw him at the altar + Upon a morning fair + The matron and the maiden, + And paranymph were there + + There were holy words, and wishes, + And smiles when tears would start + A fair bride stood beside him, + And I--I stood apart. + + Then came the parting moment, + After I loved him well; + I stilled my heart's sore beating, + And so I said farewell, + + And oh! may no remembrance + Cause him a moment's pain, + But yet, indeed, I loved him, + And I'll never love again. + + + + + CHILDREN'S SONG. + + + We little children join to praise + The Holy Child of endless days. + The Lord of glory undefiled + Was once like us a little child. + + Chorus.-- + "Sweetly, sweetly, sweetly singing, + Let us praise him, praise him, praise him, bringing + Happy voices, voices, voices ringing + Like the songs of the angels round the throne." + + He hears the ravens when they call, + He sees the little sparrows fall, + He heard the little children sing + Hosanna to the Saviour King. + Sweetly, &c. + + O Jesus, we sing to praise thee, + Who said let children come to me; + We gather round the mercy seat, + O let our songs to thee be sweet. + Sweetly, &c. + + Jesus, our Master, Lord and King, + Spread over us thy sheltering wing, + Keep us unspotted, let us be + Thy children singing praise to thee. + Sweetly, &c. + + + + + ANSWER TO BURNS' ADDRESS TO THE DE'IL. + + + O thou wild rantin' wicked wit; + Are thy works, thy fame livin' yet? + Will thae daft people never quit + An ne'er ha'e done + Disturbin' me in my black pit + Wi' Burn's fun. + + Though mony years ha'e fled away + Sin' thou wert buried in the clay, + Thy rhymes, unto this vera day, + Are mair than laws; + Thy name's set up on ilka bra' + Wi' great applause. + + And yet, thou wonder-workin' chiel, + I'd let ye' charm Scotch bodies weel, + But that "Address unto the De'il" + Made i' your sport, + Has raised a maist revengefu' squeel + In my black court. + + Still by the names you gi'e I'm greeted, + By every Lallan tongue repeated, + I canna turn but what I meet it, + In toun or village; + My bluid, though hot enough, is heated + Till't boils wi' rage. + + My deeds that ha'e been handed down, + Sin' I aspired to Heaven's crown, + By thee, Rab, lad, dressed up in rhyme, + To do me skaith, + Are circling still the empire roun' + After thy death. + + Ye say I roam in search o' prey, + An' rest na' neither nicht nor day; + A' that ye heard ye'r grannie say + Ye hae confest, + An' mair than hinted at my stay + In Robin's breast. + + My secret agents everywhere, + A' Scotland roun', but maist in Ayr, + O guid abuse their ain' an' mair + Ye try to gie them; + Nae credit tae ye that ye were + Acquainted wi' them. + + O' ghaists an' kelpies deeds, you ken, + Hauntin' the foord and lonely glen, + Lurin' the tipsy sons of men + In bogs to die; + 0' auld wives girnin' but an'ben + Ower bewitched Rye. + + An' screeden down, wi' wicked han', + 0' my deep laid successfu' plan; + Vexed at the idlest o' man, + Your faither Adam; + That got him sent to till the lan', + Him and his madam. + + You are like money I ha'e saw, + For though ye kenned I caused the fa', + An' as ye say, "maist ruined a'," + In that same hour, + You did na strive to get ava + Out o' my power + + At Kirk you'd neither pray nor praise, + But on the lassies ye wad gaze, + Notice neat feet, blue eyes, fine claes, + Or Jenny's bonnet, + An makin rhyme on what ye ha'e, + Seen creeping on it. + + Hech Rab ye were na blate ava, + Ae time ye're mockin Kirk an' a', + An' then tae me ye gie' your jaw, + Or my abode, + An' tell how weel I laid my claw + On patient Job. + + Aye! an' although ye richt weel knew + That I wi' masons had to do + Ye could na' rest, oh, no, not you! + Till numbered wi' them; + Gi'en your "heart's warm fond adieu," + When gaun to lea them. + + An' aft ye did your sire provoke, + By jest and jeer at better folk, + A' solemn thought wad end in smoke, + Sae wad his teachin', + And fun wad fly in jibe an' joke + At lang faced preachin'. + + The mair they frowned, you joked the mair, + 0' grave ye had a scanty share, + The verra text ya wadna spare, + Be't e'er sae holy, + An' rhymin' ower the pithy prayer + O' pious Willie + + Aye' Rab, ye, rail it at me and mine, + Yet hungert after things divine, + I kenn'd how sairly ye wad pine, + For deeds ill done; + Ower talents lost, ower wasted time, + For sake o' fun + + An' then remorse wi' pickled rod, + Wad gie' ye mony a lash an' prod, + But aye ye went the rantin' road, + An prone tae err, + You sair misca'd douce men o' God + An Holy Fair. + + I winna say it is untrue + What's certified o' me by you, + If ilka ane their duty'd do + As quick an' weel, + As I, my certie! they'd get through, + Spite o' the De'il. + + There's ae guid turn ye did for me, + An' I acknowledge't full an' free, + In praisin' up the barley bree + "In tuneful line;" + Nae bard but you its praise could gie + In words sae fine + + An' listen tae me 'Rab, my man, + I dinna ken a better plan, + To ser' my turn wi'silly man + An wark them ill, + Than charming them to pleasure drawn + Frae the whisky gill, + + This is what gars me maist complain, + Maist as weel kenned as mine's your name, + Auld Scotia claims ye as her ain, + Her dearest one; + An' that daft gilpey, Madam Fame, + Owns thee her son. + + I thocht that jests wad flee fu' fain, + Forgetfulness come in again, + That I wad claim ye as my ain, + Tae baud an bin' ye + But noo through a' o' my domain + I canna fin' ye. + + Noo fare ye weel, whaure'er ye be, + Ane thing I ken ye're no wi' me, + I ha'e searched high an' low to see, + By spells an' turns; + Sae I maun even let ye be, + O Robert Burns. + + G. Hill, 1840. + + + + + SEPARATION. + + ELIZABETH TO WALTER + + + He has come and he has gone, + Meeting, parting, both are o'er; + And I feel the same dull pain, + Aching heart and throbbing brain + Coming o'er me once again + That I often felt before. + + + For he is my father's son, + And, in childhood's loving time + He and I so lone, so young, + No twin blossoms ever sprung, + No twin cherries ever clung, + Closer than his heart and mine. + + He is changed, ah me! ah me! + Have we then a different aim? + Shall earth's glory or its gold + Make his heart to mine grow cold? + Or can new love kill the old? + Leaving me for love and fame + + Oh, my brother fair to see! + Idol of my lonely heart, + Parting is a time of test, + Father, give him what is best, + Father keep him from the rest, + Bless him though we fall apart. + + Well I know love will not die, + It will cause us bliss or pain; + We may part for many years, + But my loving prayers and tears, + Rising up to Him who hears, + Will yet draw him back again. + + From the fount of tenderness, + All the past comes brimming up; + When his brow is touched with care, + When no grief of his I share, + When we're separated far, + It will be a bitter cup; + Bless him from before Thy throne, + Thus my heart to Thee makes moan, + Keep him Lord where he is gone + + + + + TO ANNE ON HER BIRTHDAY + + + Let mirth and joy a season reign + And sorrow flee away + Sadness were perfect sin it is + My Anne's natal day + + And now a birthday rhyme for her + This sister of my own + Accept the song then for my sake + Sister and only one + + So long we've lived together here + Our hopes and fears the same + Like two of autumn's last grown leaves + Last of our race and name + + The past we know its grief and joy + Its pleasure and its pain + But know not what may happen ere + Your birthday comes again + + Shall we be cradled in the deep + Beneath the briny wave? + Or shall the white deer lightly bound + Over my forest grave? + + Or living yet divided far + With lands and seas between + And sorrow reigning in the hearts + Where childhood's joy has been + + The future's sealed we know it not + But wander where we will + On this broad earth we shall remain + Lone loving sisters still + + + + + TO ISABEL. + + (ISABELLA STEWART) + + + Since ere I left my native isle, + My childhood's home, life's happy smile + And crossed the separating seas, + Nothing my lonely heart could please + Till now--and oh, I cannot tell + How I admire thee, Isabel! + + There are, in my dear island green, + Most lovely faces to be seen, + Beautiful eyes, with kindly glee, + Beamed there in laughing love on me + Now I'm alone from day to day, + They're all three thousand miles away. + + A stranger's face each face I see, + And every eye is cold to me, + No friendly voice, no kind caress, + No spell to break the loneliness, + Until I fell beneath the spell + Of thy rare beauty, Isabel + + I watch thee from my window pane + In hopes a stolen glimpse to gain + I know that purely lovely face, + I know that form of stately grace, + The sweet blue eye, the silken hair + Whose tresses shade thy forehead fair + + Thy beauty, like God's summer flowers + Blesses and cheers this world of ours. + Thy smile, the sunshine clear and true + Of a bright spirit looking through + But words of mine can never tell + All of thy praise fair Isabel + + Fair Isabel fair Isabel + I learned to know thy beauty well + It rose upon my exiled sight + A very treasure of delight + My loneliness so comforting + That my caged heart began to sing + + And if I sing thy beauty's fame + Thy loveliness is all to blame + I loved before I understood + That in thy veins flowed Erin's blood + And I could not help but tell + Of the fair maiden Isabel + + On earth the fairest sweetest spot + I'll leave and shall regret it not + Since I have left my earthly home + What matter is it where I roam + Not to the hill I bid farewell + But to the gentle Isabel + + Accept then from an Irish heart + This humble tribute ere we part + For thou to me art very dear + The lone star of my sojourn here + To thee I sadly bid farewell + God bless the maiden Isabel + + V K HILL 1846 + + + + + ISABEL. + + (ISABELLA STEWART) + + + Heart of mine, by thy quick beating, + Thou knowest Isabel is near, + And the gladness of the greeting + Dims my eye with rapture's tear. + Heart of mine, each beat will tell + How I love young Isabel. + + When I first beheld the maiden, + So fair to see, so sweet to bless, + I, a stranger, sorrow laden, + Arrested by her loveliness, + Then I thought some hand would set, + On that brow a coronet. + + She had grace all hearts beguiling, + She had the wealth of silken hair, + And sweet lips, half proud, half smiling, + Neck of snow and bosom fair, + And each eye a sapphire gem + For a monarch's diadem + + Oh, she was peerless in her beauty, + Like the fair moon she walked alone, + And loving her was but a duty, + A spell her loveliness had thrown; + And I thought that I could trace + Erin's pencil on her face + + With the fervour of my nation, + I worshipped her as months went by, + She was the one constellation, + In my cheerless sky; + Though on me there never fell + One kind glance from Isabel. + + Heart of mine we love, we love her, + She is still our lady bright, + Fairest of them all we prove her + Queen of beauty as her right. + And in simple verse we tell + The praises of fair Isabel. + + + + + THOUGHTS. + + + I am glad when men of genius + Array a common thought, + In imperishable beauty + That it cannot be forgot. + + The heart thoughts all bright and burnished + By high poetic art, + As sweet as the wood-bird's warble + Touching the very heart. + + Have not I, poor workday mortal, + Some thoughts of living light, + In the spirit's inner chambers, + Moving with spirit might? + + And they come in the fair spring time + Of heart and life and year, + When sweet Nature's wild rejoicings, + Draws votaries very near + + To the heart of all that's lovely + On earth and in the sky; + Making audible the music + Of the inner melody. + + Underlying all the sunshine, + Whispering through every breeze, + As it crests the ruffled ocean + Or sways the forest trees. + + Bright thoughts that are heart prisoners + Vibrating on its chords, + For, alas! I have not genius + To bring them forth in words. + + But full oft, like friendship's greeting + Upon life's weary way, + Do I meet in other's language + What I most wished to say. + + To such words my bosom echoes, + I feel they are my own, + They bright echo of my day dreams, + That else were ever flown. + + Ah to think, ye men of genius, + What joy your art affords, + Giving to the thoughts of millions + The dress of glowing words! + + And a blessing on these words then + To bear them far and free; + That they glad the hearts of many + As they have gladdened me. + + + + + TO J W + + + Dear Jane you say you will gather flowers + To win if you may a verse from me + Can you bring to me those brillant hours + When life was gladdened by poesy? + + Bring me the rose with pearls on her breast, + Dropped down as tears from early skies, + Pale lilies gather among the rest + And little daisies, with starry eyes + + The heart's-ease bring for many a day + In vain for that flow'ret fair I sought + Turn not your gathering hand away + From the wee blue flower, forget me not + + Unless inspiration on them rest + In vain you tempt me to rise and sing + The passage bird that sang in my breast + Has fled away with my life's young spring + + My harp on a lonely grave is laid, + Untuned, unstrung, it will lie there long, + If you bring flowers alone dear maid + Without bringing the spirit of song + + But accept the friendship that can spring + Out of this romantic heart of mine, + Devoted, true and unwithering, + And for ever thine, for ever thine + + + + + THE ORPHAN'S GOOD-BYE. + + + When my heart was sad and lonely, + And had closed its inmost cell + Over the impulsive feelings + That rule my nation's hearts too well. + + When the tie was cut asunder, + That had bound me to a home, + And I felt the desolation + Of being in the world alone; + + When I first, the veil assuming, + Masked before a treacherous world, + And the hopes romance expanded + Reality had sternly furled; + + And the touch of disappointment, + Blighted what was green and fair, + And the spirit's bright revealings + Are not so hopeful as they were. + + Precious are the words of kindness, + Falling on the heart like dew, + Freshening though, alas for weakness, + They cannot make things new. + + Thoughts come warm from that deep fountain + Where the hidden feelings dwell, + First to thank thee, noble stranger, + Then to say a kind farewell. + + 1846. + + + + + TO ANNIE ON HER BIRTHDAY. + + + Sister, sweet sister, years have passed away, + Since first, 'mid warm hearts, sunny, frank and true, + I commenced rhyming on thy natal day, + On the green sod where Erin's shamrock grew. + + 'Twas in that age that ne'er returns again, + Whose tears are but as dew on Summer flowers; + And young, warm hearts beat kindly round us then, + And eyes beamed brightly, answering love to ours + + And now an exile from my native land, + Thinking of well remembered, loved Grace Hill, + To mine own sister verses I will send, + Worthless, yet proving that I love her still + + It is thy birthday, and I am alone, + Thinking of that dear land that gave us birth, + The land of hearts that beat to truth alone, + The brightest emerald gem of all the earth. + + These fond regrets that press around my heart, + And bring a pain I cannot rise above, + Makes thee still dearer here, alone, apart, + For fate has left me nothing else to love. + + Changing life and ever swallowing death, + Have taken what I loved against my will, + But, never mind, for thou, kind hearted, true, + Changeless and noble, thou art left me still. + + Happy returns I surely wish thee, Ann, + In this new land that's fated to be ours, + And may you have a happy heart, that can + Enjoy the sunshine, and endure the showers. + + + + + GONE. + + + The heavens look down with chilly frown, + The sun blinks oot wi' watery e'e, + The drift flies fast upon the blast, + The naked trees moan shiveringly. + + The sun is gone, by mists withdrawn, + Muffling his head in snow-clouds grey, + The earth turns white, against the night, + The laden winds drive furiously. + + The flowers are slain that graced the plain, + The earth is locked wi' bitter frost; + And my heart cries to stormy skies + After the dreary loved and lost. + + The spring will come, the flowers will bloom, + The leaves in beauty clothe the tree, + But never more, oh, never more, + Will my lost darling come to me. + + Beyond the skies her happy eyes + Look fearlessly in eyes Divine; + The bitter smart, the hungry heart, + Waiting with empty arms, is mine. + + + + + THE END. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Verses and Rhymes by the Way, by Nora Pembroke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES AND RHYMES BY THE WAY *** + +***** This file should be named 6601.txt or 6601.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/6/0/6601/ + +Produced by Beth L. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Verses and Rhymes by the way + +Author: Nora Pembroke + +Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6601] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on December 30, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES AND RHYMES BY THE WAY *** + + + + +Produced by Beth L. Constantine, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +This file was produced from images generously made available by the +Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions. + + + + + +VERSES AND RHYMES BY THE WAY. + + + +BY +NORA PEMBROKE. + + + + +There are poor Mango's poems, which James Batter and me think +excellent, and if any one think otherwise, I wad just thank them to +write better at their leisure." +--Mansie Wauch + + +"All beneath the unrivalled rose +The lowly daisy sweetly blows, +Though large the forest monarch throws + His army shade, +Yet green the juicy hawthorne grows + Adown the glade." + +--Burns + + + + +To Mrs. Irving, +PEMBROKE. + +I dedicate these verses to one whom I hold dear, +One who in the dark days drew in Christian kindness near +May He who led me all my life do so and more to me +If ever I forget the debt of love I owe to thee. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +A STORY OF PLANTAGENET + +A LEGEND OF BUCKINGHAM VILLAGE + +OTTAWA + +THE LAKE ALLUMETTE + +HOW PRINCE ARTHUR WAS WELCOMED TO PEMBROKE + +A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR AN ONLY ONE + +SERVANTS + +ALAS, MY BROTHER! + +I WILL NOT RE COMFORTED BECAUSE ONE IS NOT + +TO A FATHER'S MEMORY + +ORSON'S FAREWELL (Orson Grout) + +DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN + +ADDRESSES. To the Hon. Malcolm Cameron + +ERIN'S ADDRESS TO THE HON. THOMAS D'ARCY McGEE + +NORA TO DAVID HEBBISON + +DEATH OF D'ARCY McGEE + +LINES TO A SHAMROCK. A Song of Exile + +LAMENTATION. (Walter and Freddie) + +THE SONG OF THE BEREAVED + +COMFORT YE, COMFORT YE MY PEOPLE + +MAJORITY + +MY OWN GREEN LAND + +BEREAVEMENT. (Job in. 26) + +OUT OF THE DEPTHS + +ERIN, MAVOURNEEN. A Prize Poem + +WRITTEN FOR THE O'CONNEL CENTENARY + +WE LAMENT NOT FOR ONE BUT MANY + +LINES FOR THE BRIDAL + +WELCOME HOME + +BAPTISM IN LAKE ALLUMETTE + +GOOD BYE (To Miss E E.) + +WEEP WITH THOSE WHO WEEP (Mary Maud) + +TO ELIZABETH RAY + +FAREWELL TO LORD AND LADY DUFFERIN + +A WELCOME + +DEATH OF NORMAN DEWAR + +THE SHADOW OF THE ALMIGHTY + +IN MEMORY OF JOHN LEACH CRAIG + +FAREWELL + +THE PRINCE OF ANHALT DESSAU + +MARY'S DEATH + +TO ISABEL + +LINES ON ANNEXATION + +TO MY FRIEND + +LITTLE MINNIE + +TECUMTHE + +CREED AND CONDUCT COMBINED AS CAUSE AND EFFECT + +RETROSPECT + +TO THE RAIN + +DIVIDED + +TO MARY + +TO FRANCES + +A NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS, 1870 + +MY BABY + +THE FATE OF HENRY HUDSON + +FORSAKEN + +KEEPING TRYST + +EDGAR + +GONE + +WHAT WENT YE OUT FOR TO SEE? + +THE IROQUOIS SIDE OF THE STORY + +A SATIRE. A Humble Imitation + +JUVENILE VERSES On the Birth of Albert Edward Prince of Wales + +THE BIBLE + +THE ADIEU TO ELIZA + +TO MY VALENTINE + +FIRST LOVE + +CHILDREN'S SONG + +ANSWER TO BURNS' ADDRESS TO THE DE'IL + +SEPARATION + +TO ANNE ON HER BIRTHDAY + +TO ISABEL + +ISABEL + +THOUGHTS + +TO J W + +THE ORPHANS GOOD BYE + +TO ANNIE ON HER BIRTHDAY + +GONE + + + + +VERSES AND RHYMES BY THE WAY. + + + + +A STORY OF PLANTAGENET. + +In the small Village of St Joseph, below the City of Ottawa, still +lives or did live very recently, an ancient couple, whole story is +told in the following lines. + + +PART I + +Lays of fair dames of lofty birth, + And golden hair alt richly curled; +Of knights that venture life for love, + Suit poets of the older world. +We wilt not fill our simple rhymes, + With diamond flash, or gleaming pearl; +In singing of the by-gone times; +We simply sing the love and faith, +Outliving absence, strong as death, +Of one Jow-born Canadian girl. + +'Twas long ago the rapid spring + Had scarce given place to summer yet, +The Ottawa, with swollen flood, + Rolled past thy banks, Plantagenet; +Thy banks where tall and plumed pines +Stood rank on rank, in serried lines. +Green islands, each with leafy crest, +Lay peaceful on the river's breast, +The trees, ere this, had, one by one, +Shook out their leaflets to the sun, +Forming a rustling, waving screen, +While swollen waters rolled between. + +The wild deer trooped through woodland path, + And sought the river's strand, +Slight danger then of flashing death, + From roving hunter's hand; +For very seldom was there seen + A hunter of the doomed red race, +Few spots, with miles of bush between, + Marked each a settler's dwelling-place. +No lumberer's axe, no snorting scream +Of fierce, though trained and harnessed steam, +No paddle-wheel's revolving sound, +No raftsman's cheer, no bay of hound +Was heard to break the silent spell +That seemed to rest o'er wood and dell, +All was so new, so in its prime-- + An almost perfect solitude, +As if had passed but little time + Since the All Father called it good. +Nature in one thanksgiving psalm, +Gathered each sound that broke the calm. + +There was a little clearing there-- +A snow white cot--a garden fair-- +Where useful plants in order set, +With bergamot and mignonette. +Glories that round the casement run, +And pansies smiling at the sun, +And wild-wood blossoms fair and sweet, +Showed forth how thrift and beauty meet; +There was a space to plant and sow, +Fenced by the pines strong hands laid low. +By that lonely cottage stood, +With eyes fixed on the swollen flood, +A slight young girl with raven hair, +And face that was both sad and fair. + +Oh, fair and lovely are the maids, +Nursed in Canadian forest shades; +The beauties of the older lands +Moulded anew by nature's hands, +Fired by the free Canadian soul, +Join to produce a matchless whole. +The roses of Britannia's Isle, +In rosy blush and rosy smile; +The light of true and tender eyes, +As blue and pure as summer skies; +Light-footed maids, as matchless fair + As grow by Scotia's heath fringed rills-- +Sweet as the hawthorn scented air, + And true as the eternal hills. +We have the arch yet tender grace, +The power to charm of Erin's race; +The peachy cheek, the rosebud mouth, +Imported from the sunny south, +With the dark, melting, lustrous eye, +Silk lashes curtain languidly. + +The charms of many lands had met +In Marie of Plantagenet; +She had the splendid southern eye + She had the northern brow of snow, +The blush caught from a northern sky, + Dark silky locks of southern flow, +Light-footed as the forest roe, + As stately as the mountain pine, +A smile that lighted up her face, +The sunshine of a maiden's grace, + And made her beauty half divine. +So fair of face, so fair of form +Was she the peerless forest born. +Nature is kindly to her own, +To this Canadian cottage lone, +A back-wood settler's lot to bless, +She brought this flower of loveliness, +Seldom such beauty does she bring +To grace the palace of a king. + +A chevalier of sunny France, +Whom fate ordained to wander here, +To trade, to trap, to hunt the deer, +To roam with free foot through the wild, +He chanced, at husking, in the dance +To meet Marie, Le Paige's child,-- +And vowed that, roaming everywhere, +Except the lady fair as day, +Who held his troth-plight far away, +He ne'er saw face or form so fair; +From France's fair and stately queen, +To maiden dancing on the green, +From lowly bower to lordly hall, +This forest maid outshone them all + +When old Le Paige would hear this praise, + Then would he turn and smiling say +To the plump partner of his days, + "We who know our Marie well, + How true the heart so young and gay, +We will not of her beauty tell. +Her love is more to thee and me, +And yet our child is fair to see." + +So many a dashing hunter brave, + And many an axeman of the wood, +And hardy settler was her slave + And thought the bondage very good; +But she, so kind to those she met, +She smiled on all, but walked apart, +Keeping the treasure of her heart, +The fair Queen of Plantagenet, +No thought of love her bosom stirs +Toward her rustic worshippers +Until one came and settled near +Famed as a hunter of the deer + +The firmest hand, the truest eye, +The dauntless heart and courage high +Where his, and famed beyond his years +He stood among his young compeers, +He, ere the snow-wreath left the land, +Slew two fierce wolves with single hand, +Famished they followed on his tracks, +He armed with nothing but his axe +He knew the river far and near, +Beyond the foaming dread Chaudiere, +Far far beyond that spot of fear +He'd been a hardy voyageur +Through the white swells of many assault +Had safely steered his bark canoe, +Knew how to pass each raging chute, +Though boiling like the wild Culbute +The wilds of nature were his home, +His paddle beat the fleecy foam +Of surging rapids' yeasty spray. +And bore him often far away +Beyond the pinefringed Allumette, +He saw the sun in glory set, +His boat song roused the lurking fox +From den beside the Oiseau rock +Upward upon the river's breast, +The highway to the wild Nor-west, +Past the long lake Temiscamingue, +Where wild drakes plume their glossy wing, +Oft had he urged his light canoe, +Hunting the moose and caribou; +He knew each portage on the way +To the far posts of Hudson's Bay, +And even its frozen waters saw, +When roaming _courier du bois_, +In the great Company's employ, +Which he had entered when a boy. +Comely he was, and blithe, and young, +Had a light heart and merry tongue, +And bright dark eye, was brave and bold, +Skilful to earn, and wise to hold, +And so this hunter came our way, +And stole our wood nymph's heart away; +And it became Belle Marie's lot +To love Napoleon Rajotte + +Of all the sad despairing swains, +Foredoomed to disappointment's pains, +None felt the pangs of jealous woe +So keenly as Antome Vaiseau. +A thrifty settler's only son, +Who much of backwoods wealth had won; +A steady lad of nature mild, +Had been her playmate from a child, +And saw a stranger thus come in, +And take what he had died to win. +He saw him loved the best, the first, +Still he his hopeless passion nursed. + +At Easter time the Cure came, +And after Easter time was gone, +The hunter brave, the peerless dame +Were blessed and made for ever one + +Beside the cottage white she stood, +And looked across the swelling flood-- +Across the wave that rolled between +The islets robed in tender green, +Watching with eager eyes, she views +A fleet of large well-manned canoes, +The high curved bow and stern she knew, +That marked