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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/6957.txt b/6957.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..21eac22 --- /dev/null +++ b/6957.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4629 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook Canada and Other Poems, by T.F. Young + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. 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: Canada and Other Poems + +Author: T.F. Young + +Release Date: November 2004 [EBook #6957] +[This file was first posted on February 17, 2003] +[Last updated: July 13, 2022 ] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADA AND OTHER POEMS BY YOUNG *** + + + +This eBook was produced by Sergio Cangiano, Juliet Sutherland, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +CANADA AND OTHER POEMS. + +BY + +T. F. YOUNG. + + +PREFACE. + +I introduce the following poetical attempts to the public, with great +diffidence. I am not sure but a direct apology would be in better taste, +but the strength derived from the purpose I had in view, in writing and +publishing them, sustains me without saying anything further by way of +excuse. Like Burns, I wished to do something for my country, and chose +this method of doing it. + +The literature of this country is in its infancy. It must not always +remain so, or the expectations we have in regard to making it a great +nation, will never be fulfilled. Literature gives life to a nation, or +rather it is the reflection of a nation's life and thought, in a mirror, +which cheers, strengthens and ennobles those who look into it, and study +what is there displayed. Literature must grow with our nation, and, when +growing, it will aid the latter's progress in no small degree. + +Pedantic critics may find fault with my modest productions, and perhaps +justly, in regard to grammatical construction, and mechanical +arrangement, but I shall be satisfied, if the public discern a vein of +true poetry glittering here and there through what I have just written. +The public are the final judges of compositions of this sort, and not +the writer himself, or his personal friends. It is they, therefore, who +must decide whether these humble attempts of my 'prentice hand, shall be +numbered with writings that have been forgotten, or whether their +author shall be encouraged to strike his lyre in a higher key, to +accompany his Muse, while she tries to sing in a loftier strain. + +In passing an opinion on my literary venture, of course the youthful +state of our country will be taken into consideration, for it is a +state which necessarily tinges all of our productions, literary or +otherwise, with a certain amount of crudity. Consequently, reasonable +men will not expect that felicity of expression, and that ripeness and +happiness of thought, which would be expected in the productions of an +older country, although they may be aware that true poetry is not the +result of education, or even the refinements of a nation long civilized. + +With these words by way of introduction and explanation, I dedicate this +little book of mine to the Canadian public, hoping that whatever they +may think of me as a poet, they will not forget that I am a loyal +Canadian, zealous in behalf of anything that may tend to refine, +instruct and elevate my country, and anxious to see her take an +honourable stand among the other nations of the earth. + +THE AUTHOR. + +PORT ALBERT, March, 1887. + + * * * * * + +CONTENTS + +Canada +Youthful Fancies +Sunrise +Christmas +New Year's Day +Happiness +Love +Hate +Display +Thought +Purity +Is There Room for the Poet +Ireland +David's Lamentation over Saul and Jonathan +A Virtuous Woman +The Tempest Stilled +Nature's Forces Ours +Man +Life +Ode to Man +The Reading Man +Man and His Pleasures +Lines in Memory of the Late Archdeacon Elwood, A.M. +Thomas Moore +Robert Burns +Byron +Goderich +Kelvin +Niagara Falls +Autumn +A Sunset +Farewell +By the Lake +The Teacher +Grace Darling +The Indian +Lines on the North-West Rebellion +Louis Riel +Ye Patriot Sons of Canada +A Hero's Decision +John and Jane +The Truant Boy +A Swain to his Sweetheart +The Fisherman's Wife +The Diamond and the Pebble +Temptation +Slander +Woman +Sympathy +Love and Wine. +How Nature's Beauties Should be Viewed +To a Canary +The School-Taught Youth +A Dream +A Snow Storm +To Nova Scotia +The Huntsman and His Hound +The Maple Tree +The Pine Tree +A Sabbath Morning in the Country +Catching Speckled Trout +A Protestant Irishman to his Wife +Memories of School Days +Verses Written in Autograph Albums + + + * * * * * + +POEMS. + + * * * * * + +NEW YEAR'S DAY. + +Hail! joyous morn. Hail! happy day, +That ushers in another year, +Fraught with what sorrow, none can say, +Nor with what pain, to mortals here. + +Another year has roll'd away, +With all its sorrows, joys and fears, +But still the light of hope's glad ray, +Yet beams within our heart, and cheers. + +One year, one span of time has pass'd, +So swift to some, to others slow; +But it has gone, and we should cast +Along with it, remorse and woe. + +Of things we've done, or only thought, +'Tis useless now the bitter tear, +Of actions unavailing wrought, +Let them repose upon their bier. + +We should, indeed, e'en yet atone +For what our reason says we can, +But never let remorse's groan +Degrade us from our state as man. + +Let us discharge the debts we owe, +But still some debts will be unpaid; +But we, if we forgive, also, +Should ne'er, despairing, feel afraid. + +The future is before us still, +And to that future we should gaze, +With hope renew'd, with firmer will, +To tread life's weary, tangl'd maze. + +We ne'er should let the gloomy past, +Bow down our heads in dark despair, +But we should keep those lessons fast, +Which e'en our follies taught us there. + +Experience, so dearly bought, +By folly, or by ignorance, +Should, in our inmost system wrought, +Our daily life improve, advance. + +Then let us press towards the goal, +The common goal of all mankind, +Go on, while seasons onward roll, +Nor cast one fainting look behind. + +And, as we journey through this year, +Let us in watchfulness beware +Of all that brings remorseful tear, +Or future terror and despair. + +Let us with thoughtful vision scan +Each step we take, each act we do, +That we may meet our brother man, +With no unrighteous thing to rue. + +A happy, happy, bright New Year, +I wish to all the sons of men, +With happy hearts, and merry cheer, +Till it has roll'd its round again. + + * * * * * + +TO A CANARY. + +Imprison'd songster, thou for me +Hath warbl'd many a cheerful lay, +Thy songs, so sweetly glad and free, +Revive my heart, from day to day. + +The frost is keen, the wind is cold, +No wild-bird twitters from the spray, +But, still resounding as of old, +Thy voice thrills forth, and seems to say: + +"Wake up! O sadden'd mortal, wake! +Shake off that anxious, careworn frown, +Thy hopes renew, fresh courage take, +Nor let your troubles weigh you down. + +"See, I am happy all alone, +And, kept behind the prison bars, +I sing, and shouldst thou ever moan? +--A mortal free, beneath the stars. + +"I fly around my narrow cage, +I sing the song that gladdens you, +But carking care thy thoughts engage, +While walking free, 'neath heaven's blue. + +"My heart might faint, my spirit die, +Far from my kind, and from my home, +But cheerfully I sing and fly, +Beneath my narrow prison's dome. + +"Oh, list, sad mortal to my song, +And, while thou hearest, mark it well, +And go thy cheerful way along, +Nor pray to know, what none can tell. + +"I'll sing my song each day for thee, +And live the moments as they fly, +With gladden'd heart, with sounding glee, +And thou shouldst do the same as I." + + * * * * * + +AUTOGRAPHS. + +TO A LITTLE GIRL. + +E ach wish, my fairest child, I pen, +F or thee I write with earnest heart; +F or who shall say, that ere, again, +I shall behold thee; when we part +E 'en now the time is near, I start. + +H ere are my wishes, then, sweet child, +A long life's pathway may thou go, +R ob'd white, as now, in virtue mild, +R etaining pure, thy virtue's snow. +I wish thee this, and wish thee more,-- +S o long as thou on earth hath life, +O h! may thy heart be never sore, +N or vex'd with anxious care or strife! + + +TO A YOUNG LADY. + +Short is the time, my friend, since I +First heard thy voice, first saw thy face, +And yet, the days in gliding by, +Have left within my mind a trace-- +A friendly trace of thee and thine, +Which I am sure will long remain +Within my heart, to cheer and shine +With other joys, to lessen pain. +It is my hope, also, that thou +May, in thy heart, and on thy tongue, +Have thoughts and words for him, who now +Is yours so friendly, T. F. Young. + + +KELVIN. + +While poets sing in lofty strain, + And ask where Rome and Carthage are, +This humble village on the plain, + To many hearts is dearer far. + +Then to these hearts I'll sing my lay, + With humble Kelvin for my theme; +My song shall be of life to-day, + And not a retrospective dream. + +Of "Kelvin's Grove," some love-lorn swain + Sang sweetly, many years ago, +And I shall sound the name again, + Although I may not sound it so. + +Of Kelvin's bonnie lasses, I + Can sing, tho' not so well as he, +And Kelvin's groves, in passing by, + I can repeat, have charms for me. + +And Kelvin's stream, where fishes glide, + And timid fowl their plumage lave, +Where drooping willows by its side, + Their graceful branches gently wave. + +Here happiness and plenty reign, + And e'en