each "Company canoe," +And o'er the wave both strong and clear, +Their boat-song floated to her ear +She marked their paddles' steady dip, +And listened with a quivering lip, +Her bridegroom, daring, gay, and young, +With the bold heart and winning tongue, +Was with them, upward bound, away +To the far posts of Hudson's Bay, +Gone ere the honeymoon is past, +The bright brief moon too sweet to last, +Gone for two long and dreary years, +And she must wait and watch at home, +Bear patiently her woman's fears, +And hope and pray until he come, +She stands there still although the last +Canoe of all the fleet is past. +Of paddle's dip, of boat-song gay, +The last faint sound has died away, +She only said in turning home +"I'll wait and pray until he come" + + +PART II + +Spring flung abroad her dewy charms, + And blushing grew to summer shine, +Summer sped on with outstretched arms, + To meet brown autumn crowned with vine, +The forest glowed in gold and green, + The leafy maples flamed in red +With the warm, hazy, happy beam + Of Indian summer overhead, +Bright, fair, and fleet as passing dream. + The autumn also hurried on, +And, shuddering, dropped her leafy screen; +The ice-king from the frozen zone, +In fleecy robe of ermine dressed, +Came stopping rivers with his hand +Binding in chains of ice the land; +Bringing, ere early spring he met, +To Marie of Plantagenet, +A pearly snow-drop for her breast. +An infant Marie to her home +To brighten it until _he_ come. + +Twice had the melting nor-west snow +Come down to flood the Ottawa's wave. +"The seasons as they come and go +Bring back," she said, "the happy day +To welcome him from far away; +Thy father, child, my hunter brave." +That snow-drop baby now could stand, +And run to Marie's outstretched hand; +Had all the charms that are alone +To youthful nursing mothers known. + +'Twas summer in the dusty street, +'Twas summer in the busy town, +Summer in forests waving green, +When, at an inn in old Lachine, +And in the room where strangers meet, +Sat one, bright-eyed and bold and brown. +Soon will he joyful start for home, +For home in fair Plantagenet. +His wallet filled with two years' pay, +Well won at distant Hudson's Bay, +And the silk dress that stands alone, +For her the darling, dark-eyed one. +Parted so long, so soon to meet, +His every thought of her is sweet. +"My bride, my wife, with what regret, +I left her at Plantagenet!" +There came no whisper through the air +To tell him of his baby fair. +But still he sat with absent eye, + And thoughts that were all homeward bound, +And passed the glass untasted by, + While jest, and mirth, and song went round. +There sat and jested, drunk and sung, + The captain of an Erie boat, +With Erin's merry heart and tongue, + A skilful captain when afloat-- +On shore a boon companion gay; + The foremost in a tavern brawl, +To dance or drink the night away, + Or make love in the servants' hall. +The merry devil in his eye +Could well all passing round him spy. +Wanting picked men to man his boat, +Eager to be once more afloat, +His keen eye knew the man he sought; +At once he pitched upon Rajotte. +The bright, brown man, so silent there, +He judged could both endure and dare; +He waited till he caught his eye. +Then raising up his glass on high, +"Stranger, I drink your health," said he, +"You'll sail the 'Emerald Isle,' with me. +"A smarter crew, a better boat, +"Lake Erie's waves will never float, +"I want but one to fill my crew; +"I wish no better man than you; +"High wage, light work, a jolly life +"Is ours--no care, no fret, no strife. +"So come before the good chance pass, +"And drown our bargain in the glass." +"Not so," Rajotte said with a smile, +"Let others sail the 'Emerald Isle,' +For I have been two years away, +A trapper at the Hudson's Bay; +Two years is long enough to roam, +I'm bound to see my wife and home." + +The captain shook his curly head, +"Did you not hear the news?" he said, +"Last summer came from Hudson's Bay, +A courier from York Factory. +He brought the news that you were dead-- +Killed by a wounded grizzly bear +When trapping all alone up there-- +Found you himself the fellow said; +And your wife mourned and wept her fill +Refusing to be comforted. +But grief you know will pass away, +She found new love as women will; +And married here the other day." + +Not doubting aught of what he heard +He sat, but neither spoke nor stirred. +His heart gave one great throb of pain, +And stopped--then bounded on again. +His bronze face took an ashen hue, +As his great woe came blanching through, +And stormy thoughts with stinging pain +Swept with wild anguish through his brain; +But not a word he spoke. +They only saw his lips grow pale, +But no word questioned of the tale. +You might have thought the captain bold, +Had almost wished his tale untold; +But careless he of working harm +When coveting that brave right arm. + At last the silence broke: +"He who brought news that I was dead, +Is it to him my wife is wed? +Was it? I know it must be so. +It must have been Antoine Vaiseau." +"Yes," said the Captain, "'tis the same, +Antoine Vaiseau's the very name." + +So ere the morrow's morn had come, +Rajotte had turned his back from home, + And gone for ever more, +Gone off, alone with his despair, +While his true wife and baby fair, + Watched for him at the door. + +The rough crew of the "Emerald Isle," +Had one grim man without a smile, +So prompt to do, so wild to dare, +Reckless and nursing his despair. +The merry light had left his glance, +His foot refused to join the dance. + His heart refused to pray. +"Oh to forget!" he oft would cry, +Forget this ceaseless agony, + To fly from thought away." +Woe spun her white threads in his hair, +And bitter and unblessed despair +Ploughed furrows in his face; +Grief her dark shade on all things cast; +None dared to question of the past, +His sorrow seemed disgrace. + +When rumour rose of Indian war; +Troops mustering for the west afar, +That wanted them a guide; +Rajotte said "I'm the man to go." +War's din he thought would drown his woe, +'Twas well the world was wide. +The Black Hawk war began--went on: +(Men dare not tell what men have done-- +The white's relentless cruelty +O'ermastering Indian treachery;) +Rajotte, a stern determined man, +Sought death, forever in the van +On many a fierce-fought battle plain; +His life seemed charmed--he sought in vain. + +Spring came and went--the years went past; +War ended, peace came round at last; +But war might go, and peace might come, +Rajotte thought not of turning home. +Till, failing strength, and fading eye, +He turned him homeward just to die. +Perhaps although he felt it not, +In his fierce wrestling with his lot, +There was a drawing influence + From the dear home so far away; +And faithful prayers had risen from thence, + To Him who hears us when we pray, +Who watched the lonely waiting heart +That nursed its love and faith apart; +And, pitying her well borne pain, +Ordained it should not be in vain. + + +PART III. + +Now turn we to Plantagenet: + Through all these weary, waiting years, +How many hopes and fears have met' + How many prayers, how many tears! +When the time came that he should come +Back to his fair young wife and home, +Often and often would she say, +"He'll surely come to us to-day." +Pet Marie's best robe was put on +And the poor mother dressed with care-- +Glad that she was both young and fair-- +"To meet thy father, little one" +Oft standing on the very spot +Where she had parted from Rajotte +She stood a patient watcher long, + And listened eagerly to hear +The voyageurs' returning song + Come floating to her ear +But still he came not, years went by, + Yet she must pray, and hope, and wait, +His form would some day meet her eye, + His step sound at the river gate +Oh! it was hard to hear them say, + "He comes not, and he must be dead +Cease pining all your life away, + 'Twere better far that you should wed +And Antoine keeps his first love still, + And Antoine is so well to do, +You may be happy if you will + His pleading eyes ask leave to woo" +'Twas a relief to steal away, +And tell her ebon rosary, +And to the Virgin Mother pray, +Thinking that she in Heaven above, +Remembered all of earthly love, +And human sympathy, +And having suffered human pain-- +Known what it was to grieve in vain-- +Might bend to listen to her prayer, +And make the absent one her care +In pleading with her Son + +She waited while the years went on, +And would not think that hope was gone, +Ever his steps seemed sounding near, +His voice came floating to her ear, +And longing prayer, and yearning pain +Reached out to draw him back again; +And love beyond all estimate +Strengthened her heart to hope and wait +Pet Marie grew up tall and fair, +Her girlish love, her merry ways +Kept the poor mother from despair +Through many weary nights and days. + +Spring and high water both had met +Once more at fair Plantagenet; +Once more the island trees were seen +Adorned with leaves of tender green, +Aux Lievres's roar was heard afar, +Where waters dashed on rocks to spray, +Roaring and tumbling in their play, +Kept up a boisterous holiday, +With tumult loud of mimic war. +The wild ducks of Lochaber's Bay + Were playing round on wanton wing, +Rippling the current with their breasts, + Feeling the gladness of the spring, +Pairing and building happy nests +All sounds of spring were in the air, +All sights of spring were fresh and fair +Sad Marie of Plantagenet, + With silver threads among her hair, +And by her side her blooming pet, + As she had once been, fresh and fair, +Stood on the bank that glorious day +Thinking of him so long away +Awhile they both in silence stood, +Then Marie said, "The Nor-west flood +Again another year has come. +You see those water-fowl at play +Come with the flood from far away. +What flood will bring your father home? +'Tis seventeen years ago to-day, +Since, parting here, he went away." +Just then young Marie, glancing round +"Mamma, I hear a paddle's sound, +Look there, those maple branches through, +Below us, there's a bark canoe, +'Tis stopping at our landing place + There's but one man with hair so grey, +And a worn weather-beaten face-- + See, he is coming up this way +Mamma, I wonder who is he, +Stay here and I will go and see." + +Rajotte who thought he did not care-- +That he had conquered even despair, +Could bear to _see_ as well as _know_ +That Marie was the Dame Vaiseau, +Came to the parting spot, and there, +In the bright sunlight's happy beams, +Stood the fair image of his dreams +As young as on the parting day, +As bright as when he went away, +As beautiful as when he met +Her first in fair Plantagenet, +His Marie, living, breathing, warm, + Her glorious eyes, her midnight hair +Shading the beauty of her face, +The same lithe, rounded, perfect form, +The look of true and tender grace + +Rajotte stood spell-bound, and the past + Seemed fading like a horrid dream. +"Marie," he said, "I'm home at last, + Speak, Marie, are you what you seem? +After all these long years of pain, +Art thou love given to me again?" +The maiden stood with wondering eyes, +Silent, because of her surprise, +But the wife Marie gave a cry +Of joy that rose to agony +She rushed the long lost one to meet, +And falling, fainted at his feet +He held the true wife's pallid charms +Slowly reviving in his arms, +And then he surely learned to know + A little of the grand, true heart +That through so many years of woe + Waited, and prayed, and watched apart, +Keeping love's light while he was gone, +Like sacred fire still burning on + +While hearts are bargained for and sold, +In fashion's fortune-chasing whirl, +We simply sing the love and faith +Out-living absence strong as death, +Of one low-born Canadian girl. + + + + +A LEGEND OF BUCKINGHAM VILLAGE. + + +PART I + +Away up on the River aux Lievres, + That is foaming and surging always, +And from rock to rock leaping through rapids, + Which are curtained by showers of spray; + +That is eddying, whirling and chasing + All the white swells that break on the shore; +And then dashing and thundering onward, + With the sound of a cataract's roar. + +And up here is the Buckingham village, + Which is built on these waters of strife, +It was here that the minister Babin, + Stood and preached of the Gospel of Life, + +Of the message of love and of mercy, + The glad tidings of freedom and peace, +Of help for the hopeless and helpless, + For all weary ones rest and relief. + +Was his message all noise like the rapids? + Was it empty and light as the foam? +Ah me! what thought the desolate inmate + Of the still upper room of his home? + +One too many, one sad and unwelcome, + That reclined in his invalid's chair, +With her pale, busy fingers still knitting + Yarn mingled with sorrow and care. + +And the brother stood up in the pulpit, + Stood up there in the neat village church, +And he preached of the pool of Bethesda, + Where the poor lame man lay in the porch + +Waiting for the invisible mercy, + That shall healing and blessedness bring, +For those soft waters never were troubled, + Until swept by the life angel's wing. + +But was that cottage home a Bethesda? + Was the porch up the dark narrow stair? +Were the thoughts of the lonely sister + Brighter made by a fond brother's care? + +Ah who knows!--for the chair now is empty, + And the impotent girl is away, +While the night and the darkness covered + Such a deed from the light of the day. + +Did she struggle for her dear existence? + Did the wild night winds bear off her cry? +Ere the pitiless, swift surging waters, + Caught and smothered her agony; + +And again when the black, whirling eddy, + Drew her down to its cold, rocky bed, +Who was it that stood so remorseless + On the strong ice arched over her head? + +Men may join and strike hands to hide it, + And agree to say evil is good; +Mingled with the loud roar of the waters, + Rings the cry of our lost sister's blood. + +Mirth and song, and untimely music, + May sound up to the starry skies; +Nought of earth can stifle the gnawing + Of that dread worm that never dies. + + +PART II + +Away in a distant city, + Is a stranger all unknown; +Far, far from the leaping river, + That is rushing past his home. + +He lay in the stilly silence + Of a quiet, darkened room, +Feeling that the dread death angel + Stands in the gathering gloom. + +One foot on shadowy waters, + One foot on the earthly shore; +He swears to the shrinking mortal, + That his time shall be no more. + +The spray of the silent river, + Is cold beaded on his brow, +For Jordan's billowy swellings + Are bearing him onward now + +He is floating into darkness, + Going with the shifting tide, +And there is the seat of judgment, + Waits him at the further side. + +But his eyes are looking backward, + In pauses of mortal strife, +And he sees the quiet village, + Where he preached the word of life. + +And he sees the pleasant cottage, + To which in the flush of pride, +The popular village pastor, + Brought home a most haughty bride + +But ever there comes another, + With a pale and pleading face, +So helpless, and so unwelcome, + A burden and a disgrace + +And the river roars and rushes, + Leaping past with fearful din, +Its ever foaming caldron + Suggesting a deadly sin. + +Saying, "I am partially sheeted, + In the winter's ice and snow, +What's plunged in my dashing waters, + No mortal shall ever know" + +So ever with nervous fingers, + He harnesses up his sleigh; +So ever with stealthy movements, + He travels the icy way. + +And stops where the yawning chasm, + Shows the yawning wave beneath, +And she knows with sudden horror, + That she has been brought to her death + +Her weak hands cling to his bosom, + His ears are thrilled with her cry; +When the last struggling strength went forth + In that shriek of agony. + +So his most unwilling spirit, + Still travels memory's track, +Despair staring blindly forward, + Remorse ever dragging back. + +Again he walks by the waters, + While innocent mortals sleep, +Asking the pitiless river, + The horrible deed to keep. + +Spring comes and the ice is breaking, + Does it break before its time? +Then he knows on God's fair footstool + No shelter there is for crime. + +For the rushing, tempting waters, + Have got an accusing roar; +The treacherous sweeping eddy + Has brought the crime to his door. + +Then he lives over and over, + That moment of anguished dread, +When the cry arose--awestruck hands + Had found and borne oft his dead. + +Thus he, conscience-lashed and goaded, + Feeling as the murderer feels, +Has reached the last, last spot of earth, + The Avenger at his heels + +Ah me! to plunge in those swellings, + Along with that ghastly face, +Going out on unknown waters + In that clinging dread embrace + +So he floated on to judgment, + What award may meet him there, +Who knows--but his earthly punishment + Was greater than he could bear + + + + +OTTAWA. + + +Hail! to the city sitting as a queen +Enthroned a cataract on either hand, +The voice of many waters in her ears, +And the great river tranquil at her feet, +Smoothing his locks and all his foamy mane +After his wild leap from the rifted rocks, +And while he fawns about her feet, she sits +A young Cybele diademed with towers, +So young yet on her sandals there is blood, +And all the river will not wash it out +Spilt at her feet for being true to her, +So young, and well she doth become her state, +We look, and know her born to be a queen, +Before the mother finger o'er the sea +Touched her, and made her royal with a touch; +For, seated where the thundering waters meet, +Spanned by her fingers, she can lay her hand +On two fair provinces, and call them hers; +Greater than those which swell and pride themselves +In long, loud titles in the older world; +The whirl and hum of industry are here, +And all the fragrance of the enriching pine; +And on the river in the wake of boats +That snort and prance like Neptune's battle steeds, +Pawing the water with impatient steps, +Passes our floating wealth that seeks the sea. + + + + +THE LAKE ALLUMETTE. + +"One is not." + + +Have you seen the beautiful Allumette, + The magnificent pine-fringed lake, +In its splendour the sun about to set, + Ere the fair lady moon awake. + +The waters are tinged with a golden glow, + With rose and ruby and purple bars; +Heaven's mantle flung on the lake below + Till it fades off beneath the stars. + +The distant hills, robed in violet mist + Of the heavenly hues partake, +As they stand, with the sunlight crowned and kissed, + On guard round the beautiful lake. + +Over the waters ride gay little boats, + Diamonds flash from the dipping oars; +Laughter and song's mingled melody floats + To ripple and die around the shores. + +Life is so gay on the Lake Allumette, + Ah me! does its sky ever frown +On a place unmarked, unheeded, and yet + In that place my brother went down. + +Sad hearted we sit by Lake Allumette, + Who saw him go down in the wave; +And question ourselves in anguished regret, + Did we make every effort to save? + +For those who are left, to some one so dear. + We tried feebly warning to set, +We have failed, we look with sorrow and fear + For woe that must come by Lake Allumette. + + + + +HOW PRINCE ARTHUR WAS WELCOMED TO PEMBROKE. + + +Do you know the town Pembroke so loyal and long +And so worthy the praise of a poet in song? +Nestled down by the lake shore, that ripples and shines, +And hemmed in by the hills with their crowning of pines. +Now this town is that town so wondrous and fair, +Long thought to be but a chateau in the air, +Where the sons are all brave and the daughters all fair. + +You may guess what great gladness there rang down the street, +Where the wise and the witty so neighbourly meet, +To compare their opinions to hear something new, +As their friends the Athenians of old used to do, +When the news was to all so gracious and good, +"There is coming to see us a Prince of the blood." +Then all our good people grew loyalty wild +To show love for the Queen as they welcomed her child. +Straightway counsel was ta'en as to what should be done +For to greet as befitted her Majesty's son, +In a way to bring credit and praise to the town. +"We must have an arch at the bridge, and a crown, +And '_Welcome to Arthur_,' arranged all so fine +With balsam and tamarack, spruce and green pine; +But the crown shall be flowers, the fairest that blow, +Or are made by deft fingers, from paper you know, +And many a fair one who skilfully weaves +Wreaths and garlands, shall bring them of ripe maple leaves; +And then, as 'Jason Gould' that so snug little boat, +The most cosy, most homelike was ever afloat, +Will not quicken herself for a Prince or for two, +But will at her own pace the Mud Lake paddle through. +It will be about midnight, or later than that, +And as dark as the crown of your grandfather's hat, +When that ponderous boat waddles up to the pier, +A tired Prince will his Highness be when he gets here. +We'll illumine the town, from mansion to cell, +County buildings and cottages, home and hotel, +And the arch with its motto, that triumph of skill, +Shall be seen in its glory by light from the mill, +Which floor upon floor many windowed shall blaze +And light up each bud in the crown with its rays. +We shall have out that carriage, so costly and grand, +Fit to carry the one Royal Prince in this land; +And a crowd bearing torches shall light up the way, +Till along Supple's lane be as brillant as day +And to guard and escort him our brave volunteers +With their swords and their bayonets, which ought to be spears, +Shall wait at the landing for him, and the band +With the noise and the music they have at command, +Shall be heard in the distance before they are seen, +Rolling out the first greeting in "God save the Queen." +Well, the Prince over portages rattled and whirled, +Suspected he drew near the end of the world, +But right royally welcomed, surprised he lit down +In this dazzling, ambitious and long little town. +And the night air was rent with full many a cheer +For joy that the son of our Sovereign was here +And he heard every sound, and he saw every sight, +That the people had planned for to give him delight; +And he felt he was cared for with loyalty's care, +In this wonderful town, so far off, and so fair, +In the whole wide Dominion there is not a town +So loyal so lovely as this of our own +Broad Ottawa washes no happier place, +As it lies in sweet Allumette's tender embrace +Oh, to see it when autumn and sunset unite +To drape earth and sky with one robe of delight, +When the banners of heaven in the west are unrolled, +And the blue lake is barred off with purple and gold, +And the Isle, like the patriarch's favourite son, +Its coat many coloured and royal has on +Thus fair as a vision, and sweet as a dream, +It burst on the gaze of the son of our Queen, +In the glory of fair Indian summer all drest, +And this was the welcome they felt and expressed + + +THE WELCOME + +We welcome thee Prince to the land of the pine, +For thy mother's sake welcome, as well as for thine, +This town highest up in the Ottawa vale, +With the voice of pine forests gives cheer, and all hail +Our welcome as rude as the mountains may be, +But that cheer is the willing voiced shout of the free +And though rude be our welcome, you'll find us, I ween, +Most lovingly loyal to country and Queen. +Come and see our sweet lake, when its waters' at rest +Chafe not round the islands that sleep on its breast +And our woods many tinted in glory arrayed, +Dyed in rainbows and sunsets illumine the shade. +Come and see our dark rocks frowning sterile and high, +Their brown shoulders bare and upheaved to the sky; +Come and see our grand forests, all echoing round +With the strokes that are bringing their pride to the ground; +Where thousands of workers bold, hardy and free, +Carve out wealth for themselves and an empire for thee +Our river now placid, now surging to foam, +Shall echo kind thoughts that will follow thee home. +All good wishes that tender and prayer like arise, +And blessings that fall as the dew from the skies, +Shall be breathed out for thee our young Prince of the blood, +Son of much loved Victoria and Albert the Good. +May thy heart be all fearless, thy life without stain, +As the saint and the hero are joined in thy name. +Forget not the people whose love thou hast seen +God bless thee Prince Arthur thou, son of our Queen + + + + +A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR AN ONLY ONE + +(CLARISSA HARLOW) + + +Seek not to calm my grief, + To stay the falling tear; +Have pity on me, ye my friends, + The hand of God is here. + +She was my only one, + Oh, then my love how great! +Now she is gone, my heart and home + Are empty desolate + +I thought not, in my love + That we were doomed to part, +Now I am childless, and my fate + Falls heavy on my heart + +O Thou who gave the gift, + Who took the gift away, +Who only can heal up the wound, + Give answer while I pray! + +Do Thou send comfort down, + All goodness as Thou art, +Even in Thy last passion, Thou + Didst soothe a mother's heart. + +I would not take her back, + From Thee, from Heaven and bliss, +Though yearning for her twining arms, + And happy loving kiss + +I miss her bounding step, + Her voice of bird like glee, +Yet thank Thee I had such a child + To give her back to Thee + +Father, my child! my child, + Is laid beneath the sod! +and, oh! with quivering lips I try + To kiss the chastening rod + +Father, Thy will be done + Oh make my will the same! +And teach me in this trying hour, + To glorify Thy name. + + + +SERVANTS. + + +They are but servants, say the words of scorning, + As though they meant to say, we're finer clay, +Yet, all the universe holds solemn warning, + Against this pride in creatures of a day + +In fashion's last new folly, flaunting slowly, + With white plumes tossing on the Sabbath air +They pass with scornful words a sister lowly. + Do scornful lips know anything of prayer? + +Alas! poor human nature's inconsistence, + Up to God's house we go, that we be fed; +And there, as beggars begging for assistance, + Say "Give us, Lord, this day our daily bread." + +Without a price, the priceless blessings buying + Which are laid up for us, with Christ in God; +To Him we come as little children crying, + That He may guide us by His staff and rod, + +We leave His presence on the Sabbath morning, + Feeling forgiven, feeling satisfied; +Then pass our lowlier sisters full of scorning + Ruffling ourselves as those that dwell in pride. + +Yet He to whom we come with wishes fervent, + When He came down as bearing our relief, +It was His will to come in form a servant, + Being despised, being acquaint with grief + +Earth's mighty conquerors, it is said, have founded + Orders of merit, after fields were won. +And victors' brows the laurel wreath surrounded, + To tell of daring deeds most bravely done. + +Trifles as fading as the classic laurel, + Became the guerdon of each mighty deed, +Titles and stars rewarded mortal peril, + And men for such as these would gladly bleed + +But He, our holy, sinless, suffering Saviour, + When He sat down upon a conqueror's throne, +Ordained the soldiers of the cross that ever + They wear the name in which He victory won + +Servants to do all things He hath commanded, + To bear the service which our Lord has borne, +To suffer for His name, with