refinement, too, is seen. +For music sends its cheering strain, + Where flowers grow within the green. + +Here virtuous dames with busy hand, + Untiring do what should be done, +And sons and fathers till the land, + And to each manly duty run. + +The winsome maids with willing hearts, + In youthful beauty all aglow, +Right cheerfully perform their parts + Where duty's voice may bid them go. + +Oh, may their graceful figures long + Their youthful energy retain, +And may they meet no heartless wrong, + To fill their gentle souls with pain. + +As yet there is no village bell, + Save that which rings the call to school, +Where festive youth drink at the well + Which flows from knowledge' sparkling pool. + +And yet, whene'er the Sabbath comes, + Or week night held for praise and prayer, +No need for signal bells and drums, + Each knows the time, and he is there. + +There is the daughter, there the son, + To kneel in humble prayer to God, +And those whose race is well-nigh run, + Who humbly kiss the chast'ning rod. + +Oh, blest content, and lowly life + That blunts Ambition's biting sting +Unknown to thee the bitter strife, + Which proud refinements often bring. + + * * * * * + +IS THERE ROOM FOR THE POET? + +Is there room for the poet, fair Canada's sons. +To live his strange life, and to warble his songs, +To follow each current of thought as it runs, +And to sing of your victories, glories and wrongs? + +Is there room for the poet, ye senators grave? +Ye orators, statesmen and law-makers, say; +May he of the calling so gentle e'er crave +Your patronage, and of your kindness a ray? + +Ye toilers in cities, ye workers in fields, +Who handle the hammer, the pen or the plow, +Can the poet implicitly trust, as he yields +His heart, and his hopes, and his name to you now? + +Wilt thou pardon his follies, forgive him his faults +In manners, in habits, in distance and time? +For when on his charger, Pegasus, he vaults, +He rises o'er reason's safe, temperate clime. + +He will sing of his country, his people and thine, +Exalt, if you aid him, your honor and fame. +Your sympathy, acting like purest of wine, +Will urge him to joyously sing of your name. + +His case is peculiar, stern fate has been hard, +His body unfitted for labours of men, +His mind, with the sensitive make of the bard, +Unfitted for aught, but the work of the pen. + +He singeth, but yet he must live, as he sings; +He hath wants of the earth, that must be supplied; +And tho' 'tis an off'ring most humble he brings, +He hopes that your favors will not be denied. + +Our country is young, let us early instil +Deep into the minds of the youthful and fair, +The greatness of virtue, uprightness and will, +And the poet will help you to 'stablish them there. + +Be it his to proclaim, e'en tho' rudely, in measure, +The rights of his country, her honour, renown; +To sing of whatever his people may treasure, +In court or in camp, in the country or town. + + * * * * * + +MAN AND HIS PLEASURES. + +'Tis not with glad fruition crown'd, +We always feel our greatest joy; +For pleasure often dwells around +The heart that hopes, and knows no cloy. + +We wait, we watch, we think, we plan +To catch the pleasure ere it flies, +But when 'tis caught, for which we ran, +It often droops, perchance, it dies. + +In truth the non-possession oft' +Creates the chief, the only charm, +Of that, which, once obtain'd, is scoff'd, +And oft' receiv'd with vex'd alarm. + +The mind of man is strange and deep, +Deceiving others and himself; +Its wiles would make an angel weep, +In strife for praise, for power and pelf. + +Strange mixture of the good and ill, +He strives continually to bend +Those qualities, with wondrous skill, +To meet in one, which never blend. + + * * * * * + +DAVID'S LAMENTATION OVER SAUL AND JONATHAN. + +The beauty of Israel is slain on thy mountains, +The mighty are low, and how great is their fall, +But tell not our grief in Gath, by the fountains, +And publish it not within Askelon's wall, +Lest the Philistines' daughters shall mock at our +sorrow, +And triumph in gladness o'er us in our pain, +And sound all their timbrels and harps on the morrow, +While here we are sore, in lamenting our slain. + +Oh! Gilboa's mountains, from now and forever, +Let moisture, which falleth as rain, or as dew, +Come down on thy parch'd, burning summits, oh, never, +For the shield of the mighty is cast upon you. +From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the +highest, +The bow of fair Jonathan never did quail, +And the sword of his father, in danger the highest, +Went forth to brave deeds, like the sweep of the gale. + +O Saul thou anointed! and Jonathan, brother! +In life ye were pleasant and lovely to see; +And still in your death ye are lovely together, +Tho' great is my grief, and my sorrow, for thee. +Ye were swifter than eagles, ye heaven anointed, +And stronger than lions, thou glorious pair, +Bur sad was the day, that Jehovah appointed, +To humble your strength, and your bravery, there. + +Oh, weep o'er the fallen, fair Israel's daughters! +He cloth'd you in scarlet, and deck'd you with gold, +Then shed ye your tears, until their sad waters +Shall moisten the tomb, where now he is cold; +I'm sad for thee, Jonathan, more than my brother, +So kindly and gentle, so faithful and free, +I lov'd thee, as never I shall love another, +And thou hadst a wonderful love unto me. + +The mighty have fallen, their weapons have perish'd! +And, slain in high places, so low lies the brave; +No more I shall gaze on the face that I cherish'd. + + * * * * * + +THE DIAMOND AND THE PEBBLE. + +Why value ye the diamond, and +The pearl from Ceylon's balmy shore, +When stones unnumber'd strew the land, +And in the sea are millions more? +Why treasure ye each silver bar, +And watch, with Argus eye, your gold, +When lead and iron, near and far, +Are strewn beneath the rocks and mould. + +Ye prize those shining gems, because +Their sparkling beauty cheers the eye, +And, by the force of nature's laws, +They never in profusion lie. +Could we, Aladdin like, descend +Into a place where diamonds grow, +Our minds would then most surely tend +To value diamonds very low. + +The emerald's or diamond's shine, +Is valued not for that alone, +But for its absence in the mine, +Where thousands lie, of common stone. +And thus, within the world of thought, +The pebble and the lead abound, +But real pearls are seldom brought, +And gold or silver rarely found. + +We all have thoughts, we speak them, too, +The world is fill'd with words of men, +But still is priz'd the precious hue, +Of golden thoughts from tongue or pen; +And he who digs and brings to light +A lovely thought, a pearly gem, +'Twill surely shine with lustre bright, +For men, to cheer and better them. + + * * * * * + +TEMPTATION. + +The greatest glory consists, not in never falling, but +in getting up every time you fall.--CONFUCIUS. + + +The raging force of passion's storm, +Say who can check at will. +Or cope with sin, in ev'ry form, +With ever conquering skill? + +How oft we've tried, and hop'd and pray'd +To conquer in the right; +But still, how oft our hearts, dismay'd, +Have fail'd amid the fight. + +But still we fought the wrong we loath'd, +And though we fought in vain, +Our wills in fleshly weakness cloth'd, +Would try the fight again. + +And He, I apprehend, who sees, +And knows our struggles here. +Will lead us onward, by degrees, +To triumph, though we fear. + +And even tho' we're never quit +Of these sharp earthly thorns, +In black despair we'll never sit, +Till danger's signal warns. +We'll gird ourselves anew, to fight + Our fell, determin'd foe, +And with experience's light, + Each time more skilful grow. + + * * * * * + +SLANDER. + +Of all the poison plants that grow, +And flourish in the human breast, +No other plant, perhaps, hath so +Deep clench'd a root, or peaceful rest. + +No other plant has such a fruit, +At once so sweet, and deadly too, +As that which loads each branch and shoot, +And falls for me to eat, and you. + +Fell jealousy, the monster wild, +Whose green eyes roll in frenzy round, +His ravages are small, and mild, +To thine, and narrow'r far his ground. + +His pow'r is felt around his home, +But who can gauge the sway of thine, +Which reaches high to heaven's dome, +And acts within the darksome mine? + +Thy poison drops distil each hour, +To blight, to ruin and destroy, +And find with dark, insidious pow'r, +The heart of woman, man and boy. + +What antidote can neutralize +Thy baneful force, thy potent spell? +For deepest danger ever lies +Within this poison draught of hell. +And men will drink with eager lip, +The cup thou holdest forth to them, +Not knowing that the draught they sip +May their, and other souls, condemn. + + * * * * * + +WOMAN. + +I've had my share of bright employ, + My share of pain and blame, +But thro' it all, I've thought, with joy, + Of tender woman's name. + +Her healing tones have often brought + New gladness to my soul; +Her breath hath rent the darken'd clouds, + That often o'er it roll. + +Her voice hath often cheer'd my heart, + In sickness and in pain, +And help'd me bear the surgeon's knife, + Or fever's fervid reign. + +But, oh, that voice can change its tone, + That tender feeling die, +Those gentle, loving tones become + A terrorizing cry. + +In kindly sound, a woman's voice + Is happiness alone; +And may it ever be my lot + To hear its tender tone. + +But let me never know the thoughts + Of vengeful woman's heart, +Or hear the voice that breathes them forth, + With cold and cruel dart. + +O woman, thou hast mighty pow'r + Among