false words branded, + To pay with loving service bitter scorn + +What was beforetime low, is now the highest, + And that is glory that the world calls shame, +Those who can say "I serve" to Him are nighest + Because the Son hath worn a servant's name + +Lift up your heads heed not the words of scorning, + From those whose earnest life is not begun, +Blessed are they who on the judgment morning + Hear from the Master, "Servant, 'tis well done" + + + + +ALAS, MY BROTHER! + +(P McD) + + +We waited for him, and the anxious days + Melted to years and floated slowly by +We spoke of him kind words of lofty praise, + Of yearning love and tender sympathy. + +We laid by what was his with reverent care-- + Started in dreams to greet him coming home-- +But hope deferred left no relief but prayer, + And heart-sore longings breathed in one word--Come. + +We never dreamed of murderous ambush laid + By savage redskins greedy for the prey-- +Of him, our darling, in the forest laid + Alone, alone, ebbing his life away. + +He who would not have harmed the meanest thing, + Who carried gentleness to such excess +That, to the stranger and the suffering, + His purse meant help, his touch was a caress. + +Ah me! that cruel far off land of gold, + That lured him off beyond the ocean foam, +To roam a stranger among strangers cold-- + His blank life only cheered by news from home. + +The home that he was never more to see, + While yet his heart was planning his return, +Short, sharp and swift the message came, and he + Passed to his long home o'er the mystic bourne. + +And while we watched for him the grass was green + Upon his grave, swept by the summer air; +There grow strange flowers--passes the hunter keen, + The stately caribou and grizly bear. + +But never more his mother's eyes he'll bless, + Or with a fond embrace his sisters meet; +No brother's hand will he in welcome press, + Nor his hound's bay tell of his coming feet. + +To us remains the mourner's _never more_, + And aching hearts and eyes with sorrow dim; +Thou who at Bethany their sorrow bore, + Draw nigh us also while we weep for him. + + + + +I WILL NOT BE COMFORTED BECAUSE ONE IS NOT + + +There is a gladness over all the earth, +For summer is abroad in breezy mirth, +Nature rejoices and the heavens are glad, +And I alone am desolate and sad, +For I sit mourning by an empty cot, +Refusing comfort because one is not. + +And I will mourn because I am bereaved, +Others have suffered others too have grieved +Over hopes broken even as mine are broke, +By a swift unexpected bitter stroke, +And I must weep as weeping Jacob prest, +To grieving lips his last ones princely vest + +You tell me cease weeping, to resign +Unto the Father's a will this will of mine, +You say my lamb is on the Shepherd s breast, +My flower blooms in gardens of the blest, +I know it all I say, Thy will be done +Yet I must mourn for him--my son! my son! + + + + +TO A FATHERS MEMORY + +(J. M. D.) + + +I thank Thee Father that I feel Thee near, + That it is hand of Thine that s raised to smite, +Oh, make Thy loving kindness to appear, + Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right! + +Poor woe-worn watchers! he is going home; + No skill can save him, and no love can keep; +He served his generation--he is gone, + And gathered to his fathers, falls asleep. + +We've bitter cups to drain--but his is dry; + Burdens of care--but care has left his breast; +Tears--but they never more shall dim his eye; + Labour,--but he has entered into rest. + +Oh, to be with him, toil and care all past, + Sleeping, dear mother earth, within thy breast, +I, too, could lay my hand in thine, O death, + And gladly enter where the weary rest. + + + + +ORSON'S FAREWELL. + +(ORSON GROUT), + +_One of the victims of the Southern Prisons._ + + +Sit by me comrade, thou and I have stood + Shoulder to shoulder on the battle-field, +And bore us there like men of British blood, + But comrade this is death, and I must yield. + +You have been leal, my friend, and true and tried + In battle, in captivity of me; +Since we went up to worship side by side + O'er the green hills I never more shall see. + +From this dread prison pen, thou shalt go forth; + But I, I know it, never more shall rise, +Nor see my home in the cool pleasant North, + Nor see again my wife's dark mournful eyes. + +Nor see my children, every shining head + And merry eye, for what know they of grief; +'Twill still their play to know that I am dead; + But childhood's woe, thank God, is always brief. + +Try to cheer Annie in her widowed woe; + Let her hear words of comfort at thy mouth; +But, friend, I charge thee, do not let her know + Aught of the tender mercies of the South. + +Tell her that I have never been alone, + One like the Son of Man was by my side; +The Everlasting arms were round me thrown + Of my dear Lord who for our freedom died. + +I don't regret, that though of British birth, + I have been true to the cause unto death; +'Tis not alone the Union, or the North, + It is the people's cause o'er all the earth. + +And it shall prosper, and this slaughter pen + Shall be a monument of Southern chivalry +Before the world;--thus proving to all men + Slave power begets and sanctions cruelty. + +From here went up for years the bondman's cry; + In the same glaring sun and rotting dew, +The white war-prisoners' cry of agony + To the great God of Battles rises too. + +And He, who was by suffering perfected, + Watches the nation's life, the captive's pain; +And from the strife, beside her martyred dead, + With shield blood-cleansed from slavery's broad stain, + +Columbia shall arise renewed, and wear + Her coronet of stars, and round her fold +Her robe of stripes, by righteousness made fair, + Which still exalts the nations as of old. + +But I shall rest upon the other side, + Rest in that place of which no tongue can tell, +And thitherward my wife and babes He'll guide; + Friend, life's for thee, and death for me, Farewell' + + + + +DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN. + + +In the Capitol is mourning, + Mourning and woe this day, +For a nation's heart is throbbing-- + A great man has passed away + +It was yester'even only + Rejoicing wild and high, +Waving flags and shouting people + Proclaimed a victory + +For our God had led our armies, + In the cause of truth and right, +It was, therefore, the brave Southren + Had bowed to Northern might. + +Then flashed o'er the land the tidings, + The flush of joy to quell, +Fallen is the people's hero, + As William the Silent fell. + +The stealthy step of the panther, + The tiger's cruel eye; +A flash--and the wail of a nation + Rang in that terrified cry. + +Shame falls on the daring Southren, + Woe on the Southren land, +The stars and bars are quartered + With the murderer's bloody hand + +Well--he stood to his duty firmly, + Rebellion's waves rolled high, +He dared to be true and simple + To battle a gilded lie + +And the life has died out of treason, + Died with oppression and wrong, +The shame is wiped from the nation + Worn as a jewel so long + +But he, in the hour of triumph + Who wise and firmly stood +Planning for them large mercies, + Lies weltering in his blood. + +For a cause so vile meet ending, + To set with a murder stain, +The "sum of human villainy" + Should die with the brand of Cain + +Lay him down with a nation's weeping, + Lay him down with the heart's deep prayer +That the mantle of the martyr + Fall on the vacant chair + + + + +ADDRESSES. + +TO HON. MALCOM CAMERON. + + +By many a bard the Cameron clan is sung, + Their march, their charge, their war cry, their array; +Their laurels that from bloody fields have sprung, + Where they have kept the sternest foes at bay. + +The flowing tartan and the eagle plume, + The gathering, and the glories of the clan, +Let others sing, we will not so presume, + We bring our humble tribute to the man. + +The man with heart benevolent and kind, + The man with earnest and persuasive tongue; +Would there were many like him heart and mind + To combat with this fashionable wrong; + +Who longs to remedy these human ills, + Feeling God made of one blood all the earth; +Whose sympathies have passed his native hills, + And spread beyond the clan that gave him birth. + +Is it not sad when in high places so + No sense of honour or of shame remains; +Men who make laws while reeling to and fro, + Statesmen with swaying step and muddled brains! + +For scenes disgrace our new-built palace walls, + And Canada on some reformer waits; +Shall vice within the Legislative Halls + Be rampant as the lions on the gates? + +Oh for a man of action and of prayer, + Who feels this sin a national disgrace; +A man who has the strength to do and dare + The pluck and courage of the Celtic race. + +If thou art he, thou'rt welcome to the van, + To battle for the right in time of need; +To win fresh laurels for the Cameron clan, + And thousands bid thee heartily God speed. + + + + +ERIN'S ADDRESS + +TO THE HON. THOMAS D'ARCY McGEE. + + +O thou son of the dark locks and eloquent tongue, +With the brain of a statesman sagacious, and strong, +And the heart of a poet, half love, and half fire, +Thou hast many to love thee and more to admire; +But I bore thee, and nursed thee, and joyed at the fame +Which the sons of the stranger have spread round thy +I am Erin, green Erin, the "Gem of the sea." [name. +Listen, then, to thy mother's voice, D'Arcy McGee. + +Since the crown from my head, and the sceptre are gone +To the hand of the stranger, who held what he won, +I have borne much of sorrow, of wrong and of shame, +I've been spoken against with scorning and blame; +But still have my daughters been spotless and fair, +And my sons have been dauntless to do and to dare; +For as great as thou art and most precious to me, +Still thou art not my only one, D'Arcy McGee. + +At the bar, in the senate, in cassock or gown, +Our foes being judges, they've got them renown; +On the red field of battle, of glory, of death, +They've been true to their colours and true to their faith; +And where bright swords were clashing and carnage ran high, +They have taught the stern Saxon they know how to die. +Well, no wit, poet, statesman or hero can be +More dear to my heart than thou, D'Arcy McGee. + +Wild heads may plan glories for Erin their mother, +Weak plans and wicked plans chasing each other; +To me worse than the loss of a sceptre and crown +Is a spot that might tarnish my children's renown, +'Tis the laurels they win are the jewels I prize, +They're the core of my heart and the light of my eyes; +For my children are gems and crown jewels to me, +And art thou not one of them, D'Arcy McGee! + +I had one son, and, oh, need I mention his name! +He who well knew where lay both our weakness and shame; +His true, tender heart sought to measure and know +This thing, most accursed, formed of babbling and woe; +And his life did he dedicate freely, to slay +The monster that made my bright children his prey; +In the place where the wine cup flows deadly and free, +The bane of the gifted, oh D'Arcy McGee. + +For so well hath the father of lies tried to fling +A false glory around it, so hiding the sting, +Saying wit gets its flash, and high genius its fire, +From the fiend that drags genius and wit through the mire +Ah 'it biteth, it stingeth, it eateth away, +And our best and our brightest it takes for its prey, +'Tis the bowl of the helot, no cup for the free, +As thou very well knowest, my D'Arcy McGee. + +Hast thou risen my loved one and cast from thy name +All the shadows that darken thy life with their shame; +Thou hast raised thyself up, against wind, against tide, +Thou art high, thou art honoured, my joy and my pride; +Now the song of the drunkard is chased from thy place, +And my pride is relieved from this touch of disgrace. +Thou wilt help to make Erin "great, glorious and free," +And I bless thee my silver-tongued D'Arcy McGee. + + + + +NORA TO DAVID HERBISON. + + +There's a place in the North where the bonnie broom grows, +Where winding through green meadows the silver Maine flows, +Every lark as it soars and sings that sweet spot knows; + For the mate for whom it sings, + Till the clear blue heaven rings, +Is brooding on its nest mid the daisies in the grass; + And that psalmist sweet, the thrush, + And the linnet in the bush, +Tell the children all their secrets in song as they pass. + +Oh brightly shines the sun there where wee birdies sing, +A glamour's o'er the buds in the green lap of spring, +In happy, happy laughter children's voices ring! + Like some fair enchanted ground, + In memory it is found, +Where my childhood's golden hours of happiness were spent; + There within a leafy nook, + I have pored upon a book +Till romance and fairy lore with every thought were blent. + +I mind how fair the world was one bright summer day, +Sitting in a shady place better seemed than play; +Childhood's golden memories never fade away; + My child friend most sweet and fair, + My bright Lily she was there; +We read and mused in silence and spoke our thoughts by turns; + Lily, with her lofty look, + Turned oftenest to her book, +The book that lay between us was the peasant poet Burns. + +The heaven-gifted man with winsome witching art, +Who touches at his will the kindly human heart, +'Till it throbs with joy like pain and tears begin to start; + He so tenderly touched ours + With his melting magic powers, +Made feelings which he felt within our bosoms spring, + Where he wished for Scotia's sake, + Some plan or book to make, +Or to write the bonnie songs his country loves to sing. + +Fancies wild were ours on that day so long ago, +Stirred by Burns's genius, for we had learned to know +The beauty of sweet Erin and something of her woe; + And in song we longed to tell + Of the land we loved so well, +Singing words of hope and cheer, wailing each sad mishap, + Like the daisies on the sod, + With their faces turned to God, +Clung we to the island green that nursed us on her lap. + +I said to Lily, fair, my hand among her curls, +If we were Red Branch Knights, or high and noble Earls, +Or poets grand like Burns, instead of simple girls, + We might do some noble deed, + Or touch some tuneful reed, +Something for the land we love to bring her high renown, + The land where we were born; + Is spoken of with scorn, +Her children's songs should praise her, her children's deeds should + crown. + +My fair and stately Lily how thy hand sought mine +Clasped it warm and tender with sympathy in thine, +As I wished that we could make our 'streams and burmes shine' + There's many a ruin old, + There's many a castle bold, +There's Sleive mis with his head in mist, here's the silver Maine, + But who of them will sing + Till the whole world shall ring, +With the melody, and ask to hear it once again? + +If one of her own children standing boldly forth, +With eyes to see her beauty, a heart to know her worth, +Would fling the charm of song o'er the green robe of the North + Lily said, sweet friend there's one, + And his name is Herbison, +Who sings of Northern Erin in sunlight and in storm, + Of the legend and the tale, + Of the banshees awful wail, +Of Dunluce upon the sea, of the castle of Galgorm + +Of the gallant deeds of the all but vanished race, +The high O'Neils who kept with princely state their place +Of their white armed daughters in beauty's woeful race + In that joyful youthful time + All my pulses beat to rhyme, +I thought what you were doing that I would also do, + I would praise the bonnie North, + And draw its legends forth +From cottage and from castle the pleasant country through + +I'd make the land I loved in poesy to shine, +The Maine should flow along in "many a tuneful line," +Songs praising hills and streams full sweetly should be mine, + And the legends I would sing, + From lip to lip should ring, +My native land should ask for, and hear my humble name; + When like her tuneful son, + Green laurels I had won, +I'd think her love for me was better far than fame. + +Blessed be the green recess by the sweet Maine water where +I a little child with my child friend sweet and fair +Built with golden fancies this castle in the air! + My child friend is at rest, + Erin's shamrock's on her breast, +I her little minstrel am all unknown to fame, + For the songs are all unsung, + And not a northern tongue +Has spoken once in praise my very unknown name + +But I know heroic souls beyond my feeble praise, +I know of calm endurance like the great of other days, +High deeds for battle song, worth a poet's noblest lays, + Of the pathos of the strife + In the lowly walks of life, +Of many an unknown hero that has won the victor's crown + And the lovely, lovely land, + Landscape fair, and castle grand, +Worthy the coming bard who will sing of their renown. + +I love thee well, sweet Erin, though fate led another way; +I'll call thee still, _mavourneen_, when head and heart are grey; +Another one will say and sing what I have failed to say; + But this very day to me, + There has come across the sea +Some pleasant verses bearing a well remembered name; + That has done for Erin's land + What I only thought and planned, +And won a place in Erin's heart that I can never claim. + +So unknown beside a pine-fringed lake away beyond the sea, +Half in gladness of remembrance, half in wakened childish glee +I stretch my hand in homage and kindredship to thee, + I greet thee this bright day + From three thousand miles away, +And to thy well earned laurels I'd add a sprig of bay + Glad to know thou'rt rhyming yet, + For thy readers can't forget + Erin's genial loving son, +Poet of the steadfast North kindly David Herbison + + + + +DEATH OF D'ARCY McGEE + + +He stood up in the house to speak, + With calm unruffled brow, +And never were his burning words + More eloquent than now + +Fresh from the greatest victory + That mortal man can win +The triumph against fearful odds. + Over besetting sin + +'Twas this gave to his eloquence + That thrilling trumpet tone +Moving all hearts with those bright thoughts + Vibrating through his own + +Thoughts strong, and wise, and statesmanlike, + Warm with the love of Right +That gave his wit its keenest edge, + His words their greatest might + +He little thought his last speech closed, + That his career was o'er, +That those who hung upon his words + Should hear his voice no more. + +He walked home tranquilly and slow, + Secure, and unaware, +That there was murder in the hush + Of the still midnight air. + +"Tis morning," said he, knowing not + That he had done with time; +That a bloody hand would our country stain + With another useless crime. + +He stood before a portal closed + To him for evermore, +Behind him with uncreaking hinge + Oped the eternal door. + +And ere the east grew red again, + His life blood's purple flow +Had made that pavement holy ground, + And filled the land with woe. + +My country! Oh my country! + What is to thee the gain? +Wilt nourish trees of liberty + In blood so foully slain? + + + + +LINES TO A SHAMROCK + +A SONG OF EXILE + + +A withered shamrock, yet to me 'tis fair + As the sweet rose to other eyes might be, +Because its leaves spread in my native air, + And the same land gave birth to it and me. + +They were as plentiful as drops of dew + In our green meadows sprinkled everywhere, +Heedless I wandered o'er them life was new, + Now as a friend I greet thee shamrock fair + +Because I dwelt with my own people then, + Erin's bright eyes, and kindly hearts and true, +That from my cradle loved me, and again + We'll never meet--spoken our last adieu + +I am a stranger here, I have not seen + One friendly face of all that I have known, +And my heart mourns for thee my island green, + Because I am a stranger and alone + +So thou art welcome as a friend to me, + Tell me where lay the sod that brought thee forth, +Idly I wonder as I look at thee + If thou hast come, as I did, from the North? + +From the green glens that he beside the sea + From cloud capt Sleive mis of the shamrock vest? +From near old castles, where the dread banshee + Waits for the native lords when laid to rest? + +Or did the tartaned stranger call thee where + Mount Cashel's Lord rules o'er a fair domain? +Or grass grown ruin all that's left to bear + Of a lost race the all but fading name? + +The lovely Maine lingers in flowing through + The peaceful place that was my childhood's home, +Myriads of shamrocks on its margin grew, + Was it from these thy sisters thou hast come? + +Such fair broad meadows by Maine water lay, + Erin her mantle green for carpet spread, +In merry childhood there we met to play, + Dashing the dew from many a shamrock's head. + +Where sleep the village dead there is a spot + That's dearer far than all the rest to me; +It's interwoven with full many a thought, + And with my young heart's childish history. + +She was most fair that sleeps that sod beneath; + The fair form shrined a soul akin to mine, +And the sharp pain of heart ties cut by death, + Has softened been but left unhealed by time + +And Erin spread her skirt across her grave, + And there were shamrocks nestling on the breast, +And blue bells and all flowers that softly wave, + Making more beautiful her place of rest. + +If 'twas from there the stranger gathered thee + I would forgive the sacrilege, and thou +A precious relic to my breast would be, + Nor prized the less because thou'rt withered now. + +Ah me! I know thou canst not answer me, + Yet sight of thee must all these thoughts awake; +Enough, from mine own land thou comest, thou'lt be + Welcome to Erin's child alone for Erin's sake. + + + + +LAMENTATION + +(WALTER AND FREDDIE.) + + +From morn to eve, from evening unto morning, + I mourn and cannot rest; +So mourns the mother bird when home returning + She finds an empty nest. + +I mourn the little children of my dwelling, + That are forever gone, +Sorrows that mothers feel my heart is swelling, + And so I make my moan. + +One little blossom on my bosom faded, + And passed from me away, +But near my door the drooping willows shaded + My little boys at play + +My boys that came with flying feet to meet me, + And questions wondrous wise, +And bits of news which they had brought to greet me, + And see my glad surprise + +Bitter for sweet no human hand can alter + Nor bid one sorrow pass, +With sudden stroke our darling little Walter + Was laid beneath the grass + +Ah then it was to me an added sorrow, + To hear his brother moan, +Where's little Walter, will he come to morrow + I cannot play alone? + +The summons for the child had come already + Which said I must resign +The best beloved, the precious little Freddie, + To other arms than mine + +How still and lone are the familiar places + Where little pattering feet +Made music for me, and I saw bright faces + Dimple with laughter sweet + +My arms are empty that woold fain be folding + My lost ones to my breast, +But well I know, the Father's face beholding, + They are forever blest. + +From Christ's dear words my bleeding heart would gather + At length submissive grace,-- +He says that in the kingdom of His Father, + They still behold His face. + +In the bright garden of the Lord they're staying, + Amid the angels fair; +And heavenly whispers to my heart are saying-- + Look up, your treasure's there. + + + + +THE SONG OF THE BEREAVED. + +(I have borrowed thy pattern, dear Hood, to cut out our mourning +garments.) + + +With garments for sorrow torn, + With eyelids heavy and red, +A woman sat by a new-made grave, + Bewailing her slaughtered dead-- +Weep! weep! weep! + Tears of remorseful pain; +The sorrow that sorrows without a hope, + Is poured forth above the slain. + +Drink! drink! drink! + It slayeth on every side, +Till the blue-eyed baby is fatherless, + And a desolate widow the bride. +O for a gleam of light + On the home, on the friendly hand, +That pours in kindness the burning draught + That maketh a desolate land. + +Drink! drink! drink! + The horse-leech ever craves, +There are empty chairs in the desolate home, + And the earth swells with new-made graves. +Cellar, saloon, and bar, + Bar, cellar, saloon, +And a wasted life, and a hopeless death, + Is the tempted victim's doom + +O men with the friendly treat! + O women with New Year's wine! +It is not liquor you're pouring out, + But your child's blood and mine, +Drink! drink! drink! + In joyous youthful prime, +Drink that marks out the downward road + To want and disease and crime + +Drink in the lordly hall, + Pour out the blood-red wine,-- +And grey hairs sorrow over the grave, + That is dug before its time +Drink for the darling son, + Till the softened brain goes mad, +And darkness falls on the father's life + Which is bound in the life of the lad. + +Every unwilling slave + Standeth on the bedroom's brink, +But what will free the body and soul + That is enslaved by drink? +Bar, cellar, saloon, + Cellar, saloon and bar +Alas, that the demon of drink slays more + By far than the demon of war + +Drink! drink! drink! + Till manhood and pride are gone, +Drink over the grave of self-respect, + And then in despair drink on. +Drink! drink! drink! + Drink at the fearful cost +Of knowing that though still cursed with life, + Yet hope is forever lost. + +Our brightest go down to death, + We cannot our dearest save; +And we dare not think of the judgment seat + That lieth beyond the grave. +Drink! drink! drink! + So many are licensed to sell, +Drink; you will surely find the house, + Whose guests find the way to hell. + +Oh for the plighted band + Of those who are bound to save +Their fellow men from the fearful doom + That extends beyond the grave! +Alas! they are trying hard + To do, what they cannot do, +To wage a war to the uttermost, + And only hurt a few. + +Bar, cellar, saloon, + Cellar, saloon and bar +Are swiftly, surely, doing their work + As those who in earnest are; +And the moderate drinker stands, + Kind, at the head of the way, +And opens the gate, with friendly hands, + Of the road that leads astray. + +Of the road that leads astray, + And never will stop to think +That the shroud is sewed, and the grave is dug, + For the lost by moderate drink; +And the banded are loath to strike, + They have friends on the other side, +And therefore "Hell hath enlarged herself" + And opened her mouth so wide + +The strong and the brave are lost, + Do we keep the tender and fair? +Does the demon who strikes down fathers and sons, + All the daughters and sisters spare? +Bar cellar saloon + Cellar, saloon and bar,-- +Oh! who will preach a new crusade, + Or join in this holy war? + +With garments for sorrow torn,-- + With eyelids heavy and red, +A woman sat by a new made grave, + Bewailing over the dead +Weep! weep! weep! + How many will weep in vain? +How many will rise in a holy cause, + That the slayer may be slain? + + + + +COMFORT YE, COMFORT YE MY PEOPLE + +(Noel.) + + +By the sad fellowship of human suffering, + By the bereavements that are thine and mine, +I venture--oh, forgive me!