the sons of men, +For thou canst make deep, rankling wounds, + And heal them up again. + +Oh, let thy angel nature shine, + And may we all refrain +To wake the tiger in thy breast, + Bound by a slender chain. + + * * * * * + +SYMPATHY. + +'Mid forces all, that work unseen, + And cheer or warm the human breast, +Thou, Sympathy, hath ever been, + In active power, amid the rest: +When raging hate, or heedless love, + Aspir'd to rule and reign alone, +Thou still did keep thy place above, + And rul'd serenely, from thy throne. + +Thou ever dost assert thy right, + And walkest on thy gentle way, +To rule with mild, persuasive might, + But with a strong, unconscious sway, +What pow'r thou hast o'er human hearts + We daily feel, we daily see; +For men and women act their parts, + Encourag'd and upheld by thee. + +For, in an unseen current runs, + From heart to heart, from soul to soul, +Thy force, like heat from genial suns, + To permeate and warm the whole. + +Not always, tho', to warm and cheer. + At times thy influence is chill, +And checks the noble rage of thought, + As ice can check a flowing rill. + +One cutting word of ours can wilt, + Or blast the young heart's fairest flow'r, +And tumble down air castles built, + By this unseen affection's pow'r. +That man is brave, who acts his part, + 'Mid comrades faithful, known and brave, +But braver far is he, whose heart + Upholds itself upon the wave. + +For men have shrunk with coward fright, + At terrors which they ne'er might feel, +Had Sympathy's strange, magic might + Inspir'd their hearts to face the steel. + + * * * * * + +LOVE AND WINE. + +'Tis wine that cheers the soul of man, + With subtle and seductive flow; +It warms the heart, as naught else can, + And banishes regret, and woe. + +It keeps alive the flick'ring flame, + Which strives to burn with feeble force +Within the heart, so dull and tame, + But still of life, the present source. + +It warms up this fount of life, + And sends life's fluid here and there; +And nerves and brain, in gladsome strife, + Forget their dull and dark despair. + +And what is love, if 'tis not wine, + Refin'd, distill'd from grossness, tho', +More potent than the juice of vine, + And bringing greater joy, and woe? + +Does it not, too, refresh, revive, + And oft intoxicate the brain, +And make the being all alive + With keenest joy, or keenest pain? + +And does it not when much indulg'd, + Or held by slack and yielding hand, +Lead on to woes oft undivulg'd, + To crimes unknown, throughout the land? + +Oh! blessed woman, fruitful vine, + Inspiring and enchanting twain, +I pray that neither love nor wine, + May o'er my will, resistless reign. + +They tell us, that the safest way + To 'scape from wine or woman's thrall, +Is to go on from day to day, + And never drink, or love, at all. + +I could give up the cheering wine, + And never taste the siren cup, +But oh, thou woman, nymph divine, + I can not, will not give thee up. + + * * * * * + +HOW NATURE'S BEAUTIES SHOULD BE VIEWED. + +Should man, with microscopic eye, +View the details of Nature's plan, +Into each nook and corner pry, +And needlessly the hidden scan? + +Should he inspect each bud and flow'r, +With close, unmeant, uncall'd-for look, +And, by his analytic pow'r, +Dissolve each charm of vale or brook? + +Should he resolve the rainbow's hues, +Into their prime and simple forms, +And thus the charm dispel, unloose, +Which gladdens us, amid the storms? + +Should he, with keen, inquiring look, +Insist on knowing, seeing all, +Which nature made a sealed book +On this, our strange, terrestrial ball, + +'Tis hard to draw the line, indeed, +When we should pry, and when refrain, +But science surely has its need +Of knowledge gain'd, and also pain. + +The blooming flow'r, the flutt'ring leaf, +Have surely charms we all can tell, +And analysing brings to grief, +The charms we felt, and knew so well. + +Th' untutor'd savage, roaming wild, +Could view the rainbow in the sky, +And, tho' in science but a child, +He saw with gladden'd heart, and eye. + +And so, I apprehend, that we +Should oft restrain our thoughts and sight, +Nor delve too far, nor try to see, +With deeper, but more painful light. + + * * * * * + +NIAGARA FALLS. + +Niagara, thou mighty flood. +I've seen thee fall, I've heard thee roar, +And on the frightful verges stood, +That overhang thy rocky shore. + +I've sailed o'er surging waves below, +And view'd the rainbow's colour'd light, +And felt the spray, thy waters throw, +When leaping, with resistless might. + +I've seen the rapids in their course, +Like madden'd, living things rush on, +With wild, unhesitating force, +To where thy mighty chasms yawn. + +And there to take the awful leap, +And fall, with hoarse and sullen roar, +Into th' unfathomable deep, +Which rolleth on, from shore