--with this offering, + I would it were to thee God's oil and wine + +I too have suffered--is it then surprising + If to thy sacred grief I enter in? +My spirit draws near thine all sympathising, + Sorrow, like love, "makes aliens near of kin." + +Thou'rt weeping for thy gathered blossoms, mother, + The Lord had need of him, and called him soon, +In morning freshness ere the dews of heaven + Were chased before the burning rays of noon. + +Thy darling child, like to God's summer blossom, + Was very fair and pleasant to the sight, +The sunny head that rested on thy bosom, + The loving eyes that were thy heart's delight, + +Made passers by look on him with a blessing, + Saying, "His mother is not all alone; +Her widowed sorrow, in that sweet caressing, + Will find some comfort for the lost and gone." + +I miss him from the doorway, blythely playing, + Where he has turned on me his winsome face; +O lovely child! I said, "by lone hearth staying, + Thou'lt make the widow's home a pleasant place." + +The little one, thy comfort in affliction, + With the sweet face earnest and innocent; +That was to thee like Heaven's benediction, + Such children for a little while are lent. + +Pilgrims and strangers are we in our praying, + But birds of passage to a brighter shore; +Yet build our nests as if for ever staying, + We and our treasures, here for evermore + +But when our nestlings by the Master taken + Up in God's Paradise to safely sing; +And by the empty nest we wail forsaken, + In the great loneliness of suffering. + +We lift our tearful eyes in sorrow's blindness, + And cry to him for very helplessness, +Then He reveals to us His loving kindness, + Even in bereavements 'tis His will to bless + +He says "Look up," that we may cease our crying, + Seeing our treasures in glad safety there, +And there our hearts will be--for upward flying + In longing love, they cast off earthly care + +Thy home is silent all the rippling laughter, + The sound of racing feet at play, is fled, +But he, thy darling led up by the Master, + Is with the living--not among the dead + +Thy little ones within the jasper portals, + There by the crystal sea he learns to sing +The new song only known to the immortals, + Promoted to the presence of the King + +The child is safe within the Father's mansion + Safe on the hills of God in light to range, +And heart ties stretched unto their utmost tension, + Will, by God's touch, to golden harp strings change + +On which the Master will soft music render, + Soothing with heaven's airs thy pathway dim, +On which love's messages all sweet and tender + Shall run between thee and thy angel kin + +And they will draw thee upward growing stronger, + When flesh and heart will one day faint and fail, +And thou wilt care for earthly things no longer, + For all thy treasures are within the veil + + + + +MAJORITY. + + +So friend of mine 'tis thy birthday morn, + And friends with fair gifts around thee come, +Outside the circle I stand forlorn, + My hands are empty my lips are dumb. + +O Thou who seest in secret still, + Who reads the heart when no word is said, +The wishes that rise in prayer fulfil + In royal blessings to crown his head. + +Entering the portals of manhood now, + The boy we loved from our knowledge slips, +With fresh consecration seal his brow, + With thy altar fire retouch his lips. + +He girds himself for the strife anew, + And love foresees what the dangers are; +But thou, O Captain, art tried and true, + 'Tis at thy charge he goes forth to war! + +My empty hands to thy throne I lift, + While parting sorrow my spirit swells, +Lord, thou wilt give him a birthday gift + Out of the place where Thy fulness dwells. + +He's called and chosen to dare and do, + To uphold Thy banner on battle field; +Be Thou to him strength and wisdom too, + In the day of strife, his sword and shield. + +More than I ask Thou wilt give, O King! + What is my friendship or care to Thine! +To the banquet house Thy hand will bring + And refresh his lips with the kingdom's wine. + + + + +MY OWN GREEN LAND + + +It was in the early morning + Of life, and of hope to me, +I sat on a grassy hillside + Of the Isle beyond the sea, +Erin's skies of changeful beauty + Were bending over me. + +The landscape, emerald tinted, + Lying smiling in the sun, +The grass with daisies sprinkled, + And with shamrocks over run, +The Maine water flashed and dimpled, + Still flowing softly on. + +The lark in the blue above me, + A tiny speck in the sky, +Rained down from its bosom's fulness + A shower of melody, +Dropping through the golden sunlight, + And sweetly rippling by + +Afar in the sunny distance, + O'er the river's further brim, +Like a stern old Norman warder, + Stood the castle tall and grim, +And, nearer a grassy ruin, + Where an old name grew dim + +I knew that the balmy gladness + Was brooding from sea to sea, +But I felt a note of sadness + That sobered my youthful glee, +The love of my mother Erin + Stirred all my heart in me + +Oh Erin! my mother Erin, + Thou land of the tearful smile, +Hearts that feel, and hands of helping + Are thy children's blessed Isle' +The stranger is so no longer + That rests on thy breasts awhile + +Be he Saxon, Dane or Norman, + That steps on thy kindly shore, +Who sets his foot on thy daisies + Is kinder for evermore, +For thy _cead mille failtha_ + Thrills warm to his bosom's care. + +But Erin, never contented + Struggles again and again, +As all proud and free born captives + Must strive with the conqueror's chain. +That, if ever snapped asunder, + Is riveted firm again + +The words of an Hebrew exile, + Like to some sweet song's refrain, +That sweetly goeth and cometh + And echoes through heart and brain, +"Be sure that the day is coming + "When Erin shall rise again + +"She only of all the nations, + "Since in dust our temple lies, +"Has not our blood on our garments + "Has brought no tears to our eyes, +"He says, they prosper who love us + "Thy Erin at last shall rise." + +I waited, watched for the blessing + Promised, oh so long ago, +I looked for the brilliant future + The end of the long drawn woe, +My hopes, with my years, Time the reaper, + Hath laughingly laid them low. + +Oh Erin! my mother Erin! + Will "to be" repeat what has been? +Will your sons ever "shoulder to shoulder" + Be strong and united seen? +Will ever the foreign lilies + Blend with the nation's green? + +For in other lands the peoples, + Quite forgetting ancient wrong, +Have blended and fused, becoming + Because of their union strong, +Leaving all old feuds and battles, +As themes for romance and song + +From party's Promethean vulture, + When wilt thou get release? +When will the strife of races, + The strife of religions cease? +And the hearts of thy loving children + Mingle and be at peace? + + + + +BEREAVEMENT. + +(Job iii. 26) + + +It was not that I lived a life of ease, + Quiet, secure, apart from every care; +For on the darkest of my anxious days + I thought my burden more than I could bear. +The shadow of a coming trouble fell + Across my pathway, drawing very near; +I walked within it awestruck, felt the spell + Trembled, not knowing what I had to fear. +The hand that held events I might not stay, +But creeping to His footstool I could pray. + +With sad forebodings I kept watch and ward + Against the dreaded evil that must come; +Of small avail, door locked or window barred, + To keep the pestilence from hearth and home. +The dreadful pestilence that walks by night, + Stepping o'er barriers, an unwelcome guest, +Came, and with scorching touch to sear and blight, + Drew my fair child into her loathsome breast; +Nothing had ever parted us till then, +O child! when shall I hold thee once again? + +As if the plague's red cross upon my door, + With "Lord have mercy!" scared the passers by, +So friends of mine that I had had before, + Fled from the face of my calamity. +Shut in, and yet shut out, my days went on, + Shut in with woe, shut out from human kind +Within my boundaries, watching sad and lone, + Hope with despair kept struggling in my mind. +It is not always human hearts can say +To Him who smites, "I trust Thee though Thou slay." + +They're taught of God who say "Thy will be done," + When in the presence of the thing they fear, +Both flesh and spirit fail when hope is gone, + And what we dread the most is drawing near; +I said, "an end comes to the darkest day, + And the bright, sunshine follows after rain, +This fearful pestilence will pass away, + And I can comfort those she holds in pain; +I'll take them to my heart, nor will I care, +That her touch marred the faces I thought fair" + +I clung to hope I would not let it go-- + And praying thoughts went up with every breath, +For when the sickness came I did not know + That with her came the angel they call Death. +My child will be restored to me I said, + Death took her hand-and almost unawares, +She slipped away from me and joined the dead + Back on my heart fell my unanswered prayers, +Stunned I took up my child that was so sweet +And wrapped her poor form in the winding-sheet + +All desolate I bore her to her bier + With unaccustomed hands I laid her down, +With grief too hard and deep to shed a tear + We stood beneath the heavens gathering frown, +And then the storm burst on us in its might, + The loosened winds rushed round to moan and rave, +'Twas fittest so--they bore her from my sight, + Through the wild ram and laid her in her grave, +Then conscious only of a dreadful loss, +I sat with sorrow underneath my cross + +The little ones whose mother's with the dead + Came with their many wants around my knee +And added, needless burden some one said, + But ah! they were God's messengers to me, +For here were duties that my hands must do, + Although my wound might only bleed and smart, +And so there came some solace to me through + The helpless hands that touched my aching heart +Ah! little children bringing everywhere +God's blessed comfort mingled in with care + +And so I do my task, my daily task, + Working the work that's given me to do, +Getting the daily strength for which I ask, + The needed courage still to help me through; +And my great sorrow passes out of sight, + I have not time to sit and make my moan; +But in the solemn stillness of the night, + My woe comes back to me with heavy groan. +And yet our Father weaves His golden thread +Into the warp of duty's homespun web. + + + + +OUT OF THE DEPTHS. + + +Thou art, and, therefore, Thou art near, oh God! + Thick darkness covers me, I cannot see; +Is this the Shepherd's crook, or the correcting rod, + And by Thy hand, O Father, laid on me? + +I cry to Thee, and shall I cry in vain? + My soul looks up as if through prison bars, +Up through the silent Heaven, ah, turn again + Thy face to me, hide not behind the stars. + +Thy presence hath been with me in the past, + Where "heaps of witness" mark out all the way; +Thy years change not, Thy love is still as vast, + I look to Thee, I trust Thee though Thou slay. + +My friends walk on the hills the sun hath kissed, + Flowers at their feet, their sky is blue and fair; +I'm prisoned in this vale of tearful mist, + Shut in with sorrow, darkened by despair. + +I, too, once walked with footsteps glad and free, + Light round my head, and in my mouth a song; +Manna fell round my dwelling-place for me. + For me the living waters flowed along. + +Thy hand had set my feet upon a rock, + That Rock stands fast, why then this loss and harm? +I cannot find the footsteps of the flock, + I cannot feel the Well-Beloved's arm. + +They hold me in derision, for they say, + Where is the God in whom you seemed to trust! +Righteous art Thou O Lord! and if I may + But find Thee I will lay me in the dust. + +Saying, awake, arise my God, to me + Turn in Thy love the mercy of Thy face; +Then shall the day break, and the shadows flee, + And I will sing of Thy sufficient grace. + + + + +ERIN, MAVOURNEEN. + +A Prize Poem. + + +I know Canada is fair to see, and pleasant; it is well +On the banks of its broad river 'neath the maple trees to dwell; +But the heart is very wilful, and in sorrow or in mirth, +Mine will turn with sore love-longing to the land that gave me birth; +And I wish that, oh but once again! my longing eyes might see +The green island that lies smiling on the bosom of the sea; +That is fed with heaven's dew and the fatness of the earth, +Fanned by wild Atlantic breezes that sweep over it in mirth. + +Its green robe is starred with daisies; it is brilliant fresh and + fair, +With a verdure that no other spot of earth affords to wear. +It has banks of pale primroses that like bits of moonlight glow; +There are hawthorn hedges blossomed out like drifts of perfumed snow, +Bluebells swinging on their slender stems and cowslips on the lea. +I was better for the lessons they in childhood taught to me; +And still sweet is every memory, and blessed each regret +That twines round that dear island home, which our hearts cannot + forget. + +From where Antrim's giant columns at the north are piled on high, +The sentinels of centuries tow'ring up against the sky, +From mountain top and purple heath, from valleys fair to see, +Where streams of flashing crystal bright are flowing merrily, +To Kerry's lakes of loveliness that dimple in the sun. +'Tis fair as any spot of earth that heaven's light shines upon. +O Erin, my mother Erin, dear land more kind than wise, +I think of thee till loving tears come thronging to my eyes. + +Thou hast nourished on thy bosom many sons of deathless fame; +Who, while the world will last, shall shed a lustre on thy name. +While Foyle's proud swelling waters roll past Derry to the sea; +While yet a single vestige of old Limerick's walls there be; +Shall those who love thee well, fair land, lament that feuds divide +The sons of those who for each cause stood fast on either side. +From every ruined castle grey, well may the banshee cry +O'er bitter waters once let loose that have not yet run dry + +O would the blessed time might come when, party feeling done, +The noble deeds of both sides will be gathered into one! +On the battle-fields of Europe thy sons quit themselves like men, +Till those who made them exiles longed for their good swords again, +Wherever fields were fought and won, in thickest of the fray, +Where steel bit steel, thy sons have fought and laurels bore away +And thou hast bards in deathless song thy heroes' praise to sing, +Or make hearts throb responsive when for love they touch the string + +Thou hast lovely, white-armed daughters so tender and so true, +As modest as the daisies, and as spotless as the dew, +With flashes of sweet merriment, and virtue still and strong +They fire the patriot's heart and charm the poet into song +Thou hast nourished those right eloquent to plead with tongue and pen, +For those eternal rights which men so oft deny to men, +And land of saints in song like mine, but little can be said +Of those who stand for God between the living and the dead + +Thou'rt not without His witnesses for children of thy sod, +In lofty and in lowly life, are found who walk with God +Land of the hearty welcome! who travels thy valleys o'er +Knows more of human kindness than he ever knew before. +While some are kind to friends alone, thy sons whate'er befal +More like the blessed sun and rain have kindliness for all. +O Erin, my mother Erin! much my love would say of thee, +Were my lips but half so eloquent as my heart would have them be. + +As Moses longed for Lebanon, so I long that once again +My feet might press the shamrocks in the meadows by the Maine. +Oh to see the wee brown larks again, once more to hear them sing, +As up to heaven's blessed gates they soar on tireless wing! +I'd watch them till I'd half forget the burden of my years, +And tender thoughts of childhood would well up in happy tears. +I may never see thee more, _mo run_, but with each breath I draw +Thou art still to me _mavourneen_, so _an slainte leat gu bragh._ + + + + +WRITTEN FOR THE O'CONNEL CENTENARY. + + +Sons of the bright, green island, + Gathered by the pine-fringed lake, +In honour of his memory, + Who battled for your sake, +Listen, we too pay our tribute + To a fame that well endures; +He, who ventured much for liberty, + Is ours as well as yours. + +Men fought in vain for freedom, + And lay down in felon graves; +"Your noblest then were exiles, + Your proudest then were slaves" +When the people, blind and furious, + Maddened by oppression's scorn, +Struggled, seethed in wild upheaval, + Was the Liberator born. + +Who took the sword fell by the sword, + This man was born to show, +How thoughts would win where steel had failed + One hundred years ago +By force the patriot tried in vain + To stem oppression's might, +This man arose and won the cause, + By pleading for the right. + +He stood to plead for liberty + On Dunedin's Calton-hill; +No man had ever greater power + To move men's hearts at will +Erin, without name, senate, flag, + This, her advocate and son, +Pleaded for those who tried and lost, + With those who tried and won + +He stood to ask for justice, + For ruth and mercy's grace, +For a people of another faith, + And of another race +He stood on ground made holy + By resistance unto wrong, +And Scotia's freemen gathered round, + Full twenty thousand strong + +And rock and distant city, + The broad Forth gliding clear, +Yea, every heath-clad hill-top + Had hushed itself to hear, +From the shades of hero martyrs + Of patriotic fame, +From the land they thought worth fighting for, + High inspiration came + +He won the cause he strove for, + With bold undaunted brow, +And his name and fame roll brightening on + Along the years till now, +All honour to his memory, + May his words, where'er they fall, +Bring forth the love of liberty, + And equal rights to all + + + + +WE LAMENT NOT FOR ONE BUT MANY + + + 'At last he is dead' +So the wondering, horror-struck neighbours said, + A skilful touch of his knife + Has cut the thread of a wasted life +He has reached the end of the downward road, +And rushed unbidden to meet his God, + Over every duty past every tie, +Unwarned, unhindered, he rushed along, +Through the wild license of sin. and wrong, + And into the silent eternity + +Relax thy anguished watch, O wife +And fold thy hands--and yet--and yet, +After all the tears which thou hast wept, +Through nights when happier mortals slept, +Thou only wilt weep with fond regret, +Over the corpse of the hopeless dead +For the cause accursed, of drink he has bled, +For that cause he lived and suffered and died +Many deaths in one horrible life,-- +The death of his honour, the death of his pride, +On that altar he sacrificed child and wife +Hope, liberty, purity, more than life +Lifes life, God's image, he crushed and killed, +Tore and defaced, wasted and spoiled, +Uncurbed in passion, iron willed, +For _this_ long years he has laboured and toiled, +Devoted his talents, his time his breath, +And at the last his blood he has shed + Truly the wages of sin is death + +He was once a babe on a mother s breast, +Tenderly nourished, cared for, caressed +Watched with a mother's love and pride +Dreams of the future warm and bright, +High hopes ambitions in rainbow light +Clustered around him a fairy swarm +Of tender fancies sweet and warm, +As she hung over his cradle bed, + In all this world there's none so bright, +So clever as mother's heart s delight +My child of promise," she proudly said + +Oh would to God that he then had died +Died when the anguish of heartstrings torn, +The sudden stilling of childish laughter, +The awful vacance that fills the place +Of the soft, warm touch, of the dear, dear face, +Of the sweet dead child that the heart gropes after +For God's own voice to the mourner saith, + "Be still, I am God, there is hope in his death' + +Alas! for the woe that under the sun +Can find no comfort! this child lived on. +What must be his mother's sorrow and sin, +If she held the glass to his infant lips +Taught him the taste of sweetened gin, +As a cure for every childish pain, +To be tried and tampered with once and again +If she taught him to worship at fashion's shrine, +In its magic circle to look on wine. +To pour it sparkling in ruby light, +The adder's sting the serpent's bite, +Came to him at last among evil men, + But he once was a boy, + A mother's joy, +Clever and gifted with tongue and pen, + The cup of temptation + Was inspiration, +Oh would to God he had died even then + The mother's tears shed over the slain, + Had then had hope in their bitter pain + +O mothers, stronger than life is love +And your love is most like God's above, +And power likest God's to you is given, +With the greatest trust that is under heaven + He gives to your hands to have and to hold + More precious than rubies, better than gold +God's little children to teach and to train, +And to lead them upward to Him again +God keep you and save you from earning the curse +That shadows the life with hopeless remorse +He once was a lover an innocent maid +Into his keeping gave up her life, +Into his hand her own she laid + For better, for worse + As a blessing, a curse, +Took on her the sacred name of wife, +And stood at her post through all these years +Of sorrow and sin, of anguish and tears +There have been martyrs for God and right, +Passed through blood and fire into endless light +Count all the martyrs to right that died +Since Abel's blood to Jehovah cried +There are but few in that shining throng +Compared to the martyrs of sin and wrong +Count not that woman's life by years, +Count by the dropping of heart-wrung tears +To the common lot of toil and care, +That dims the eye and the heart strings wring, +He added, of woe that none could share, +Whole ages of sorrow and suffering + +She bore her torture for duty's sake, +Firm as saint in the tower and at the stake, +Bore want and woe, and his evil name, +For him who for years was dead to shame +She saw his brood about her knee +Into an evil lot they were born +To bear for his sin the cruel scorn +Of the world unthinking, hard and cold +Prematurely saddened, early old, +They never knew home as a place of rest, +Except when their home was the mother's breast, +And worse than all she had to see +Them taught the secrets of sin and woe, +Which happier children never know +Alas! that such a thing should be +Her darlings were made to pass through the fire +To the Moloch of vice and sinful desire, +The father's example of life and tongue +Brought the knowledge of evil to them while young, + And in sorrow and shame, + That none may name, +In strife and sin all tempest-tost +The innocence God gives to babes was lost +All is over, nought's left but dishonoured clay, +But the evil men do lives longer than they. +Of a truth the saddest for tongue or pen +Are these words o'er a ruin--"He might have been," +And sadder the words in jest set free +"This is; but alas! it should not be." +He has passed into darkness who lived in vain; +But what shall their future portion be, + Who, passing by on the other side, +Themselves from the curse secure and free, + No plan of relief or rescue tried? +Or worse, made profit out of his pain, +And lured him on to his death for gain? + + + + +LINES FOR THE BRIDAL + + +They will place a bridal wreath, maiden, + To crown all your shining hair; +The mist-like cloud of the bridal veil + Will float round a face most fair. + +They will dress you in bridal robes, maiden, + And the holy words be said, +And the ring put on and two made one, + And the maiden we love be wed. + +You'll give him your virgin hand, maiden, + And become a wedded wife; +That hand will mingle "honey for two" + To sweeten the bitter of life. + +They will give you costly gifts, maiden, + And many a wish beside +Will rise in prayer in blessings come down + On thy head O fair young bride + +And kind will the bridegroom be maiden + True and tender as years roll on +Who learns to love in the school of Christ + Will cherish what he has won + +And so what can I say more maiden + Wooed and won and to be wed, +Pray that His blessing who loved till death + May rest on your fair young head + +In the hollow of His hand maiden, + He will keep you who fainteth not +He will cause the splendour of His face + To shine on your happy lot + + + + +WELCOME HOME + + +You are coming home with the breath of spring + Flying home to a love-lined nest, +Most loving care hath made it fair + Your hands will do the rest + +And the bridal robe you have laid aside + And the vail all of lacy foam, +The maiden's wed, the tour is sped + So welcome, welcome home + +The past is laid by with the bridal wreath + The bride has come home a wife, +And now we pray that blessings may + Crown all your wedded life + +What shall be the blessing, my dearest dear, + When it's all that we have to give? +That peace and love, from God above, + Be yours while ye both shall live. + +That high love that makes of the wife a queen, + Of a cottage a palace home, +The coarse web fine, life's water wine, + The fire-side chair a throne. + +Love that drops like dew from heaven to fill + With all blessing your earthly cup; +That draws you nigh to Him Most High, + Bidding your souls look up + +Unto Him who has ordered all your lot, + To the Hand that will give the best, +That bids you come up to His home + To be His wedding guest. + + + + +BAPTISM IN LAKE ALLUMETTE + + +Oh Allumette, hemmed with thy fringe of pine, + Watched over by thy mountains far away, +Thy waters have been troubled oftentime, + Never before as they have been to day! + +The red man on the war path, with light stroke, + Hath cleaved thy waters moving stealthily; +Hunter and hunted deer thy surface broke + With splash and struggle of the living prey. + +Across thy bosom venturous Champlain + And faithful Brule have pursued their way; +Seeking for distant golden Indian vain + Finding Coulonge while searching for Cathay + +The knights of industry the sons of toil, + Trouble thy waters in the eager strife +To win success and wealth, the glittering spoil + For which men daily peril more than life + +'Twas a new motive from their homes to day + That drew an eager wondering people out, +Like those who from Mount Zion took their way, + From Judah and the regions round about + +It might have been the Jordan flowed along + Or that, sweet stream where people met for prayer, +Still expectation held the gathering throng + By the lake shore, in the hushed Sabbath air + +And earnest, fervent pleading prayer was made + Rose the sweet strains of the old Scottish psalm +And words of witness for God s truth were said, + The only sound that broke the sacred calm + +Then down into the waters of the lake, + The preacher and believer slowly came, +Not heeding scornful words for His dear sake, + Who bore the cross for us despised the shame + +Buried with Him by baptism to death + Following the path which He the Sa lour trod, +To rise with Him to that new life He saith + He hath laid up for us with Christ in God + + + + +GOOD-BYE. + +(To Miss E E.) + + +I cannot write, my tears are flowing fast, + Yet weeping is unnatural to me; +Oh! that this hour of bitterness was past-- + The parting hour with all I love and thee + +If I had never met or loved thee so, + To part would not have caused me this sharp pain; +Parting so oft occurring here below, + And they who part so seldom meet again. + +Yet over land or sea, where'er I go, + My home, my friends, shall flit before my eyes-- +And oft I anxiously shall wish to know, + If in thy bosom thoughts of me arise. + +Oh, I will think of bygone days of glee, + Though on each point of bitter sorrow driven; +I will not bid thee to remember me, + But oh! see to it that we meet in Heaven. + +1844. + + + + +WEEP WITH THOSE WHO WEEP. + +(Mary Maud.) + + +O friends, I cannot comfort, but will share with you your grieving, + In the valley of the shadow where you sit in helpless tears; +Greater is the parting anguish, than the joy of first receiving + The sweet gift that was your treasure through five happy, golden + years + +When I laid within your arms the dear babe that God had given, + There was hidden in the future all the tears that you must weep, +Ah! the little ones so tangled in our heart-strings, they are riven + In the parting, are but treasures lent not given us to keep + +There's silence in the places her voice filled with happy laughter, + Stillness waiting for the echo of the patter of her feet, +You are gazing on her picture, and your heart is longing after + The tender touch of the little hands, the mouth that was most sweet + +In the valley of the shadow, where by God's will you are sitting, + Earthly sounds shut out and stilled, yea, and heaven so very near, +That the little golden head, through the open doorway flitting, + Might come smiling any moment and be greeted without fear + +With earthly toil and serving we will not get encumbered, + Our hearts rise to our treasures that are laid up with the King, +There your little maiden, Maud, with His jewels fair are numbered, + There she learns the songs of gladness that the heavenly children + sing + +Among those pure and precious who have known no earthly sinning, + The Beloved's fair white lilies in the Paradise of God, +Those He looked upon and loved, when their lives were but beginning, + And brought home before their tender feet grew weary of the road + +There clothed on with his beauty, round the child all bliss will + gather, + All the brightness of the Father's face when looking on His own; +For the little children's angels see the bright face of the Father, + And gather on the rainbow steps that are around the throne. + +For evermore in safety, by the Lamb led to the valleys, + Where the light of God is brooding, and life's storms are ever + furled; +No more watching, no more praying, no more guarding from the malice + Of all evil, lest her garments should be spotted by the world. + +Heaven draws nearer in our sorrow, and the earth-born cares keep + silence, +And the still, small voice says kindly, "Though the child may come no + more, +Time is passing, and the moment approaches from the distance, + When the message to come after will appear within the door." + +Oh, well it is for baby, safe, and past all toil and grieving, + The dear head is laid so early on a loving Saviour's breast; +Be not faithless, oh my friends, but submissive and believing, + The Hand that makes no blunders hath laid the babe at rest + + + + +TO ELIZABETH RAY + + +First of women, best of friends +Take what a village rhymer sends, +A tear wet trifle sent to tell +The giver must bid thee farewell! +And shall I then when o'er the sea +Forget thee? No, it cannot be +When thinking of much loved Grace Hill, +[1] Its drops of joy, its drafts of ill +I shed the fond regretting tear, +For those I did I do hold dear, +First shall mid those I parted with +Stand Friendship's Ray Elizabeth + +[Footnote 1: Burns] + +1844 + + + + +FAREWELL TO LORD AND LADY DUFFERIN + + +In leaving us, whom thou hast governed well + Holding the helm of state through all these years +The land at large unites in a farewell + That's mingled with regret akin to tears + +My Lord, we welcomed you in coming here + As one our gracious Queen thought fit to send +Your term of office hath so made you dear + We say farewell to you as friend to friend + +It is not homage paid to honours worn + Lightly, as that which comes to one unsought; +Nor to thy high desent, oh nobly born + Nor to the aristocracy of thought. + +And yet we do not undervalue here + Honours the nobles of our land enjoy; +We hold in high esteem the British Peer, + Warm to the ancient name of Clandeboye. + +Warmly we feel to one who is akin + To that most marvellous genius Sheridan; +But warmer still the tribute that you win, + Paid, not to Lord, or Viceroy, to the man, + +Who of no party, yet both far and near, + In distant wilderness and crowded mart, +With words that rouse and stimulate and cheer, + Has drawn the whole Dominion to your heart. + +From Essex, by thy waters, sweet St. Clair, + To Gaspe, sentry on a stormy coast; +From Prima Vista to Vancouver, where + Will your departure be regretted most? + +No Viceroy of this land has ever left + Such large regrets, as you my Lord, will do; +For admiration, confidence, respect + Are felt for you the wide Dominion through. + +The miner at his work, the axeman where + He hews out fortune with enduring toil; +The farmer with his plenty and to spare, + For laughing harvests crown our fruitful son. + +The fisher on our coast, the pioneer + Who strives the distant wilderness to tame; +The Indian hunter, wild unknown to fear, + On his swift horse swooping upon his game + +From settlers fanned by keen Atlantic air, + To those the broad Pacific's breezes cool, +To forest shade and prairie verdure, where + Sit Indian maidens in the mission school + +Never did Governor before receive + Such loyal homage as your heart has won, +Nor left so fair a record as you leave, + Or stood so near to us as you have done + +You have the kindly sympathetic heart + Of her who loved the common people well, +The noble lady who with witching art + Taught us to sing the "Emigrant's Farewell.' + +And the dear lady who has reigned your queen + Over the gaieties of Rideau Hall, +Her genial, gracious courtesies have been, + A talisman to win the hearts of all + +Oh, Earl, and Countess, if good wishes may + Add anything to your most brilliant state, +The wide Dominion with one heart will pray + You may be blessed of God as well as great + + + + +A WELCOME + +THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING + + + Gather, oh gather! gather, oh gather + On with the philabeg every man +And up with the bonnet and badge of your father, + Belt on the plaid of the great Campbell clan + From the heather clad hills of that island + In whose straths and glens your fathers were born +They come, and so gather, ye hearts that are Highland, + Welcome the Lord and the Lady of Lorne! + Gather, oh gather, &c. + + Ocean to ocean the welcome is ringing, + Fair Indian summer, with blush and with smile, +O'er forests her right royal vesture is flinging + To welcome the bride and heir of Argyle. + Princess of Lorne, we rise to receive her, + First royal lady our country has seen, +To this, the wide land of the maple and beaver, + We welcome thee Princess, child of our Queen. + Gather, oh gather, &c. + + We had regret we sought not to smother-- + Kind Earl, dear Countess were called to depart; +But thoughtfully, kindly, the fair Queen our mother, + Sends the son of her choice, the child of her heart. + There is a stir, a bustle, a humming, + The tartans are waving, plumes floating free, +While trumpet and drum sound, "The Campbells are coming" + We are all Campbells in welcoming thee. + Gather, oh gather, &c. + + Son of Argyle, so near to the sceptre, + And Princess Louise fair child of a throne, +We welcome to stand for our Queen in this empire, + Rule us, and love us, and make us your own + Blow, wild pibroch, that welcomes no other! + Shout million-voiced _failte_, wave banners the while; +She's worthy, fair child of so royal a mother, + He's worthy the name and fame of Argyle. + Gather, oh gather, &c. + + + + +DEATH OF NORMAN DEWAR + +(Mr Norman Dewar, commission merchant, a native of Glengarry, Canada +who had been assisting Captain McCabe as commissary of the Memphis +Relief Committee, died of yellow fever after three days illness A +brave and gentle nature, he was loved by a host of friends and will +long be remembered as among the noblest of the band of gallant men who +during this fearful epidemic died at the post of duty) + + +Far away from stricken Memphis + Came the tidings sad and sure +That among the many fallen, + Fell the clansman Norman Dewar + +There are eyes unused to weeping + With the tears of sorrow dim, +Hearts with nature's anguish heaving, + Yet 'tis wrong to weep for him + +None who fell in glorious battle, + In the shock of meeting steel, +Fell more bravely, died more nobly + More like son of true Lochiel + +When the cry arose in Memphis + That the yellow death had come, +When the rich in fear were fleeing, + And the poor with terror dumb, + +Famine following the fever, + Want of all things awful death, +When forsaken by their kindred, + Human souls gave up their breath, + +There were men who felt God's pity, + Strong to do and to endure, +And among these brave and noble, + At his post stood Norman Dewar + +Firm and gentle, true and tender, + Knowing all the danger well, +This true son of old Glengarry + Stood on duty till he fell + +Highland hearts have breasted battle, + Highland veterans show their scars, +Highland blood has flowed like water + In our Gracious Sovereign's wars. + +We have praised in song and story, + Those who bravely fought and fell, +For Old England's might and glory, + For the Queen they love so well. + +And shall we this time be silent + O thou clansman firm and true, +Shall not loyal brave Glengarry, + Through her tears feel proud of you + +Thou hast fought the sternest battle, + Thou hast met the grimmest foe; +Christ-like stood by the forsaken + Stood till death has laid thee low. + +Praise thy sons, dear old Glengarry, + Prompt to do, calm to endure; +And among your very noblest, + Set God's hero Norman Dewar. + + + + +THE SHADOW OF THE ALMIGHTY + +The Rev Mr Young was one stormy day visiting one of his people, an +old man, who lived in great poverty in a lonely cottage a few miles +from Jedsburg. He found him sitting with his Bible open upon his +knees, but in outward circumstances of great discomfort, the snow +drifting in through the roof and under the door, and scarcely any fire +in the hearth. "What are you about to day, John?" asked Mr Young on +entering "Ah, sir," said John, "I am sitting under His shadow with +great delight." + + +They only see the snow heaped on the moor, + The bare trees shivering in the winter's breath, +The icy drift that sifteth through the door, + Me, old and poor, waiting the call of death. + +They think my cot is bare and comfortless, + With broken roof and paper-mended pane, +They see but poverty and loneliness, + And think in pity that my death were gain. + +They know not, Master, that Thou art so near, + Thou holdest me, I lean upon Thy might, +I know Thy voice, Thy whisperings I hear, + I stay beneath Thy shadow with delight. + +The royal purple of Thy garment died, + From Bozrah, is spread over even me, +All my unworthiness, my want I hide + Under Thy princely vesture shelteringly. + +Thy hand is underneath my weary head, + Thy strong right hand that saved me long ago; +I'm cradled in Thy arms and comforted, + What more have I to do with want or woe + +What more indeed! so sheltered, so embraced, + For ever Thou art mine and I am Thine, +Thy banner's love, Thy fruit sweet to my taste, + Thou givest to my lips the Kingdom's wine. + +How sweetly solemn is this awful place! + Where all of earth fades out and vanishes, +I cannot fear while I behold Thy face, + My help, my friend, the Lord my righteousness. + +I do not feel the waters cold and deep, + Waters to swim in through whose waves I come, +The love that holds me up is strong to keep, + 'Tis but a little way from this to home + +My sight grows dim, my one Redeemer, Lord, + Bring nearer still the brightness of Thy face, +I hear Thy voice, assuring is Thy word, + Close to Thy heart is my abiding place. + +We're nearing home--forever all is well, + In through the agate windows I can see +The place prepared--glory ineffable, + To which in royal love Thou leadest me + + + + +IN MEMORY OF JOHN LEACH CRAIG + +In the midst of Life we are in Death. + + +What is it that has stilled the usual hurry, + Checking the eager tread of rapid feet? +Why does the business face look sad and sorry + Within the place where merchants choose to meet? +A something not unusual or strange, +One face is missing on the Corn Exchange. + +Alas! they say he had uncommon merit, + High the esteem and confidence he won; +He brought to business life a joyous spirit, + And mixed commercial tact with boyish fun. +We miss his breezy laugh, his pleasant face, +The skill that marked him for the foremost place. + +There is a ship steaming across the billow, + That should have brought him to his mother's knee; +Did warning dreams hover around her pillow, + Of the dear face she never more shall see? +She sits at home deeming that all is well, +Who shall the tale of her bereavement tell? + +She waited for him in the bright May morning, + When the spring buds were blooming in their prime, +And the green earth was crowned with their adorning, + To greet his coming with the summer time. +The mists have fallen and her eyes are dim, +Looking across death's valley after him. + +The good ship sailed upon the day of sailing, + And furled her sails in port the voyage o'er; +But in his home waiting is changed to wailing, + For he will come to them on earth no more. +The Master called--he answered speedily, +And sailed away across the "silent sea." + +They praise him in the land of his adoption, + Say what he was, and what he might have been, +Speak of the honours that were at his option, + Since he came here a fair lad of nineteen. +That upward has his path been ever since, +To sit among the first a merchant prince. + +The "never more" chills through the friendly praises, + Never to see his face, his coming form; +Never his foot shall stand on Antrim daisies, + Or tread again the Parks of old Galgorm; +Nor sleep among his fathers, silent, still, +Beneath the sycamores in fair Grace Hill. + +His mother in her island home is weeping, + For what her eyes desired she shall not see; +The fair young wife her widowed vigil keeping + Among her babes on this side of the sea-- +One in their sorrow which is all too deep +For comfort--theirs to sit apart and weep. + +Mother and wife one in their poignant grieving, + One in their anguish over lifeless clay; +One in the consolation of believing + That he was worthy who has passed away. +By sorrow consecrate and set apart, +To ponder all the past within their heart. + +The mother, with her heartstrings quivering after + The Master's stroke, sits underneath the cross; +The sad wife stilling all the childish laughter + Of his sweet babes, too young to feel their loss. +Who wonder in the quiet, darkened home, +Why their glad-voiced papa will never come. + +So in his home beside the terraced mountain, + They sit within the shadow of his death; +So they who were the tardy moments counting, + Till he would come to them with summer's breath. +His kith and kin by the Maine water's side, +Weep very sore for love of him that died. + +Oh Death is ever coming, loved ones going, + Hearts rent with sorrow because one is not; +The waves of trouble ever swelling, flowing, + Past the tall castle, past the sheltered cot! +"I am bereaved!" is the unceasing moan, +Rising forever to our Father's throne. + +O Christ Thou dost remember earthly weeping, + When the bereaved at Thy dear feet have cried, +Beside the grave where the much loved lay sleeping, + "Lord if Thou hadst been here he had not died." +Comfort the mourning friends, the sorrowing wife, +O Thou the Resurrection and the life! + + + + +FAREWELL + + +My brother George has gone from me, +Far away o'er the trackless sea. +His gladdening voice I hear not now, +I see not the light of his sunny brow. +My cheeks with lonely tears are wet; +But go where he will he will love me yet. +O Thou whose blessings the heart enlarge, +Keep from all evil my brother George! + +1842. + + + + +THE PRINCE OF ANHALT DESSAU. + +From Carlisle. + + +The young Prince of Anhalt Dessau, + The Dowager's only son, +Was a sturdy strong-limbed fellow + And a most determined one. + +Shook the tutor his locks of silver, + "And if I have any skill, +This young Prince of Anhalt Dessau, + He will always work his will. + +"I cry to the Wise for wisdom, + I cry for strength to the Strong, +That I train him to stand firmly + For the right against the wrong. + +"If he grow to gracious manhood, + I shall not have wrought in vain, +And my Fatherland so noble + Shall most surely reap the gain." + +The Dowager in her chamber, + With pride did her blue eyes shine; +"Fatherland hath many princes, + But none of them all like mine. + +"He has courage, fire and wisdom, + Yet tender of heart is he; +Proud, but just and full of pity; + This is as a prince should be. + +"My son, growing up so worthy, + Shall comfort my widowed fears; +And he shall be my strong right hand, + Through the cares of future years." + +The Dowager's waiting women + Said; "Our Prince gives up the chase, +And every day his steed reins he + Down there in the market-place. + +"He forgets his rank so princely, + To his grievous harm and loss; +A trap for his youth so tender + Is laid by the damsel Fos." + +The Princess rode in her chariot, + Away to the market-place, +With her own proud eyes beholding + The beautiful tempter's face. + +But she saw a stately maiden, + With such pure and dove-like eyes, +Clothed in beauty like a flower, + Or a saint from Paradise. + +"No wonder my son, so youthful, + Fixed his heart on one like thee; +For if I were a Prince of Dessau, + Willing captive I might be. + +"But you are a doctor's daughter, + My son's of a princely line; +You may wed with one more humble, + But never with son of mine. + +"But my son is very wilful, + We must conquer him with guile; +To foreign courts he shall away, + Where most noble ladies smile. + +"One he'll see whose rank is princely, + Fair of form and fair of face; +She shall win him by her beauty + From his love in the market-place." + +Said the lily maiden weeping, + "'Twere well we had never met, +Go, my Prince, to be with princes, + Be happy, and so forget." + +Said the Prince of Anhalt Dessau: + "What's to be God keeps in store; +I am Prince of Anhalt Dessau, + But your lover for evermore. + +"Duty is the yoke of princes, + It is good I go away; +For that widow's son there's blessing, + Who his mother can obey. + +"But we who are ruling princes, + Should be patterns of faith and truth, +The Prince thou hast loved, my lily, + Shall never deceive thy youth. + +"For as sure as to the ocean + Arrow-swift flows on the Rhine, +I go for my mother's pleasure, + I am coming back for thine." + +A year past--the waiting-women + Said: "Our Prince is back again," +And he shows before the Empire, + That his mother's plans are vain. + +He came from the courts of Europe, + He came to his mother's knee; +But first went to the market-place, + The maiden he loved to see. + +Said the Princess, "Son, you're welcome, + Anhalt Dessau's hope and pride; +Have you well and wisely chosen + For Dessau a high-born bride?" + +"I saw many royal beauties, + Dames courtly and fair and kind, +But with married eyes I saw them, + For my heart was left behind." + +Said the lady to her council: + "So our plans have failed thus far, +He'll forget his low-born chosen + When he learns to look on war. + +"While he's gone I'll seek to rid me + Of the beauty which I dread, +I will give a precious dower + To him who shall woo and wed." + +Said the Doctor to his daughter: + "Here's a life of wealth and ease, +And a fair bridegroom too, daughter, + For we must our Princess please." + +"Ah me!" said the lily maiden, + "That I am the cause of strife! +Woeful is the gift of beauty-- + I'll be an unwilling wife. + +"I have no strength for the battle, + No more than a wounded dove; +O Leopold Anhalt Dessau, + Where art thou, my only love?" + +With a moan of helpless sorrow, + From the bridegroom turned her face, +And saw a gallant troop of horse + Drawn up in the market-place. + +A strong arm is soon around her, + Young Dessau is by her side, +"Draw and defend yourself, you wretch! + Who would dare to claim my bride." + +Then he stood before his mother, + With a stern and angry face; +"I have stopped a gallant wedding, + Begun in the market-place. + +"The maid thou wouldst give in marriage, + Is mine by her plighted word; +And his blood who would supplant me, + Has reddened on my good sword. + +"Be a queen in Anhalt Dessau, + Let tower and town be thine; +But leave unto me my treasure, + This fair low-born love of mine. + +"She's my first love and my last one, + And never we two shall part; +I'll take her--with rites most holy + I will bind her to my heart." + +Now the holy words are spoken, + At the young Dessau's command. +He wedded the lily maiden, + And he gave her his left hand. + +"What's to be," said Anhalt Dessau, + "Is known but to God above, +But I have obeyed my mother, + Been true to my early love. + +"Now must I go to the battle, + Leave mother and bride behind; +My wife, be a child to my mother, + Mother, to my love be kind. + +"A soldier's life is uncertain, + Let us sternly do our best, +Love and duty be our watchword, + And leave to our God the rest." + +And thus the high Prince of Dessau, + While giving obedience due +To his gracious lady mother, + To his own first love was true. + + * * * + +He is gone away to battle, + He's always in high command; +As a man of vast resources, + Who is as the king's right hand. + +Drilling, battling, planning, seiging, + The bravest of all the brave; +The wisest of all in counsel, + Loyal, courteous, kind and grave. + +This was in the time of battles, + Battles for the native land; +Whatever was in safe keeping, + Was held by the strong right hand. + +Anhalt Dessau, bold and daring, + Anhalt Dessau wise and slow, +With a brain full of expedients, + To subdue or outwit the foe. + +In each conflict still to conquer, + In each counsel wiser grown, +Till he stood above his fellows, + A supporter of the throne. + +Till the king in council chamber, + Said: "My lords we must devise +New honours for Anhalt Dessau, + My general brave and wise. + +"Leopold of Anhalt Dessau, + First in counsel, first in fight, +What high reward you choose to name + Is yours by undoubted right." + +"My Liege, to have served my country + And King till the strife is o'er, +To be Sovereign Prince of Dessau, + Is so much that I ask no more. + +"Nought for me but that I labour + For my country all my life, +If you wish to do me honour, + Make a princess of my wife. + +"I married her with my left hand, + For she was of low degree, +I'd wed her with my right--with both, + For so dear is she to me." + +"We will make thy wife a princess." + Said the King with kindling brow, +"God grant she may bring to Dessau, + Many sons so brave as thou. + +"You are Sovereign Prince of Dessau + By the right of princely birth, +She is Sovereign Queen of Beauty, + As fair as there walks the earth. + +"She's fairest, and you the bravest, + With love for a joining band, +Shall rank equal with the noblest + That walks in our Fatherland." + + * * * + +Tears passed over Anhalt Dessau, + And sprinkled his locks with snow, +He had wealth, success and honours, + And his share of human woe. + +His fair wife and his goodly sons + Filled his heart with joy and pride; +But that heart was wrung with sorrow, + When his only daughter died. + +For ah! she was long in dying, + And his love was strong and warm; +To keep her from an early grave, + He'd have given his right arm. + +She was a most winsome maiden, + And she had her mother's face; +She brought back all his wooing time, + His love in the market place. + +"My daughter," he said, "you're dying, + You are fading fast away; +What is there you would have me do, + Love, before your dying day." + +"Thou the kindest and the bravest, + My father most dear!" she said, +"Whate'er you've done has pleased me, + Take that comfort when I'm dead. + +"But if you would do me pleasure," + She said with a lovely smile, +"The men whom you've led in battle, + Poor fellows! the rank and file. + +"I'd like to see them marching, + To feast them with mirth and glee; +When laid in my grave so early, + They'll think kindly thoughts of me." + +"My daughter, of all my treasures, + The loveliest and the best; +I know that my king so gracious, + Will grant you your last request." + +With banners and martial music, + With drum-beat and trumpet-blare, +They all marched to Anhalt Bernberg, + To the palace court-yard there. + +With all martial pomp and clangour, + Were the salutations made, +Where, supported at the window, + The dying one was laid. + +And tables were spread to feast them, + With plenty that made them groan, +But away by the Saale river, + Old Leopold wept alone. + + * * * + +Leopold of Anhalt Dessau, + He has reached three score and ten; +They think it time he step aside, + Giving place to younger men. + +For old fashioned are his tactics, + And old fashioned too is he, +And a new king has arisen, + And new counsellors there be. + +Still the old man leads the army, + But he gets no word of cheer; +For the young king is impatient, + And the courtiers laugh and jeer. + +The troops are drawn up for battle, + For the long expected fight; +"'Tis my last," said Anhalt Dessau, + "May our God defend the right!" + +He stood among the veterans, + Whom he had so often led; +And, according to his custom, + He uncovered his grey head. + +"We are going into battle; + How many shall come away +Is known to the God of armies, + Who shall lead us through this day. + +"For we have come here to conquer, + As we conquered everywhere; +Uncover, my lads, and ask for + The help that we need, in prayer. + +"O God, who through life hast led me, + Help me still, this once I pray; +Nor let the shame of first defeat, + Come now when my head is grey! + +"Be thou present with our army, + Do Thou let Thy might decide; +But oh! if Thou be not with us, + Be not on the other side. + +"But leave it to drill and manhood, + Amen. In God's name come on." +So Leopold Anhalt Dessau, + His last battle fought and won. + +And the King rescued from danger, + By the victory that day, +Lighted from his horse to greet him, + Clad in his roquelaure grey + +Bowed low to him as a master + In all the warrior's art, +And then, as a friend in greeting, + Pressed the hero to his heart + +Now his sword rests in the scabbard, + He has done for aye with war, +For Leopold Anhalt Dessau, + Now sleeps with the sons of Thor. + + + + +MARY'S DEATH + + +Mary, ah me! gentle Mary, + Can it be you're lying there, +Pale and still, and cold as marble, + You that was so young and fair. + +Seemeth it as yestereven, + When the golden autumn smiled, +On our meeting, gentle Mary, + You were then a very child. + +Busy fingers, flitting footsteps, + Never resting all day long; +Shy and bashful, and the sweet voice + Ever breaking into song + +Always gentle, kind and thoughtful, + Blameless and so free from art, +'Twas no wonder one so lovely + Found a place within my heart. + +You, while life was in its spring time, + Made the Scripture Mary's choice; +Jesus saw you, loved you, called you, + And you listened to His voice. + +Ever patient and rejoicing, + Shielded thus from unseen harm; +On you journeyed, safely leaning + On an everlasting arm. + +Three short years have not yet passed us + Flitting rapidly away, +Since we shared in the rejoicing + On your happy bridal day. + +He, the lover of your childhood, + Won a bride both good and fair; +Three short years have not yet passed us, + Mary dear--and now you're there. + +Well may he grow sick with weeping, + And with sore