to shore. + +Niagara, thou'rt mighty, grand, +Thou fill'st human souls with awe, +For thee, and for that mighty Hand, +Which maketh thee, by nature's law. + +Thou'rt great, thou mighty, foaming mass +Of water, plunging, roaring down, +But so are we, yea, we surpass +Thee, and we wear a nobler crown. + +Thy mighty head is crowned with foam, +And rainbows wreathe thy robes of blue; +Our earthly forms--our present home-- +Are insignificant to you. + +But look, thou mighty thund'rer, thou, +Tho' puny be our forms to thine, +These forms possess, yea, even now, +A spark, a ray of life divine. + +Rush on, O waters! proudly hurl +Thyself to roaring depths below, +And let the mists of ages curl, +And generations come and go. + +But know, stupendous wonder, know, +Thy rocks would crumble, at the nod +Of Him, who lets thy waters flow; +Thy Maker, but our Friend and God. + +Thy rocks _shall_ crumble, fall they must; +Thy waters, then, shall plunge no more, +But we shall rise, e'en from the dust, +To live upon another shore. + + * * * * * + +A SABBATH MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. + +'Tis morning, and the meadows yet, +Are wet with gracious drops of dew. +Each blade of grass, and flow'r, is set +With sparkling gems of richest hue. +The sun, with rising glory, sheds +A radiance, that none divine, +Save those, who early leave their beds, +When glist'ning dew-drops briefly shine. + +Just ere the rising sunbeams play, +From glorious orb, of rosy red, +There is no sound of life, no hum, +And but, seemingly, all things are dead. + +But when the blessed, welcome beams, +Light up, and cheer, and warm the earth, +All things awaken from their dreams, +To celebrate Creation's birth. + +The very fields are filled with life, +With hum of bee, and insect throng; +The woods are vocal, with the strife +Of friendly rivalry, in song. +But 'tis the Sabbath morn, and now +Are heard no sounds of industry, +Save milk-maid, calling to her cow, +Or buzzing of the toilsome bee. + +Or save, perhaps, the gentle neigh +Of horses, answering the call, +For mother, father, child to-day +Must hear the holy words, that fall +From lips, that pray with them, and preach +To them, the old, old words of cheer. +They must receive the sounds, that teach +Those solemn truths, they love to hear. + +But now, the sun's increasing heat +Hath dried the dew, and warm'd the air; +The feather'd songsters now retreat, +Fann'd by the sun's relentless glare. +The morning service now is o'er, +The pastor, kindly greeted too, +And, after greetings at the door, +They all their homeward way pursue. + + * * * * * + +JOHN AND JANE. + +Said Jane to John, "Come, let us wed, + For know, dear John, I love you, +And, by the bright stars overhead, + There's none I place above you." + +"I doubt it not," said John, "and I + Reciprocate the feeling, +And here, with one despairing cry, + I kneel, and love you, kneeling." + +"Then why, dear John, do you despair, + If you do love so madly?" +"Because," said John, "my pocket there + Is slim, and furnish'd badly." + +"Oh, that is naught," said Jane, with glee, + "I'd marry you to-morrow, +And live on bread, and water free, + Without one grain of sorrow." + +"All right," said John, "I'm with you there, + Old Logan's charming daughter, +You'll get the bread, the work to share, + And I will get the water." + + * * * * * + +THINGS MYSTERIOUS. + +This earth's a mystery profound, +Its movements, make, and changes all-- +A mystery which none can sound, +Who dwell upon the whirling ball. + +And deeper far than all the rest, +Is man; a mystery unsolved +Since the first heave of ocean's breast, +Since the first course our earth revolv'd. + +His thoughts, and e'en his actions too, +Possess a subtle meaning, when +That meaning others may construe, +As plain and open to their ken. + +There is a place in every heart, +As secret as the silent tomb, +Where others have no lot nor part, +Where none may gaze, where none may room. + +It seemeth strange, that flesh and blood +Should hold such ghostly, hellish things, +And also things supremely good, +Which might not shame an angel's wings. + +Yet so it is, for ev'ry throb +That man's pulsating bosom gives, +And ev'ry smile, and ev'ry sob +Speaks of a mystery that lives. + +There is a tale in ev'ry flow'r, +Which none may whisper, none may tell, +A secret thing in ev'ry bower, +Which ev'ry tenant hideth well. + +There is a tale of joy and woe, +Round ev'ry hearth, in ev'ry land, +Which ne'er may ever further go, +Than round that humble, home-like band. + +And shall we seek to draw the screen +Which hides the good, and eke the ill? +No, it is better far, I ween, +To let them keep in hiding still. + +For unknown good is virtue still, +And virtue shows a richer bloom, +As violet, or daffodil, +When growing 'mid the grass or broom. + +And he who hides within his heart +A secret sin, all unconfess'd +To God or man, no glossing art +"Can quiet the distracting guest." + + * * * * * + +THE PINE TREE. + +The wind last night was wild and strong, + It shriek'd, it whistl'd and it roar'd, +And went with whirl and swoop along, + 'Mid falling trees and crashing board. + +The timbers creak'd, the rafters sway'd, + And e'en some roofs, upheav'd and torn, +Came crashing to the earth, and laid + Before the view, upon the morn. + +The air seem'd like some monstrous thing, + By its uncurbed passion held; +Like dreadful dragon on the wing, + So horribly it scream'd and yell'd. + +Now venting a triumphant shout, + And ever and anon a groan, +Like fiend from prison lately out, + Or like unhappy chain'd one's moan. + +There was a lofty pine I knew; + Each morn and eve I passed it by; +To such a lofty height it grew, + It caught at once each passing eye. + +It stood alone, and proudly stood, + With straight, and clean, and lofty stem; +All other trees it seemed to view, + As though it scorn'd to live with them. + +Full many a winter's snow had whirl'd + About its base, and settl'd there, +And many an autumn mist had curl'd + About its head, so high in air. + +Full many a blast had spent, in vain, + Its force, for, ever like a rock, +It stood each persevering strain, + And long defied the tempest's shock. + +But yesternight it crashing fell, + And now, this morn, I see it lie. +I knew the brave old tree so well, + A tear almost bedims my eye. + +But brave old trees, like brave old men, + Must feel at last the fatal stroke, +That dashest them to earth again, + Tho' lofty pine, or mighty oak. + +I'll miss, old tree, thy lofty stem + Outlin'd against the distant sky, +But 'tis no gain to fret for them-- + For men, or trees, that fall and die. + + * * * * * + +AUTUMN. + +The grass is wet with heavy dew, +The leaves have changed their bright green hue, + To brighter red, or golden; +The morning sun shines with a glow, +As bright and pure as long ago, + In time ye left the olden. + +One tree is cloth'd with scarlet dress, +And one, with brown leaf'd loveliness, + Delights the eye that gazes; +While others varied tints display, +But all, in beauteous array, + Delight us, and amaze us. + +We see the trees in beauty clad, +But still that beauty makes us sad, + E'en while we may admire, +For death has caus'd that sudden bloom +Stern death, the tenant of the tomb, + Or funereal pyre. + +The ruthless, bitter, biting air +Hath dried the life which flourish'd there, + Throughout the warmer seasons; +The nourishment hath ceas'd to flow +Through veins, where once it us'd to go-- + Hath ceas'd for diff'rent reasons. + +And soon the leaves will strew the ground, +And whirl with rustling ardor round, + Or lie in heaps together, +Their hues of red, of brown, of gold, +Will blacken, as they change to mould + By action of the weather. + +But leaves will grow where once they grew, +Will bud, and bloom, and perish too, + The same as all the others, +As we through youth, and joy, and grief, +Must find at last a sure relief, + As did our many brothers. + +Like in the leaf, no life-blood flows, +When frosts of death the fountain close, + From which it flow'd, to nourish. +And like the leaf, another spring +Around us shall her gladness fling; + Another life shall flourish. + +Our bodies turn to dust or mould. +As lifeless as the rocks, and cold, + But life's fair Tree is living. +And fadeless green leaves we shall be, +Because the Fountain of that Tree + Eternal life is giving. + + * * * * * + +CHRISTMAS. + +Old father Time, his cruel scythe + Has swung full oft around, +Since last the merry Christmas, bells + Rang out their cheerful sound. +With cruel vigor he has held + His great, impartial sway, +And many thousands mown to earth, + Who saw last Christmas day. + +For some have left this world for aye, + Who dwelt with us last year; +Glad voices heard amongst us then, + We never more shall hear. +But still we'll build our Christmas fires, + And sing our Christmas songs, +And for one day forget our griefs, + Our failures and our wrongs. + +Then ring, ye joyful bells, ring out; + Ye crashing cymbals fall; +And for old Christmas, hale and stout, + Sound up, ye harps and all. +Let music's loud and sweetest strain + Beat from our hearts each ill; +Let thoughts of those assuage our pain, + Who are around us still. + +Oh, winsome maid, oh, hearty youth, + I urge you on to glee, +For, in your innocence and truth, + You all are dear to me. +Nor youth, nor age should cherish gloom, + And voices oft should sing, +So give the gladsome voices room, + And let the joy-bells ring. + + * * * * * + +CANADA. + +Come now, my Muse, do thou inspire my pen, +To sing, with worthy strain, my country's