heart mourn his loss; +Sadly look on those two babies, + Left so early motherless. + +Not for thee we weep, my darling, + An eternal gain is thine; +We weep because we dearly loved thee, + And for those you left behind. + + + + +TO ISABEL. + + +I often thought to write to thee, what time +I almost fancied heaven-born, genius mine, +And fondly hoped my island harp to wake, +To some new strain sung for my country's sake. +'Twas a vain hope and yet its presence smiled +Upon my day dreams when I was a child, +And only faded when my heart grew cold, +For head and heart alike are getting old. +Had I been gifted, some bright lay would be, +With touching melody, poured forth for thee. +Now, what I think the best I wish for thee. + + * * * + +May you never be a stranger; + Ever living with your own, +With the same eyes beaming round you, + That on your childhood shone. + +Friendship knitting true hearts to you, + From youth to kindly age; +And affection brightening, gladdening + Your pleasant heritage. + +Yet not wishing to live always, + Or shrinking back afraid, +When you come--as come we all must + And pass over to the dead. + +With a hope then firmly anchored, + Of a living faith possessed, +Passing from among your kindred + Into everlasting rest. + + + + +LINES ON ANNEXATION. + + +We honour Brother Jonathan, + For what he has done and dared; +Nobly and firmly he hath stood + His freeborn rights to guard. + +And when we see him, go ahead, + We are not with envy vexed; +We wish him all prosperity + Yet will not be annexed. + +We know he has much moral force; + Much that is good and great; +Much enterprise and energy, + Which we would imitate. + +But there's upon his scutcheon stains, + Which we lament to see; +And will not share--will not annex-- + Our soil and air are free-- + +And far more glorious is the flag + Which o'er the Briton waves, +Than that whose stars of freedom shine + Upon the stripes of slaves. + +We love our Queen--we love our laws; + We feel that we are free-- +As independently we sit, + Each 'neath his maple tree. + +Serene, while over other lands + Rolls revolution's storm, +Where they can't speak their grievances-- + Dare not demand reform. + +We can, as freeborn subjects, make + Our wants and wishes known-- +Our voices move the parliament + And vibrate to the throne. + +We're Britons and as such we'll not + For annexation sue. +Our prayer is still, God save the Queen + And bless our country too. + +1850. + + + + +TO MY FRIEND. + + +Dearest of all, whose tenderness could rise + To share all sorrow and to soothe all pain; +The blessings breathed for thee with weeping eyes + Will come to thee as sunshine after rain. + +My spirit clings to thine, dear, in this hour; + Thy sorrow touches me as though 'twere mine; +And pleading prayers for thee shall have the power + To draw down comfort from my Lord and thine. + +For thou hast felt the sorrow and the care + Of other lives, as though they were thine own; +And grateful prayers, for a memorial are + Laid up for thee before the great white throne. + +You sit bereaved, and I sit with you there + In sympathy, my soul and yours can meet; +Missing the face that was so very fair, + Missing the voice that was so very sweet. + +I know how hard to bear heart-hunger is + For her quaint words and bits of bird-like song; +The touch of dimpled hands, the soft warm kiss, + O Friend, it makes the "little while" so long! + +Take comfort, dear, the "little while" is brief, + It is His love sends pain to thee or me, +We gather fruit of peace from blossomed grief + And where our treasure is our hearts shall be + +'Tis good to suffer, as He knows whose hand + Mixes the bitterness for every cup, +No grief befals but love divine has planned, + Every bereavement cries to us, look up + +Dearest, look up, and see where, sweet and fair, + Flow the bright waters ruffled by no storm, +Under the trees whose leaves for healing are, + See 'mid the blessed throng one angel form + +The tired pet, who wanted to go home, + The Elder Brother drew her to his breast, +Earth weariness earth soil alike unknown, + Crowned without conflict, bore her into rest + +Among the shining ones she walks my friend, + Robed in the garments of her Fatherland, +And your earth-weary feet shall upward tend, + Drawn by the beck of that dear pierced hand + +Who in his arms enfolds your little one, + And calls you, "Come up higher where we are, +For with the well belov'd the child is gone, + Follow and faint not, friend, it is not far + +"The little one for whom your fond heart bleeds, + The dear, dear lamb who sees her Father's face, +Up to the great white throne the rough path leads, + Where Christ shall fold you both in one embrace" + + + + +LITTLE MINNIE. + +Is it well with the child? and she answered, it is well. + + +If earth's weariness for rest is changed, + Rest on the far off shore, +If earth's sighing's changed for singing + Psalms of praise for evermore. + +And the bed of pain for roaming free, + Beneath the living trees, +Whose leaves of healing wither not + In any earthly breeze. + +And to mix with those who, robed and crowned, + Walk by the crystal sea; +To gather with the other lambs + Beside the Saviour's knee. + +We will keenly miss our absent child; + Lonely tears our loss will tell, +But His voice says, "It is well with her, + We answer, "It is well." + +It is well to know that safely home + Is this our dearest one; +To know she's with the children fair + Gathered around the throne, + +'Tis no light thing that God has stooped + Our dear one home to bring, +From weariness and painfulness + To the presence of the King. + +Let weeping and rejoicing, + Mingled, our sorrow tell; +We are lonely, oh our Father + But Thou knowest it is well. + + + + +TECUMTHE. + +(From the "Globe.") + + + October's leaf was sere; + The day was dark and drear. +Wild war was loosed in rage o'er our quiet country then; + When at Moravian town, + Where the little Thames flows down, +In the net of battle caught was Proctor and his men. + + Caught in an evil plight, + When he'd rather march than fight, +Every bit of British pluck and resolution gone. + And sternly standing near, + As a British brigadier, +Stood Tecumthe, our ally, the forests' bravest son. + + A prince, a leader born, + His dark eye flashed with scorn, +He said: "My father, listen, there's rumours from afar, + Of mishaps, and mistakes, + Of disasters on the lakes, +My father need not hide the mischances of the war. + + "My braves have set their feet, + Where two great rivers meet; +We went upon the war-path; we raised the battle-song; + We met in deadly fight, + The Yengees in their might, +Till the waters of the Wabash dyed crimson flowed along. + + "They ask us, in their pride, + To idly stand aside, +To be false to our allies, and neutral in this war; + They think that Indian men + Will never think again +Of wrongs by Yengee spoilers, how false their treaties are. + + "Allies both firm and true, + For our Father's sake to you, +Our Great Father round whose throne the mighty waters meet; + When din of battle's high, + Only coward curs will fly; +It is not Shawnee braves show foes their flying feet," + + "This is insolence to me," + Said Proctor bitterly. +"But a paltry leader," said the brave red-skinned ally + "We stand in hopeless fray, + To meet defeat today; +A shadow falls around me, my fate is drawing nigh." + + High-hearted Indian chief + No thought of fear or grief +Stilled the swellings of his heart, tamed the lightning of his glance + Without lordship, without land, + "Lord alone of his right hand," +Of a heart that never beat retreat when duty said advance. + + He had looked on battle oft, + Now his eagle glance grew soft, +And who can tell what sights his prophetic vision saw + Events were drawing near, + And he was a mighty seer, +Even greater than the prophet, the grim Elskwatawa. + + For, in a waking dream, + He saw forest, vale and stream, +Which, by force or fraud, the white race wrung from doomed red men. + "Old things are passed," he said, + "No blood that can be shed, +Will ever give us back our broad hunting-grounds again" + + "Over the burial mound, + Over the hunting-ground, +Over the forest wigwam the greedy white wave flows, + In treachery, or wrath, + They sweep us from their path, +Backward, and ever backward, beyond Sierra snows + + "We tried to stem the wave, + We have been bold and brave, +We held the losing cause, the Great Spirit hid his face, + Our nation's place is gone, + The white wave will roll on, +Until from sea to sea we have no abiding place + + "Although we do not stand + To do battle for our land, +The allies that we fight for, though white men, do not lie, + Their foes are ours, stand fast, + This fight shall be my last, +'Tis fitting, on the war-path, the Shawnee chief should die + + "Where we have pitched our camp, + Red blood shall dye the swamp, +The battle to the swift, the victory to the strong, + But be it as it will, + My braves shall vanish still, +Slain by pale face customs, snared by their treacherous tongue" + + He turned, where in their pride + Stood his warriors by his side, +For them to-morrow's sun might shine, to-morrow's breezes blow, + "But Tecumthe's lot is cast, + This fight shall be his last, +And they will do my wish," he said, "when I am lying low" + + Wyandot's chieftain grave, + Young and lithe, hold and brave, +Stood by Tecumthe, waiting the beginning of the fray; + Tecumthe silence broke, + And thus to him he spoke, +"My brother from this onset I'll never come away. + + "This scarf of crimson grand, + By brave Sir Isaac's hand, +Was bound round me with praise, when his heart towards +me was stirred; + I belt it around you, + My brother brave and true, +Think about Tecumthe, and remember his last word. + + "When on the red war-path, + War fiercely to the death, +Be pitiful and tender to the helpless and the fair, + I fought--have many slain, + But not a single stain +Of blood of maids or children dims the good sword I wear. + + "Brother, a forest maid + Within my wigwam stayed, +She is called before me, far beyond the glowing west, + This battle lost or won, + You'll take my little son, +Train him a Shawnee brave, let him be in deer skin drest. + + "When grown a warrior strong, + To feel his nation's wrong, +When he is fierce in battle, and wise in council fire, + Worthy my sword to wear, + Then with a father's care, +Let thy hand belt upon him the good sword of his sire. + + "Tell him, I lived and fought + For my nation and had not +A thought but for their good on resentment for their wrong, + Nor ever wished to have + Any gift the pale-face gave +Nor learned a single word of the fatal pale-face tongue + + 'Tell him, he is the last + Of a race great in the past, +Before the foot of white men had stepped upon our strand + And if fate will not give + Any place where they may live +Let him die among his people and for his people's land. + + 'I strip this coat off here + Of a British Brigadier +It is a costly garment with gold lace grand and brave, + The Shawnee chief is best, + In shirt of deerskin drest, +Not in pale-face gift they'll find me who lay me in the grave. + + "I have lost all but life + To meet in mortal strife, +To kill many, that the white squaws weep as ours have done, + To lie among the dead, + With garments bloody red, +And go to happy hunting grounds beyond the setting sun. + + 'This will be, Wyandot brave, + You'll give to me a grave, +In dimness of the forest, in earth my mother's breast, + Each tall tree a sentinel, + Will guard the secret well +Of where you laid Tecumthe down to his lasting rest' + + After the fatal fight + The strife became a flight +They found the chief Tecumthe lying still among the slain + Never to fight again. + Ah! little recked he then +That dastard white men outraged his body to their shame. + + After the headlong flight, + In the dark dead of night, +They came, from further outrage his loved remains to save + Within the forest deep + They laid him down to sleep; +And the forest guards the secret! no man knows his grave. + + Our land, our pride and boast, + Spreads now from coast to coast, +Stands up a great Dominion among the ruling powers. + For us this chieftain fought, + An ally unbribed, unbought; +We guard his name and fame in this Canada of ours. + + We have grown strong and bold, + Able to have and hold; +Our allies the red men are cared for with our care. + East or in the wild Nor-west, + In peace they hunt or rest; +No man their lands may covet because they're broad and fair. + + + + +CREED AND CONDUCT COMBINED AS CAUSE AND EFFECT. + +The incident related in the following lines occurred thus:--At a +meeting of Presbytery appointed to deal with the case of the Reverend +David Macrae, of Gourock, Scotland, one of the members of the Court +had stolen out to enjoy his pipe and the quiet of his own thoughts for +a few minutes before engaging in the strife of debate, when he was +accosted by a stranger, woefully dilapidated, who asked him with great +earnestness if he would tell him where he could see Mr. Macrae, as he +was most anxious to have some conversation with him. "Do you know, +sir," said this poor, ruined one, "that on the doctrine of future +punishment Mr. Macrae and I are in perfect accord, and I am very +desirous to tender him my cordial sympathy and support. I esteem it my +duty to do what I can to comfort and cheer this young and courageous +minister of the Gospel, in the cruel and unjust persecution to which +he is being subjected." + + +The Presbytery with one accord in one place, +Were met to consider and speak on the case +Of David Macrae, bent with reverend skill, +On putting him through th' ecclesiastical mill +I was there, I slipped out just the plain truth to tell, +To ha e a quate thinkin time a by mysel +On the new fangled doctrine o nae hell ava, +Which gies wrang doers comfort that is na sae sma'. +It's a gey soothm thoct aye, it pleases them weel, +Leavin hooseless an hameless the muckle black deil, +It delivers mankind frae a fear and a dread, +Sae I pondered along never lifting my head +Is it richt? is it wrang? is it truth or a lie? +We will cannily find oot the truth by and by +If it's truth or a lie that lies at the root +Should be shown when the doctrine grows up and bears fruit +Thus I daundered and pondered, on lifting my e'e +An answer to some o my thocts cam to me +There cam' doon the causey a comical chiel, +Wi an air an a gait that was unco genteel, +By the cut o' his jib an the set o his claes +He was ane o thae folk wha ha e seen better days, +He was verra lang legged hungry-lookup an lean, +His claes werna' new, nor weel hained nor clean, +Tight straps his short trews to meet shiny boots drew, +Where wee tae an' big tae alike keeked through, +His coat ance black braid-claith, was rusty enough, +It was oot at the elbows an' frayed at the cuff, +It was white at the seams, it was threadbare and thin +An' to hide a defects, buttoned up to the chin +Bruised and dinged in the crown and the brim was his hat, +But set jauntily on his few hairs for a that, +Paper collar an' cuffs showed in lieu of a shirt, +As he daintily picked his way over the dirt, +His face leaden and mottled with blossom that grows +Out of whisky, an' deep bottle-red was his nose; +His e'en bleared an' bloodshot, were watery an' dim, +Pale an' puffy the eyelids, an' red roun' the rim; +Thae e'en, that ha'e gotten a set in the head, +Wi' watchin' ower often the wine when it's red. +Eh, me, sirs! what wreck in the universe can +Be sae awsome to see as the wreck of a man! +Whatever of talents, or good looks, or gear, +What w'alth o' good chances had been this man's here; +What gifts that might make his life lofty and grand, +A blessin' to others, a power in the land. +All was gone, gifts an' graces, the greatest, the least, +Were hidden beneath the broad mark o' the beast-- +Stamped on, I may say, frae the head to the feet, +All lost of the man but his pride an' conceit; +Varnished ower wi' the airs o' the shabby genteel, +He was gingerly steppin' his way to the diel. +But now he is gaun to greet me on the way +Comin' forrid as ane that has something to say. +Takin' off wi' a flourish the bit o' a hat, +He booed wi' an air maist genteel ower that; +"Excuse me, sir, stoppin' you thus on the way, +Can you bring me to where I'll see David Macrae? +He's a preacher that men of my culture must choose; +I assure you he holds and he preaches my views; +A doctrine divested of all vulgar fears, +That I've held and believed in for years upon years. +A doctrine most sensible, likely, and true, +I endorse it, sir, as, I trust, you also do?" +I answered him, gien a bit shake to my head, +As I looked at the man and considered his creed; +"You'll see Mr. Macrae, my man, there is nae doot, +If you stan' aboot here till they're a' comin' oot; +But my frien', this new doctrine, that fits ye sae fine, +May be yours verra likely, but ne'er can be mine." + + + + +RETROSPECT + + +I sit by the fire in the gloaming, + In the depths of my easy chair, +And I ponder, as old men ponder, + Over times and things that were. + +And outside is the gusty rushing, + Of the fierce November blast, +With the snow drift waltzing and whirling, + And eddying swiftly past, + +It's a wild night to be abroad in, + When the ice blast and snow drift meet +To wreath round all the world of winter + A shroud and a winding sheet. + +There's a dash of hail at the window, + Thick with driving snow is the air; +But I sit here in ease and comfort + In the depths of my easy chair. + +I have fought my way in life's battle, + And won Fortune's fickle caress; +Won from fame just a passing notice, + And enjoy what is called success. + +As I sit here in ease and comfort, + And the shadows they rise and fall, +And the dear old familiar faces + Look out from the pannelled wall. + +Ah! reminders of living fondness + Gleam out in their pictured looks; +And in ranks round from floor to ceiling, + Are my life-long friends, my books. + +The bright wood fire crackles and sparkles, + Leaping up with a sudden glow, +Playing hide and seek with the shadows + That flit round me to and fro. + +They come and look over my shoulder, + And they vanish behind my chair; +Ah! the notice that life's November + Has sprinkled with snow my hair. + +Ah! the shadows that gather round me, + That will never more depart, +That are flitting around my chamber, + That are closing around my heart! + +All the shadows of undone actions, + And the shadow of deep regret, +Over many occasions wasted, + And of duties, alas! unmet. + +Over words that are left unspoken, + And of woe that was left unshared, +Over high resolutions broken, + And calls that would not be heard. + +And the shade of a deeper sorrow + Still hovers about my chair; +It is this, and not life's November, + Has sprinkled with snow my hair. + +For my life has passed into evening, + And I sit, mid the shadows here, +Hearing still the shadowy whisper + That success may be bought too dear. + + + + +TO THE RAIN + + +Come forth, O rain! from thy cool, distant hall, +And lave the parched brow of the feverish earth, +The little drooping flow'rets on thee call, +Come, with thy cool touch wake them up to mirth +They will lift up glad faces to the sky, +Drinking in gladness from the warm moist air, +Now, thirsty, hot, and faint they droop and die, +Thou only canst revive these fainting fair +The grain has shrivelled, pining after thee, +And waves light-headed from a sickly stalk, +There's no green herbage on the sunburned lea, +The glaring sun through glowing skies doth walk, +Looking down hotly on sweet Allumette, +Thinking to dry it with his ardent gaze, +Each day a strip of sand left bare and wet, +Tells how she shrinks from his pursuing rays + +1870 + + + + +DIVIDED + + +We came to the dividing line, + Then he passed over and I am here, +Sad and sore is this heart of mine + That has no power to shed a tear, +For, like one who rises and walks in sleep, +I am lost in a dream--I cannot weep. + +Yet he was good and fair to see + I know in my heart he loved me well, +What separated him from me, + I cannot tell, oh! I cannot tell, +For the blow came sudden, and sharp, and sore, +And I am alone now for evermore. + +I thought to walk through all our time + Together, linked to a lofty aim; +With sudden wrench I'm left behind-- + My heart is slain! oh, my heart is slain! +And the ghost of my heart within me cries, +Why, alas! was I made a sacrifice? + +My royal eagle ordained to soar-- + Breast to the storm, and eyes to the sun-- +Up be thy flight! and think no more + Of one the life of whose life is done; +While I, stunned and sick with a dumb despair, +Still mourn by the grave of a hope so fair. + + + + +TO MARY. + + +It is not very long since first we met, + Thy path and mine lay very far apart; +We are not of one nation, dear one, yet + Thou hast awakened love within my heart. + +It is a love that sorrow never tried, + And yet, like tested love, it is as true +As love that stood in dark hours by your side, + If hours were ever dark or sad to you. + +Not for your beauty, though I think you fair, + Not for the kind heart or the tender word; +But for the kindredship,--because you were + One who both knew and loved my gracious Lord. + +One who had often met with Him alone; + One over whom His garment had been laid; +Clothed on with beauty that was not your own, + Bought with a price no other could have paid, + +Divided by the ridge of time are we, + Yet we are near akin at heart my friend, +Our prayers and praises will together be + Blended and fused in one as they ascend + +For I, too, heard the Well-Beloved's voice, + Calling the new life in the soul to wake, +Drawing us after Him in loving choice, + Making us love His loved ones for His sake + + + + +TO FRANCES + + +Dear love, life has dewy mornings, + And the shadeless blaze of noon, +Flowers, that we stop to gather, + That fade from our hands so soon + +Dear love, there are meetings, partings, + We have sunshine, we have shade, +There's no continuing city + That our human hands have made + +We go onward, joy and sorrow + Checkers all the path we tread, +But our Father loves His children + And with loving care they're led. + +Dear love, His great wisdom chooseth + The path that we both have trod, +And through storm, and calm, and sunshine, + We rest in the hand of God + + + + +A NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS, 1870. + + +With noiseless footstep, like the white-robed snow, + The old year with closed record steals away; +Record of gladness, suffering, joy, and woe, + Of all that goes to make life's little day. + +Here, in this bright and pleasant little town, + As everywhere, a noiseless scythe hath swept; +The bright, the green, the flow'ret all cut down, + For heart ties severed loving hearts have wept. + +And some are gone we very ill can spare, + And some we gladly would have died to save, +And the young blossom of the hearth, so fair; + But all alike have passed thy gates, oh, grave! + +We see so many sable signs of woe, + Each, with mute voice, _memento mori_ saith; +As if our town that erst has sparkled so + Were passing through the vale and shade of death. + +But louder rumours from a far-off world + Come to our valley, where secure and free, +With the sword sheathed, the flag of battle furled, + We sit in peace beneath our emblem tree. + +At peace, because the madly-wicked men + Who sought to kindle flames of border war +Have in confusion failed yet, once again, + Their braggart plans dissolved in empty air. + +In the Nor' West threat'nings of strife arose, + The muttered thunders all have died away; +Unstained by blood may sleep their mantling snows; + Unmarred by civil strife their wintry day. + +War clouds seemed o'er the hapless land to brood, + The warning bugle sounded far abroad; +Red River might have ran with kindred blood, + But Manitoba heard the speaking God. + +Our summer skies were clouded dark and low; + 'Twas not the blessed rain that bowed them down, +But smoke wreaths rolling heavy, huge, and slow, + And thick as rising from a conquered town. + +And where rich crops, and wealthy orchards fair, + Spread to the sun, rustled in breeze of morn, +The fire passed through, and left them black and bare, + Rushing like Samson's foxes through the corn. + +Then, like a giant roused, it onward came, + With red arm reaching to the trees on high; +Till the whole landscape in one sheet of flame, + Glowed like a furnace 'neath a brazen sky. + +O'er many a hearth red, burning ruin swept, + Till people fancied 'twas a flaming world; +All labour gained, and prudent care had kept, + And precious life were in one ruin hurled. + +But as the fire fast spread, 'tis sweet to know, + So loving kindness and sweet pity ran; +This wide spread wail of human want and woe, + Served to bring out the brotherhood of man. + +Here, on the lovely pine-fringed Allumette, + We hear the distant echoes of the jar, +Where Galile pluck and Teuton drill have met + In the long shock of cruel murderous war. + +We only read of fields heaped high with slain, + Of vineyards flooded red, but not with wine, +Of writhing heaps of groaning anguished pain, + Of wounded carted off in endless line. + +We read of all the stern eyed pomp of war, + The list of wounded and the number slain, +But know not what war's desolations are, + How much one battle costs of human pain. + +All the sweet homes beneath the chestnut trees + Blackened and waste, the hearth light quenched in gore; +What hecatombs of human agonies + Are laid war's demon-chariot wheels before + +When a few deaths so shadow a whole place, + Let us but think of that beleaguered town +Where famine's blackness sits in every face, + War cutting thousands, want ten thousands down. + +And France is one great grave, her native clay + Top dressed with human flesh and steeped in blood; +Hushed are the sounds of little ones at play, + And blackened wastes where pleasant hamlets stood. + +In spots the grain will yet grow rank and strong, + Over brave hearts that conquered as they fell; +Falling, left hearts to sorrow for them long, + By the swift Rhine, or by the blue Moselle. + +When will the nations learn to war no more, + Nor with red hands adore the God of peace? +O Thou, most merciful, whom we adore, + Bid this unnecessary war to cease! + +And look upon our country, young and strong, + With prospects of a future great and grand; +Grant us that Right still triumph over Wrong, + That Righteousness exalt and bless the land. + +That here where smiling peace and plenty reign, + Beneath the glory of unclouded skies +A Nation that shall know no honour stain + Girt by sons pure and peaceful, shall arise + +O! Canada our own beloved land, + Land of free homes, and hearts uncowed by fear, +Refuge of many, be it thine to stand + Foremost among the nations each New Year! + + + + +MY BABY + + +He lay on my breast so sweet and fair, + I fondly fancied his home was there, +Nor thought that the eyes of merry blue, + With baby love for me laughing through, + +Were pining to go from whence he came, + Leaving my arm empty and heart in pain, +Longing to spread out his wings and fly + To his native home far beyond the sky + +They took him out of my arms and said + My baby so sweet and fair was dead, +My baby that was my heart's delight + The fair little body they robed in white + +Flowers they placed at the head and feet + Like my baby fair, like my baby sweet, +They laid him down in a certain place, + And round him they draped soft folds of lace + +Till I'd look my last at my baby white, + Before they carried him from my sight, +By the sweet dead babe, so fair to see, + They tried in kindness to comfort me + +They said, he is safe from care and pain, + Safe and unspotted by sin or stain; +Before the mystery of the years + Brings heart ache or pang, or sorrow's tears. + +He's safe, sweet lamb, in the Shepherd's care, + Sorrow nor suffering enters there; +But with brow of gladness, clothed in light, + He is fair as the angels in His sight. + +I know what they said to me was true, + And should have fallen on my heart like dew; +For, although my grief was very sore, + My baby was safe for evermore. + +I know that they spoke with kindly care, + My grief to comfort and soothe, or share; +But I gave my baby the last, last kiss, + Saying, God alone comforts grief like this. + + + + +THE FATE OF HENRY HUDSON. + + +I, Louis Marin, mariner, born on the Breton coast, + Must pass from earth away, + And, because wild remorse + Pursues me--is my curse, + My guilty hand this day +Will write down of the crime that haunts my death-bed like a ghost. + + In sixteen hundred ten, + Bold Hudson and his men +Left London town behind with its castles, towers and fanes, + The crew were twenty-three, + Which, alas! included me +When the good ship _Discovery_ went sailing down the Thames + We were all picked men and strong, + We took willing hearts along + Yes, our hearts were bold and brave + Every eye was keen and bright, + When the wild Atlantic wave + Hid the homeland from our sight + +On a voyage of discovery bound to win a high renown, +That on the line of years our names be proudly handed down +As, with merry hearts and light, we flew on before the blast, +We little dreamed this voyage was ordained to be our last +All full of reckless venture and so fearless--could we know +Hope beckoned on a path of fame to lure us into woe, +As we sailed into the frozen seas, the place of ice and snow, +We sighted the ominous Farewell Cape +And steered north through drift ice up Baffin's Strait +Oh, lonely and drear to the weary eye +Were the vast ice-fields floating slowly by +Not a blade of grass not a leaf to tell +That the summer verdure was possible +Round the pale horizon, the aching sight +Met an awful vastness of barren white, +As if earth lay beneath the chilly sky +Struck to death by Gehazi's leprosy +We sailed on, and round us on every hand, +On the darkling wave, on the desert strand, +On the rock-bound coast, on the icy cape, +The ice heaved up in wild fantastic shape; +In mountain, and mosque, and cathedral dome, +Lofty peak, and column, and minaret, +And ponderous arches in order set, + Tower and spire and pinnacle high, + Soaring up to the deep blue sky +Statues ice sculptured, frost work and fret, +That had some weird likeness to sights at home. + +On and on we sailed through the waters dark, +Where the damp fog clung like a witch's veil, +And hid from the faces of watchers pale, +The dangers that crowded around our bark, +In this, the birth-place of the snow and mist. +Icebergs by the low clouds covered and kissed, +Clustered round us like ghosts to bar our way; +While the sharp sleet drove on the icy blast, +Cutting through the foam of the seething spray, +Sheathing in ice both sail and mast, +Northward still northward we sailed away. + +The wild air was thick with flurrying snow; +The winds broken loose, raging, swept and swirled, +Heaping mountain drifts on hummock and floe, + Deadly that wind as the cannon's breath, + To crush out life with the blast of death. +Wreathing winding sheets round an Arctic world. +Upon that wild day, on that dreadful day! +Amid grinding noises of crash and jar, +With the winds and snow, waves and ice at war, +In their wildest fury and greatest might, +We drove with the storm into that wide bay, +That forever will keep our captain's name, +And embalm in horror his death and fame, +And around us closed in the Arctic night. +Our ship was caught in jaws of ice, +That closed on it, held it as in a vice, +Ice was around us mountains high +Its dazzling spear points pierced the sky, + In every shape of vast and wild, + Heaps upon heaps were tossed and hurled, + Mountain on mountain roughly piled, + The chaos of an icy world + +It was a ghastly, beautiful sight, +The rosy flush of the Northern Light, +Lances of splendour shot through the sky +And blood-red banners were waved on high, +Creatures of light darted to and fro, +Dancing in mockery of our woe, +Unrolling with their luminous hands +Belts of glory, and quivering bands +Of heaving, pulsing, transparent green, +Throwing out light in shimmering waves, +That spread into a tremulous sea +Of wavering glowing brilliancy, +Clothing the heavens in delicate sheen, +From which darts, and arrows, and tongues of fire +Glancing in splendour higher and higher +Wove themselves into a glorious crown, +Letting bright streamers hang wavering down, +Until brilliant sea and crown of beams +Faded to mist like fairy dreams + Vanishing all away, away, +Away behind ice wall and icy caves, + Leaving us in the moonlight grey, +Pale skeletons sitting by frozen graves + +We in our misery cared not, +For splendours that mocked our wretched lot, +We were locked in a place by God forgot + He did not care + For sigh or prayer, +For He never answered to help or bless, +But death and fell sickness and loathsomeness +Of disease that cometh from extreme cold, +Joined to cow the hearts of the brave and bold, +The provisions rotted within the hold, +And the worm eaten bread was foul to use. +Sufferings and agonies manifold +Gathered round the end of that fatal cruise. + +The spring kept away so late, oh so late! +Through death our numbers waxed feeble and few; +And when famine sat down among the crew, +Came both sullen anger and fiery hate, +And we hardened our hearts and cursed our fate. +Some deserted to speedily fall and freeze +Some, swollen and blue with the fell disease, +Blasphemed and called on the saints in turn +With choking utterance and livid tongue. + We cursed the captain to his face + For bringing us to this wretched case. +He sat among us gloomy and stern, +His venturous heart was with anguish wrung; + While silent and sad + Was the little lad, + His only son, + Once so full of fun +When he sailed on the cruise that had no return. + +Sitting in our misery on a night, +Fresh wonders burst on our awe-struck sight; + For the stars were raining out of the sky, +In a fiery shower, falling thick and fast; +Yea, and horrible sounds were on the blast, +Of crash and jar, and shivering moan, +As of rending earth; and all nature's groan + Were sent to warn us the end was nigh. +With awe-struck gladness we looked around, +Waiting to hear the last trumpet sound. +From living death in that desolate Bay, +We had sprung to welcome the judgment day; +Although in the pit should our lot be cast, +So that this our great woe should end at last. +The bleak spring came, the ice did part; +Devils entered each sailor's heart; +No blessed thoughts sweetened our wretched lives, +Of the distant mother's, sweethearts, and wives; +Of innocent pleasures we valued most, + In the greenwood haunts of our childhood's home, +In sweet English vale, or bold Breton coast, + That we left to sail on the salt sea foam. + +We launched the boat--we, the wicked crew-- +Strong in the evil we meant to do, +To leave the most helpless ones behind-- +The men who were loathsome, sick and blind. +We tumbled them in without sail or oar; + We forced in the captain and his son; + And when the horrible crime was done +We mocked them and told them to go ashore. +O, Mighty God of the sea and land! +Where hadst Thou hidden Thy strong right hand; +That this should happen under the sky, +And be looked at by Thy All-seeing eye +For we spread our sails to leave that spot, +Secure in that God regarded not. +As we steered the ship away, away, +From the boat that rocked on that dismal Bay, +There arose from the wretches left behind, +Helpless by famine, sick and blind, +A cry that would pierce through iron bars; + The despairing groan + Of those left alone +Passed through the ranks of the shivering stars, + To the dreadful God on His holy throne. +When out of that accursed Bay, +Southward, homeward we sailed away. +We had favouring winds, we hurried fast, +Had our sails been of the hurricane's blast, +Our guilt so surrounded and hemmed us in +That we could not sail away from our sin; +For all nature knew that we had done +The awfullest deed beneath the sun +Our burning eyes were forbid to weep, +We lost the rest of the blessed sleep; +For scared by dreams and terrified +By visions, leaving us weary-eyed, +We knew that the tempter's work was done, +We had staked our souls and the fiend had won. + +I stood one night at the wheel alone: + Stars in millions were in the sky, + Every star an accusing eye; +I heard again that horrible groan +Of horror, of helpless terror and pain, +I had hoped to nevermore hear again-- + The cry of those we had left alone. + +The sky was changed, an angry glare +Lit up the billows, and through the air +Flaming swords flashed in invisible hands, +Ready to execute God's commands. +The solemn light of the pale moon's glance +Glowed with the wrath of His countenance. +At the far horizon shadowy things +Shod with the lightning, with fiery wings, + Were darting with messages to and fro, +I saw them flitting on, noiseless, swift, +Through the holy vail of luminous mist, + Where God was apportioning our woe. +I knew the time had come when He meant +To mete out to us our punishment. +An awful voice from the maintop fell: + "Where is the captain and sick of the crew?" +It filled my brain with the pains of hell; + The cold sweat started like drops of dew. +My hair stood up--for, over the side, +On the rolling swell of the heaving tide, + Gliding along on the crest of a wave, +I saw, in the moonlight's shimmering track, + Our messmates, the feeble, sick and blind, + That leagues away we had left behind; +To the vessel groping their blind way back +Coming again to join the crew; + Led by the captain looking as brave, +As full of command, as he used to do + +The wave heaved up to the bulwark's side, + And one after one they stepped on board. +Dead men, with eyes that opened wide + With the stare of blindness--gracious Lord! +One of them groped his way abaft, + And laid his swollen hand on the wheel. +His hand that in death was clammy and damp; +His blind eyes stared at the binnacle lamp, + As if the dead hand had nerves of steel, +He altered the ship's course in spite of me + Who could only stare at him and gasp, + For I was in the nightmare's grasp. +Fiends in the air around me laughed; +But the dead man worked on all silently, +Nor noticed the ecstacy of my fears; +Yet he was a man I had known for years. +A messmate at sea, a comrade on shore, +And in jolly carouse, in wassail roar. +My holiday time with him I spent +When I was of life-blood innocent; +But he never looked or spoke to me, +But steered away from the open sea. +Towards the shore beyond the desolate strait, +Where suffering and crime had been so great. + +Dead hands pulled the ropes and trimmed the sails, +But no cheery cries the night wind hails. +They worked the ship like men who slept + But steadily, oh so steadily! +They took in sail, the watch they kept, + And groped about blindly, silently. +Fore and aft on the waves swarmed fiendish things, +Vile creatures that seemed to be heads with wings. + Like a shoal of porpoises millions strong, +Alive with motion that could not rest, +Twisting out ropes from the breaker's crest, +From the fleecy foam of the yeasty spray, +With hands that appeared and vanished away; +Chattering, they towed the ship along; +And we, the living, stood looking on, +Until that horrible night was gone. + +When the grey of dawn came in the sky, +With a scream and a cheer the fiends vanished; +Over the side filing silently +Went our messmates, the corpses swollen and dead, +Gliding over the waves with the vanishing night +Till the low clouds covered them up from our sight. + +We, like men who have got respite from pain, +Put about the ship toward home again, +The sails swelled out with a favouring wind; +The coast of horrors we left behind. +And cheerily sailed in the blessed light; +But the ghosts of the crew came back at night. +Whatever distance we gained by day. +They steered us back in the moonlight grey. + +How it came to pass I can never tell, +But I thought of God in the jaws of hell-- +Through my despair came the thought that He +Was a helper in extremity +For the first time in my wandering years, +My burning eyes felt the bliss of tears +Like refreshing dew on soul and sense +Fell the softening grace of penitence +The Grace Divine that maketh whole, +Stole into the darkness of my soul + +Sad thoughts were rising into prayer, + By the wheel on the night air chill and raw +The ghost of my messmate stood by me, + And looked in my face with eyes that saw +The blue lips said "Be awake, and aware, + The enchanted ship will touch the shore, +Fly then from us, and you will be free, + Your penance of suffering will be o'er +But the rest, for the deed that they have done +Shall sail on without rest beneath the sun." + +I made my escape when we reached the shore, +And I saw the ship and the crew no more +Alone I laid myself down to die, +No human aid, as I thought, was nigh + I longed for death, I was not afraid +I was found by roving hunter bands, +Brought back to life by merciful hands, + The hands of a dark skinned Indian maid. +She nursed me with skill and tenderness, +And recovered me from loathsomeness +But the day has come and the hours draw nigh, +When I, Louis Marin, must surely die +I write down my crime, that soon or late +The world may know Captain Hudson's fate + +I write of our crime and our sufferings, +Of vengeance that follows, remorse that stings +Messmates remember though crime is done, +In the lonest spot beneath the sun, +Where footstep of man has never trod, +It's under the eye of an avenging God. +He comes near, a Swift Witness, with intent +That they who sow crime shall reap punishment. + + + + +FORSAKEN. + + +Beside the open window she is lying, + Through which comes softly in the balmy air, +And fans her wasted cheek; but slowly dying, + She seeth not that autumn's finger fair + Tinges the golden landscape everywhere. + +She seeth not the glory of the maples, + That in their crimson robes surround her home; +Nor the rich red of the ripe clustering apples + In the old orchard, where can never come + Her flying feet to stoop and gather some. + +That is her home where in life's young May morning, + She careless sung the joyful hours away; +A happy-hearted child, to whom no warning + Came of the future shipwreck by the way, + Or of the worshipped idol turned to clay. + +The place has passed to strangers; unregretting, + She looks upon the home, no longer hers, +Of all the happy past she's unforgetting; + But deeper anguish now her bosom stirs, + The sorrow that can find no comforters. + +Father and mother lie beneath the grasses, + That lonely wave within the churchyard gloom; +And the sad wind is wailing as it passes + Asking the dead to hasten and make room, + For her that's slowly sinking to the tomb + +Seeing as if she saw not, one sore longing + Is she awake to, as she lieth here, +Dead to regretful thoughts that round are thronging, + All too absorbed to shed repenting tear, + Or look into the future drawing near + +She hath lost all the keen desire of living, + The power to grieve over a vanished name, +She thinks one thought, poor child, her heart forgiving + All of her wrongs, all of her suffered shame, + And has no power left with which to blame + +Never again shall hope with her awaken, + For all hope buried in one small grave lies, +But her heart longs that he who has forsaken + Should look once more with kindness in her eyes + And take her poor forgiveness ere she dies + +So in a calm that hopes for no assistance, + With longings that are lost in empty air +Her dying eyes are fixed upon the distance, + Lest he should come upon her unaware, + "He cometh not," she whispers in despair. + + + + +KEEPING TRYST + + +Who is the maid with silken hair + By clear Maine Water roaming? +For the fairy Queen is not so fair + As she in the lonely gloaming + +It is sweet Mysie of Bellee, + John Millar's lovely daughter; +She is waiting where the old elm tree + Droops over the sweet Maine Water. + +"The trysting time has come and past, + The day is fast declining; +Oh my true love, are you coming fast, + For the star of love is shining?" + +"The moon is bright, the ford is safe, + The market folks crossed over; +Oh, come to me, it is wearing late, + And I wait for thee, my lover. + +"I fear me there will be a storm, + The clouds, with murky fingers, +Are muffling the stars o'er far Galgorm, + Where my own true lover lingers." + +She turned her from the trysting tree, + So sadly home returning, +Saying "He has broken tryst with me, + And his ship sails in the morning." + +She took three steps from that sad place, + Where doubt of him had found her; +And he stood before her face to face, + And he drew his arm around her. + +"I thought, without one last farewell, + We had for ever parted; +And I could not of the anguish tell + That had left me broken hearted. + +"My love I'm going far away; + Whatever may betide us, +Our loving hearts are one for aye, + Though the roaring seas divide us." + +He broke a ring between them two; + He made a vow to bind him +To death, and beyond it to be true + To her he had left behind him. + +Years passed, the maiden secretly + Watched on with anxious wonder, +For some love message; but treachery + Kept the two fond hearts asunder. + +She lived in hope that he would write, + And some love token send her; +Her step grew feeble, her face grew white, + And her eyes got unearthly splendour. + +And lovers they besieged her sore; + For love that she had given +To one who would come to her no more; + So she faded into heaven. + +They made her grave where robins sing; + Trees whisper requiems daily; +They laid her down with her broken ring; + In her grave at Kirk ma Rielly. + +Word went out of the maiden's death, + Who for true love departed; +It found him who mourned her broken faith, + And mourned her as false, falsehearted. + +He turned as cold as cold, cold clay, + And fell struck down with sorrow; +"I know how my dear love died to-day, + I will die for her to-morrow. + +"My love is dead so sweet and fair, + Blighted and broken hearted, +I'll keep my tryst, and together dead, + We'll rest who were falsely parted. + +"Gold that my darling could not save, + That made my love derided, +Shall carry me home and dig my grave, + We'll not be in death divided." + +They made his grave on Erin's breast, + Where the birds sing requiems daily; +And laid him beside his love to rest, + In the grave-yard of Kirk ma Bielly. + + + + +EDGAR + + +I have not wept for Edgar, as a mother + Weeps for the tender lamb she lays to rest; +And yet it cannot be that any other + Baby like him shall lie upon my breast; +For he was with us but a passing guest, +A birdling that belonged not to the nest. + +Looking upon his large dark eyes so tender, + Filled with the solemn light of Paradise, +I knew that word would soon come to surrender, + My babe, not mine, but native to the skies; +As the sweet lark that ever upward flies, +He would be taken from my longing eyes. + +For from the first he looked to be earth-weary, + And clung to me with no desire to play; +He never laughed and crowed with spirit cheery + Like my earth babies; but from day to day +Seemed ever yearning for the far-away, +And well I knew he could not with me stay + +The angels whispered things I knew not of, + My babe had visions of a far-off land, +I knew it, that he yearned for higher love, + And reached to touch another unseen hand, +That drew him from my little household band, +They wailed for him of whom they were so fond + +And when he closed his eyes and fell asleep, + Loosening his baby grasp away from mine, +Turning from me that had no power to keep, + The glory of a placidness divine +Beamed on his face, I took it for a sign, +And bowed my head to say, Thy will is mine. + +I weep for him in silence of the night, + I see him where the holy angels are, +His radiant eyes have lost their mournful light + And beam with happy glory like a star, +I weep with mournful joy to think that, where +The Master is, my little babe is there. + + + + +GONE + + +Mournfully, mournfully + All around me are crying, +For my dark-eyed baby boy + Is dying, dying + +Tenderly, tenderly + To him I am clinging, +But he slips from my fond arms, + Death bells are ringing + +Joyfully, joyfully + Angels are receiving +My babe--by the empty cot + I must sit grieving. + + + + +WHAT WENT YE OUT FOR TO SEE? + + +On Jordan's banks gathered an eager crowd, + The Royal city poured its dwellers out; +The vintage was untouched in Ephraim; + No fisher's boat from Magdala put out. + +Up from Engedi's fountain, down the slope + Of terraced Olivet, an eager throng, +Filled with one purpose, one absorbing hope, + Unto the Jordan take their way along. + +The priestly robe, the saintly Pharisee, + The publican, the sinner, all were there, +The doubting, sneering, questioning Sadducee, + Just risen from his seat, the scorner's chair. + +All carried there the consciousness of sin; + A wish for some one having power to save; +Ready to do some great thing peace to win; + So came they to the ford by Jordan's wave. + +What did they see? not one in purple vest, + Who lives deliciously, abides by choice +In palaces, and he in hair doth drest, + And leathern girdled is--Is what? a voice. + +In poor array, the greatest prophet stood + Beside the waters where the banks are green. +"Art thou the looked-for one? Will Jordan's flood + Touched by thy hand have power to make us clean?" + +"The Jordan will not wash your guilt and shame; + Sin must be washed away in sinless blood." +And looking upon Jesus as he came, + He said to them, "Behold the Lamb of God." + + + + +THE IROQUOIS SIDE OF THE STORY. + + +I, an Iroquois brave, +Speak from my forest grave, +Where by Utawa's wave + I sleep in glory. +Listen, pale faces, then, +Let years roll back again, +While of Iroquois men + I tell the story, + +We were the foremost race, +That roamed the forest space; +None stood before our face, + Rousing our fierce wrath; +By Stadacona's steep, +Where Santee's waters sleep, +Prairie broad, valley deep, + Have been our war path. + +Eries by inland seas, +Mountain bred Cherokees, +Of us, Hodenosaunees, + With fear grew frantic; +Feared us who made their home, +Under the pinetrees lone, +Where the winds lash to foam, + The wild Atlantic. + +Tribute from east and west, +Of what we loved the best, +Wampum belt, necklace drest + Gladly they grant us. +White men can wisely tell, +How we fought, how we fell; +None could our glory quell, + No tribe could daunt us. + +Eagles for swiftness we, +Panthers for subtlety, +Wise when in counsel free, + We took our stations. +Where was the tribe so brave, +Whose war craft could them save +From being conquered, slave + Of the Six Nations! + +Wah! we all heard the news, +Of the winged war canoes, +Swift as the wild sea mews, + Objects of wonder; +Spreading their white wings wide, +Breasting the mighty tide, +Black lips from out their side, + Spoke lofty thunder. + +Upward their way they steer, +Swifter than swimming deer, +Furled they their white wings near + Green Hochelaga. +We heard their name and fame, +Sweeping like forest flame, +To our great lodge it came, + In fair Onondaga. + +Shy on their native strand, +The mild Algonquins stand +And gave the heart's right hand + To the white stranger. +With speech and gesture fair, +Gave a free welcome there, +Proud they to spare and share, + Fearing no danger. + +Pale face and red man met, +Smoked they the Calumet, +And the peace feast was set + For the pale faces; +All of sweet wild wood cheer, +Fish from the river clear. +Haunch of the antlered deer, + Feast the two races. + +If peace and trust were slain, +Whose the loss? Whose the blame? +Let the white scribes explain, + Our foes be our judges. +They sat down as conquerors, +Took the land, took the furs, +Let the braves starve like curs + Outside their lodges. + +Vanished the hunter strong, +Stilled was the husking song; +No corn fields stretched along + In green Hochelaga. +Like to the forest flame, +Devouring the white man came; +Soon spread their evil fame + To far Onondaga. + +Should we be pale face prey, +Fade like the mist away? +Fiercely we turned to bay + Not like the others. +The mild Algonquin race, +Melted before their face, +Leaving a roomy place + For their white brothers. + +But we from sea to lake +Had made the wide earth shake, +And braves like women quake + As they were drunken. +We give our hunting grounds! +Give up our burial mounds! +Whimper like beaten hounds + Like the Algonquin! + +We of the forest free, +Born into liberty, +We, lords of all we see + In our own valleys. +Their chief across the waves, +Asked for Iroquois braves, +To be the chained slaves, + Of his war galleys? + +Should we the mighty, then, +We, the Iroquois men, +Smoke the peace pipe with them + With these marauders! +No! we, the feared in strife, +Hunted the precious life, +With the red scalping knife, + Through all our borders. + +If the fierce war-whoop rung, +In the Iroquois tongue, +And the red warriors sprung + On the pale faces; +Let, then, the guilt accursed, +Fall heaviest and worst, +On who raised the hatchet first + Of the two races. + +In the sweet moon of leaves, +When birds the soft nest weaves, +And the free water heaves + Beneath the blue heavens. +Upwards the white braves go, +Vowed to meet us foe to foe, +Landed at the wild Long Sault, + In the calm spring even. + +Danlac, their biggest brave, +Gathered a band to save, +The rest from a bloody grave, + From our revenges. +Not for their own land they +Fought as they did that day; +But to take ours away + And to have vengeance. + +We vowed, in warrior pride, +To rise, a rushing tide, +And sweep the country wide, + With a death riddance. +To burn their palisades, +And to the forest glades, +In change for Indian maids, + Bear their white maidens. + +In painted plumed array, +Hot, panting for the fray, +Our paddles beat the spray + Of the wild water. +Shot through the rapids white, +The war cry of our might, +Rose as we flashed in sight, + Eager for slaughter + +Then scouting watchers run, +Then loud alarm of drum, +Shouts of, "The foe! they come," + Rung through the forest. +Then we, three hundred strong, +Burning with sense of wrong, +Raised our loud battle song, + Sounding the onset. + +From the old fort there broke, +Volleying flame and smoke, +And the loud echoes woke + With pale face thunder. +And shot in torrents fell, +As if the hottest hell, +Of which the black robes tell; + Opened in wonder, + +Woe to the white race, woe! +Wild we dashed at the foe, +Showering blow on blow + On their defences +We with our bosoms bare, +Surged up against their lair; +They in a brave despair, + Behind their fences, + +Belched out a fiery hail +Like leaves in autumn pale, +Fell we before that gale + In the death heaping. +Till the young grass grew red +With the blood blanket spread, +Under Iroquois dead, + In glory sleeping. + +Sank down the big round sun, +And the red fight was done, +To be again begun + In the grey dawning; +Remained there but twenty two, +With whom we had to do, +Of that devoted few + For whom death was yawning. + +Charged we at the fort again, +Axes crashed through heart and brain, +Heaps on heaps fell our slain + The red price paying. +We fell as leaves before the gale, +But of the faces pale, +None lived to tell the tale + Of that grim slaying. + +The fort was taken at last, +Blood and fire mingling fast, +Death's bitterness was past, + For none were breathing. +Where lay our enemies, +Side by side were swart allies, +Brave and pale-face mingled, lies + Christian and heathen. + +This feat of arms that gave +Unto these bravest brave, +Death and a bloody grave, + Is told in story. +All the valour and the might, +Of the pale-face in the fight, +When the story's told aright, + We will share the glory. + + + + +A SATIRE. + +A HUMBLE IMITATION. + + +The rage for writing has spread far and wide, +Letters on letters now are multiplied, +And every mortal, who can hold a pen, +Aspires in haste to teach his fellow men. +Paper in wasted reams, and seas of ink. +Prove how they write who never learned to think; +Some who have talents--some who have not sense; +Some who to decency make no pretence; +But, skilled in arts which better men deceive, +They spread the slander which they don't believe. +A township turned to scribblers is a sight! +Venting their malice all in black and white, +And with, apparently, no other aim +Than merely to be foaming out their shame. +--My own, my beautiful, my pride, +I must lament where strangers will deride, +O'er thy degenerate sons whose strife and hate +Will make thee as a desert desolate +Men of gray hairs are not ashamed to strive +From house to house to keep the flame alive, +Whispering, inventing, without rest or pause, +With a "zeal worthy of a better cause." +Drilling low agents, teaching them to fly, +And spread on every fence the last new lie. +Oh that it were with us as in the past, +And that our peace had been ordained to last +When kindness reigned and angry passions slept, +E'er hatred's serpent to our Eden crept, +Are these the same or of a different race +From those who made this spot a pleasant place, +When cheerful toil, mingled with praise and prayer. +Wealth without pride and plenty without care, +When comely matrons wore the homespun suit, +And mocassons encased his worship's foot +No brawling then disturbed the quiet air, +No drunkard's ravings, and no swearer's prayer +The godly fathers all are passed away, +Gone to their rest before the evil day +The sons serve other gods, bow at their shrine, +Of the bright dollar or the gloomy pine +While envy, jealousy, and low purse pride +Those who were loving brethren now divide, +Like fabled pismires how the scrambling race, +For the small honours of a country place +And thou, who hast a spark of nature's fire, +What are thy aims son of a godly sire? +Thy good right hand, and calculating brain, +Have given thee wealth with honour in its train +Others may strive with anxious cares and fears, +Thou hast much goods laid up for many years, +Wilt thou forget the line from which thou'rt sprung? +Deem rich men always right and poor men wrong? +Forget thy early friends and bearing free? +When thou art angry have no charity? +Shall wealth, not worth and vulgar pomp and show, +Be the sum total of all good below? +Shall we, then, cease for innate worth to scan? +Look to the new made coat and not the man? +Those who are raised in such an atmosphere +Are they who have the ever-ready sneer +At honest poverty, and at the road +To competence which their own fathers trod +If men of worth will stoop among the vain, +We turn from them with sorrow and with pain +Man may repent, reform, his steps retrace, +But is there renovation for a place? +Will a community forego their strife, +Bury the tomahawk and scalping knife? +Will pride, and will self interest prevail, +Where reason and where revelation fail +Like cause makes like effect, abroad, at home-- +In this small township as in Greece or Rome. +One motto is my moral, true and sad, +Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad + + + + +JUVENILE VERSES. + +ON THE BIRTH OF ALBERT EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES + + + Sing and rejoice, + With heart and voice, +An heir is born to the British Crown, + A royal son, + A princely one, +One born to glory and renown. + + A nation's mirth + Rose at his birth, +On every side great joy prevails, + The nation's joy, + The royal boy, +Our dear Queen's infant, Prince of Wales, + + With gladness we + Rejoiced to see +A virgin wear Britannia's crown, + Then hailed the bride, + By Albert's side, +And saw her look benignly down. + + And now with joy + We hail thee boy, +Heir of thy royal mother's fame, + And see our Isle + With rapture smile, +Resounding Albert Edward's name + Edward, a name + Of deathless fame, +A name each British bosom hails, + That name we see + Revived in thee, +Another Edward Prince of Wales. + + O blessings rest + With kisses prest, +On that sweet infant bud that grows, + An early flower, + One born to power, +A scion of the royal rose. + + Our bosoms burn, + To thee we turn, +In willing homage bend the knee; + Hope of our Isle, + We see thee smile, +Edward the hero hail in thee. + + We pray for thee, + Our king to be, +The greatest prince the world e'er saw. + May the great King + His blessings bring, +And be His Book of life thy law. + + May God above, + In boundless love, +Guard thee and keep thee as his own, + And bless thee so, + That thou mayest grow +Up to support thy mother's throne. + + May glory shine, + And grace combine, +Pure as thy father's life be thine. + Mayest thou be strong + Against all wrong, +And be a Prince by Right Divine. + + May future days + Record the praise +Of our Victoria's royal son. + May all the earth + Hear of his worth, +And of the greatness he has won. + + Innocent babe, + In cradle laid, +Unconscious cause of all this joy, + Each Briton's prayer, + For Britain's heir, +Is "Angels guard thee, royal boy." + +GRACE HILL, NOV., 1840. + + + + +THE BIBLE. + +WRITTEN TO ---- WITH ONE. + + +The book of life to thee is given, +To warn of death, to guide to Heaven. +Wanderer on the wild astray, +Here wilt thou find the King's highway. +Has thy soul suffered, hunger, pain, +Trying to feed on husks in vain? +Here thou wilt find the palace fair, +Where there is bread enough to spare +Thou'lt find where living waters roll, +To satisfy the fainting soul. +Thou hast been thirsty, very sore, +Here come and drink and thirst no more, +Thou'lt find the pearl of greatest price +Hid in the Master's promises. +And so this book to thee is given +To warn of hell, to guide to Heaven. + +GRACE HILL, 1842. + + + + +THE ADIEU TO ELIZA. + + +The night was bright and beautiful, + The dew was on the flower, +The stars were keeping watch, it was + The lover's parting hour. + +The night wind rippled o'er the wave, + The moon shone on the two, +The boat was waiting, part they must, + "Eliza, love, adieu!" + +"You know how fondly I have loved, + How long, how true, how dear, +And though fate sends me far away + My heart will linger here. + +"Bright hope, the lover's comfort, can + Alone my heart console, +Or soothe the pain of parting with + The empress of my soul. + +"When other suitors vainly talk + Of fondly loving you, +Remember him who truly loved + As no one else can do. + +"I'll think upon the place contains + My dark-eyed source of bliss, +When roaming idly, blindly through + The gay metropolis. + +"Weep not, weep not, my dearest girl, + Your tears my bosom pain, +Remember," fondly added he, + "We part to meet again." + +He made her pledge him heart to heart + She would not him forget, +Asked her to sigh when at the spot + Where they had often met. + +He spoke much of how deep was stamped + Her image on his mind; +One more adieu, the boat was gone. + And she was left behind. + +True was the maiden, and she kept + While weeks and months took wing, +His name deep treasured in her heart, + As 'twere a sacred thing. + +And he--did he return again + Her long love to repay? +No! in good sooth, as Byron says, + He laughed to flee away. + +G HILL, 1839. + + + + +TO MY VALENTINE. + +1844. + + +Adieu! Adieu! may angels guard thee, + Hovering near thee night and day, +For all thy good deeds God reward thee, + The rest forgive and blot away. + +May no gift nor grace be missing, + May He all on thee confer, +And add a heartfelt prayer and blessing + From the distant wanderer. + +O'er the trackless, foaming ocean, + In weal or woe, ever shall be +Mingled in my heart's devotion + Many a prayer for thine and thee. + +What tho' across thy memory never + Shall flit my once familiar name, +Hallowed by distance, thine for ever, + Memory shall conjure up again. + +All thy follies ever hidden, + All thy virtues raised above, +Thy name, so long, so much forbidden, + Strangers shall learn from me to love. + +Adieu! and may we meet in heaven, + Through Him, the Lord, who guides our ways; +And he to whom much was forgiven, + Shall swell the highest notes of praise. + + + + +FIRST LOVE. + +(A. S.) 1845. + + +We met--he was a stranger, + His foot was free to roam; +I was a simple maiden, + Who had never left my home. + +He was a noble scion + Of the green Highland pine, +To a strange soil transplanted, + Far from his native clime + +And well his bearing pleased me, + For I had never seen +Keener eye, or smile more sunlit, + Or more dignity of mien. + +His brow was fair and lofty, + Bright was his clustering hair; +I marvelled that to other eyes + He seemed not half so fair + +His it was to plead with men, + With "Thus my Lord hath said;" +He stood God's messenger between + The living and the dead + +When I heard how earnestly + His pleading message ran, +I said, "Here God has set his seal + To mark a perfect man." + +The rapture of a moment + Came suddenly to me; +With softened glance he asked me, + 'Could you learn to think of me?' + +The star of love shone o'er us, + His arm was round me thrown +And he fondly said he loved me + And loved but me alone + +I was but a simple maiden + Village born and village bred +And when this crown of gladness + Dropped down upon my head + +A simple maiden's feelings + That moment sprang awake +I wished myself rich, noble + And lovely for his sake + +Ah, love akin to sorrow + Ah, ecstasy so fleet! +Why is parting made the surer + When the meeting is so sweet? + +Quick as the flash of summer + Came bliss to fade too soon +My poor heart swelled, as ocean + Swells for the lady moon. + +I saw him at the altar + Upon a morning fair +The matron and the maiden, + And paranymph were there + +There were holy words, and wishes, + And smiles when tears would start +A fair bride stood beside him, + And I--I stood apart. + +Then came the parting moment, + After I loved him well; +I stilled my heart's sore beating, + And so I said farewell, + +And oh! may no remembrance + Cause him a moment's pain, +But yet, indeed, I loved him, + And I'll never love again. + + + + +CHILDREN'S SONG. + + +We little children join to praise +The Holy Child of endless days. +The Lord of glory undefiled +Was once like us a little child. + +Chorus.-- + "Sweetly, sweetly, sweetly singing, + Let us praise him, praise him, praise him, bringing + Happy voices, voices, voices ringing + Like the songs of the angels round the throne." + +He hears the ravens when they call, +He sees the little sparrows fall, +He heard the little children sing +Hosanna to the Saviour King. + Sweetly, &c. + +O Jesus, we sing to praise thee, +Who said let children come to me; +We gather round the mercy seat, +O let our songs to thee be sweet. + Sweetly, &c. + +Jesus, our Master, Lord and King, +Spread over us thy sheltering wing, +Keep us unspotted, let us be +Thy children singing praise to thee. + Sweetly, &c. + + + + +ANSWER TO BURNS' ADDRESS TO THE DE'IL. + + +O thou wild rantin' wicked wit; +Are thy works, thy fame livin' yet? +Will thae daft people never quit + An ne'er ha'e done +Disturbin' me in my black pit + Wi' Burn's fun. + +Though mony years ha'e fled away +Sin' thou wert buried in the clay, +Thy rhymes, unto this vera day, + Are mair than laws; +Thy name's set up on ilka bra' + Wi' great applause. + +And yet, thou wonder-workin' chiel, +I'd let ye' charm Scotch bodies weel, +But that "Address unto the De'il" + Made i' your sport, +Has raised a maist revengefu' squeel + In my black court. + +Still by the names you gi'e I'm greeted, +By every Lallan tongue repeated, +I canna turn but what I meet it, + In toun or village; +My bluid, though hot enough, is heated + Till't boils wi' rage. + +My deeds that ha'e been handed down, +Sin' I aspired to Heaven's crown, +By thee, Rab, lad, dressed up in rhyme, + To do me skaith, +Are circling still the empire roun' + After thy death. + +Ye say I roam in search o' prey, +An' rest na' neither nicht nor day; +A' that ye heard ye'r grannie say + Ye hae confest, +An' mair than hinted at my stay + In Robin's breast. + +My secret agents everywhere, +A' Scotland roun', but maist in Ayr, +O guid abuse their ain' an' mair + Ye try to gie them; +Nae credit tae ye that ye were + Acquainted wi' them. + +O' ghaists an' kelpies deeds, you ken, +Hauntin' the foord and lonely glen, +Lurin' the tipsy sons of men + In bogs to die; +0' auld wives girnin' but an'ben + Ower bewitched Rye. + +An' screeden down, wi' wicked han', +0' my deep laid successfu' plan; +Vexed at the idlest o' man, + Your faither Adam; +That got him sent to till the lan', + Him and his madam. + +You are like money I ha'e saw, +For though ye kenned I caused the fa', +An' as ye say, "maist ruined a'," + In that same hour, +You did na strive to get ava + Out o' my power + +At Kirk you'd neither pray nor praise, +But on the lassies ye wad gaze, +Notice neat feet, blue eyes, fine claes, + Or Jenny's bonnet, +An makin rhyme on what ye ha'e, + Seen creeping on it. + +Hech Rab ye were na blate ava, +Ae time ye're mockin Kirk an' a', +An' then tae me ye gie' your jaw, + Or my abode, +An' tell how weel I laid my claw + On patient Job. + +Aye! an' although ye richt weel knew +That I wi' masons had to do +Ye could na' rest, oh, no, not you! + Till numbered wi' them; +Gi'en your "heart's warm fond adieu," + When gaun to lea them. + +An' aft ye did your sire provoke, +By jest and jeer at better folk, +A' solemn thought wad end in smoke, + Sae wad his teachin', +And fun wad fly in jibe an' joke + At lang faced preachin'. + +The mair they frowned, you joked the mair, +0' grave ye had a scanty share, +The verra text ya wadna spare, + Be't e'er sae holy, +An' rhymin' ower the pithy prayer + O' pious Willie + +Aye' Rab, ye, rail it at me and mine, +Yet hungert after things divine, +I kenn'd how sairly ye wad pine, + For deeds ill done; +Ower talents lost, ower wasted time, + For sake o' fun + +An' then remorse wi' pickled rod, +Wad gie' ye mony a lash an' prod, +But aye ye went the rantin' road, + An prone tae err, +You sair misca'd douce men o' God + An Holy Fair. + +I winna say it is untrue +What's certified o' me by you, +If ilka ane their duty'd do + As quick an' weel, +As I, my certie! they'd get through, + Spite o' the De'il. + +There's ae guid turn ye did for me, +An' I acknowledge't full an' free, +In praisin' up the barley bree + "In tuneful line;" +Nae bard but you its praise could gie + In words sae fine + +An' listen tae me 'Rab, my man, +I dinna ken a better plan, +To ser' my turn wi'silly man + An wark them ill, +Than charming them to pleasure drawn + Frae the whisky gill, + +This is what gars me maist complain, +Maist as weel kenned as mine's your name, +Auld Scotia claims ye as her ain, + Her dearest one; +An' that daft gilpey, Madam Fame, + Owns thee her son. + +I thocht that jests wad flee fu' fain, +Forgetfulness come in again, +That I wad claim ye as my ain, + Tae baud an bin' ye +But noo through a' o' my domain + I canna fin' ye. + +Noo fare ye weel, whaure'er ye be, +Ane thing I ken ye're no wi' me, +I ha'e searched high an' low to see, + By spells an' turns; +Sae I maun even let ye be, + O Robert Burns. + +G. Hill, 1840. + + + + +SEPARATION. + +ELIZABETH TO WALTER + + +He has come and he has gone, + Meeting, parting, both are o'er; +And I feel the same dull pain, +Aching heart and throbbing brain + Coming o'er me once again +That I often felt before. + + +For he is my father's son, + And, in childhood's loving time +He and I so lone, so young, +No twin blossoms ever sprung, +No twin cherries ever clung, + Closer than his heart and mine. + +He is changed, ah me! ah me! + Have we then a different aim? +Shall earth's glory or its gold +Make his heart to mine grow cold? +Or can new love kill the old? + Leaving me for love and fame + +Oh, my brother fair to see! + Idol of my lonely heart, +Parting is a time of test, +Father, give him what is best, +Father keep him from the rest, + Bless him though we fall apart. + +Well I know love will not die, + It will cause us bliss or pain; +We may part for many years, +But my loving prayers and tears, +Rising up to Him who hears, + Will yet draw him back again. + +From the fount of tenderness, + All the past comes brimming up; +When his brow is touched with care, +When no grief of his I share, +When we're separated far, + It will be a bitter cup; +Bless him from before Thy throne, +Thus my heart to Thee makes moan, +Keep him Lord where he is gone + + + + +TO ANNE ON HER BIRTHDAY + + +Let mirth and joy a season reign + And sorrow flee away +Sadness were perfect sin it is + My Anne's natal day + +And now a birthday rhyme for her + This sister of my own +Accept the song then for my sake + Sister and only one + +So long we've lived together here + Our hopes and fears the same +Like two of autumn's last grown leaves + Last of our race and name + +The past we know its grief and joy + Its pleasure and its pain +But know not what may happen ere + Your birthday comes again + +Shall we be cradled in the deep + Beneath the briny wave? +Or shall the white deer lightly bound + Over my forest grave? + +Or living yet divided far + With lands and seas between +And sorrow reigning in the hearts + Where childhood's joy has been + +The future's sealed we know it not + But wander where we will +On this broad earth we shall remain + Lone loving sisters still + + + + +TO ISABEL. + +(ISABELLA STEWART) + + +Since ere I left my native isle, +My childhood's home, life's happy smile +And crossed the separating seas, +Nothing my lonely heart could please +Till now--and oh, I cannot tell +How I admire thee, Isabel! + +There are, in my dear island green, +Most lovely faces to be seen, +Beautiful eyes, with kindly glee, +Beamed there in laughing love on me +Now I'm alone from day to day, +They're all three thousand miles away. + +A stranger's face each face I see, +And every eye is cold to me, +No friendly voice, no kind caress, +No spell to break the loneliness, +Until I fell beneath the spell +Of thy rare beauty, Isabel + +I watch thee from my window pane +In hopes a stolen glimpse to gain +I know that purely lovely face, +I know that form of stately grace, +The sweet blue eye, the silken hair +Whose tresses shade thy forehead fair + +Thy beauty, like God's summer flowers +Blesses and cheers this world of ours. +Thy smile, the sunshine clear and true +Of a bright spirit looking through +But words of mine can never tell +All of thy praise fair Isabel + +Fair Isabel fair Isabel +I learned to know thy beauty well +It rose upon my exiled sight +A very treasure of delight +My loneliness so comforting +That my caged heart began to sing + +And if I sing thy beauty's fame +Thy loveliness is all to blame +I loved before I understood +That in thy veins flowed Erin's blood +And I could not help but tell +Of the fair maiden Isabel + +On earth the fairest sweetest spot +I'll leave and shall regret it not +Since I have left my earthly home +What matter is it where I roam +Not to the hill I bid farewell +But to the gentle Isabel + +Accept then from an Irish heart +This humble tribute ere we part +For thou to me art very dear +The lone star of my sojourn here +To thee I sadly bid farewell +God bless the maiden Isabel + +V K HILL 1846 + + + + +ISABEL. + +(ISABELLA STEWART) + + +Heart of mine, by thy quick beating, + Thou knowest Isabel is near, +And the gladness of the greeting + Dims my eye with rapture's tear. +Heart of mine, each beat will tell +How I love young Isabel. + +When I first beheld the maiden, + So fair to see, so sweet to bless, +I, a stranger, sorrow laden, + Arrested by her loveliness, +Then I thought some hand would set, +On that brow a coronet. + +She had grace all hearts beguiling, + She had the wealth of silken hair, +And sweet lips, half proud, half smiling, + Neck of snow and bosom fair, +And each eye a sapphire gem +For a monarch's diadem + +Oh, she was peerless in her beauty, + Like the fair moon she walked alone, +And loving her was but a duty, + A spell her loveliness had thrown; +And I thought that I could trace +Erin's pencil on her face + +With the fervour of my nation, + I worshipped her as months went by, +She was the one constellation, + In my cheerless sky; +Though on me there never fell +One kind glance from Isabel. + +Heart of mine we love, we love her, + She is still our lady bright, +Fairest of them all we prove her + Queen of beauty as her right. +And in simple verse we tell +The praises of fair Isabel. + + + + +THOUGHTS. + + +I am glad when men of genius + Array a common thought, +In imperishable beauty + That it cannot be forgot. + +The heart thoughts all bright and burnished + By high poetic art, +As sweet as the wood-bird's warble + Touching the very heart. + +Have not I, poor workday mortal, + Some thoughts of living light, +In the spirit's inner chambers, + Moving with spirit might? + +And they come in the fair spring time + Of heart and life and year, +When sweet Nature's wild rejoicings, + Draws votaries very near + +To the heart of all that's lovely + On earth and in the sky; +Making audible the music + Of the inner melody. + +Underlying all the sunshine, + Whispering through every breeze, +As it crests the ruffled ocean + Or sways the forest trees. + +Bright thoughts that are heart prisoners + Vibrating on its chords, +For, alas! I have not genius + To bring them forth in words. + +But full oft, like friendship's greeting + Upon life's weary way, +Do I meet in other's language + What I most wished to say. + +To such words my bosom echoes, + I feel they are my own, +They bright echo of my day dreams, + That else were ever flown. + +Ah to think, ye men of genius, + What joy your art affords, +Giving to the thoughts of millions + The dress of glowing words! + +And a blessing on these words then + To bear them far and free; +That they glad the hearts of many + As they have gladdened me. + + + + +TO J W + + +Dear Jane you say you will gather flowers +To win if you may a verse from me +Can you bring to me those brillant hours +When life was gladdened by poesy? + +Bring me the rose with pearls on her breast, +Dropped down as tears from early skies, +Pale lilies gather among the rest +And little daisies, with starry eyes + +The heart's-ease bring for many a day +In vain for that flow'ret fair I sought +Turn not your gathering hand away +From the wee blue flower, forget me not + +Unless inspiration on them rest +In vain you tempt me to rise and sing +The passage bird that sang in my breast +Has fled away with my life's young spring + +My harp on a lonely grave is laid, +Untuned, unstrung, it will lie there long, +If you bring flowers alone dear maid +Without bringing the spirit of song + +But accept the friendship that can spring +Out of this romantic heart of mine, +Devoted, true and unwithering, +And for ever thine, for ever thine + + + + +THE ORPHAN'S GOOD-BYE. + + +When my heart was sad and lonely, + And had closed its inmost cell +Over the impulsive feelings + That rule my nation's hearts too well. + +When the tie was cut asunder, + That had bound me to a home, +And I felt the desolation + Of being in the world alone; + +When I first, the veil assuming, + Masked before a treacherous world, +And the hopes romance expanded + Reality had sternly furled; + +And the touch of disappointment, + Blighted what was green and fair, +And the spirit's bright revealings + Are not so hopeful as they were. + +Precious are the words of kindness, + Falling on the heart like dew, +Freshening though, alas for weakness, + They cannot make things new. + +Thoughts come warm from that deep fountain + Where the hidden feelings dwell, +First to thank thee, noble stranger, + Then to say a kind farewell. + +1846. + + + + +TO ANNIE ON HER BIRTHDAY. + + +Sister, sweet sister, years have passed away, + Since first, 'mid warm hearts, sunny, frank and true, +I commenced rhyming on thy natal day, + On the green sod where Erin's shamrock grew. + +'Twas in that age that ne'er returns again, + Whose tears are but as dew on Summer flowers; +And young, warm hearts beat kindly round us then, + And eyes beamed brightly, answering love to ours + +And now an exile from my native land, + Thinking of well remembered, loved Grace Hill, +To mine own sister verses I will send, + Worthless, yet proving that I love her still + +It is thy birthday, and I am alone, + Thinking of that dear land that gave us birth, +The land of hearts that beat to truth alone, + The brightest emerald gem of all the earth. + +These fond regrets that press around my heart, + And bring a pain I cannot rise above, +Makes thee still dearer here, alone, apart, + For fate has left me nothing else to love. + +Changing life and ever swallowing death, + Have taken what I loved against my will, +But, never mind, for thou, kind hearted, true, + Changeless and noble, thou art left me still. + +Happy returns I surely wish thee, Ann, + In this new land that's fated to be ours, +And may you have a happy heart, that can + Enjoy the sunshine, and endure the showers. + + + + +GONE. + + +The heavens look down with chilly frown, +The sun blinks oot wi' watery e'e, +The drift flies fast upon the blast, +The naked trees moan shiveringly. + +The sun is gone, by mists withdrawn, +Muffling his head in snow-clouds grey, +The earth turns white, against the night, +The laden winds drive furiously. + +The flowers are slain that graced the plain, +The earth is locked wi' bitter frost; +And my heart cries to stormy skies +After the dreary loved and lost. + +The spring will come, the flowers will bloom, +The leaves in beauty clothe the tree, +But never more, oh, never more, +Will my lost darling come to me. + +Beyond the skies her happy eyes +Look fearlessly in eyes Divine; +The bitter smart, the hungry heart, +Waiting with empty arms, is mine. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Verses and Rhymes by the way, by Nora Pembroke + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERSES AND RHYMES BY THE WAY *** + +This file should be named vrhbw10.txt or vrhbw10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, vrhbw11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, vrhbw10a.txt + +Produced by Beth L. 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