praise, +But not to hide the faults within my ken, +By tricks of art, or studied, verbal maze, +To play on him who reads with careless gaze, +To whom each thought upon a printed page. +Is gospel truth, nor e'er with wile betrays; +From this, oh, steer me clear, nor let the rage +Of prejudic'd and narrow minds, my thoughts engage. + +Oh, Canada! the land where first I saw +The blue of heav'n, and bursting light of day, +Where breezes warm and mild, and breezes raw, +First o'er my boyhood's eager face did play, +As o'er the hills I stepp'd my joyful way. +Held by a loving hand, I went along +Thro' shelter'd wood, or by some shaded bay, +And ever, as I went, I sang a song, +With sylvan joy, amid a sylvan throng. + +For birds and bees, and e'en the flowers, did sing +Their cheerful songs, with voices pure and sweet; +Their notes were silent, yet those notes did bring +A soothing balm, amid a calm retreat. +Protected from the sun's relentless heat. +Oh, wearied men, could ye but once divine +The healing pow'r of some lone country seat, +You would not strive to drown your care in wine, +Or vainly seek relief, in any lustful line. + +But this is not a moralizing lay, +Of Canada I sing, and her alone, +Her varied progress, every passing day, +Her faults, for which, in time, she must atone, +By nature's law, in every clime and zone, +Then what are the peculiar, common claims, +Our country has with nations larger grown, +And the superior things she classes as her own. + +First let us take her climate; who will not +Say she is favour'd there o'er other lands? +The winter's cold, indeed, and summer's hot, +But in a robust health the native stands, +So keen to work with brain, or use his hands. +Where, let me ask, between the distant poles +Is there a clime so mod'rate in demands, +Where men are not compell'd to live like moles, +Nor drop with heat on burning, barren, sandy knolls. + +A hardy, energetic, toilsome race, +Is raised within this favourable clime, +In physical and mental power apace +With those of any land, and any time, +Save in the golden age, that age of thought sublime; +But, what I mean is this: that her own men +Do act their parts, they reason or they rhyme +Within their bounds, with keen, far-reaching ken, +For those who late have left the axe to wield the pen. + +Yes, left the axe, whose skilful, cleaving stroke +Hew'd out a home from 'mid the forest wild, +Where grew the maple and the lofty oak, +Where liv'd the dusky colour'd forest child, +So sternly fierce in war, in peace so mild; +Yes, here the settler met with Nature's force; +Quite unsubdued, she look'd around and smil'd, +And seem'd to view with scorn the white man's course +Of labour slow, but yet of wealth the only source. + +But still the patient white man plodded on, +He swung his axe, and drove his horned team; +At times he felt despair, but soon 'twas gone, +And gladsome rays of hope would brightly gleam +To cheer his path, like light on darken'd stream. +Some saw their hopes fulfill'd, some sank to rest +Amid their toil, but, sinking, saw the beam +Of brighter days, to make their children blest. +And give a rich reward to ev'ry earnest guest. + +These latter gaz'd on fertile fields, and saw, +The waving grain, where stood the forest tree, +Where prowl'd the bear; or wolf, with hungry maw, +Howl'd in the settlers' ears so dismally, +That children crouch'd near to their mother's knee. +They saw, instead of plain, bark-roof'd abode, +A mansion wide, the scene of youthful glee, +And happy Age, now resting on his road, +To pay the debt, his sinning kind so long hath ow'd. + +The organ or piano sounds its tone, +Where late in darkness cried the whip-poor-will, +Or gloomy owl's to whoo! to whoo! alone, +Came from the glen, or darkly wooded hill,-- +These sounds, untaught, and unimprov'd in skill. +All round, where'er they look, they see a change, +By rolling lake, by river, mount or rill; +Wherever feet may walk, or eyes may range, +There is a transformation pleasing, new and strange. + +Schools, churches, built in costly, solid style, +Proclaim the fact that here a higher life +Is liv'd than that of seeking all the while +For wealth, and pow'r, amid ignoble strife, +Degrading unto husband, son or wife. +The scholar's light, and blest religion's smile +Ennobles, soothes and lends a joy to life-- +A pow'r, which counteracts the trickster's wile +And blunts the edge of slander undeserv'd and vile. + +From where the fierce Atlantic waters rage, +Unto the mild Pacific's fertile shore, +Small villages to cities rise and wage +A steady war; but not a war of gore-- +A friendly rivalry exists, no more, +Save in the far North-West, where savage clan +Ungrateful rise, and make a serious sore, +Whose pains increas'd, as eastward far it ran, +And plac'd the British race beneath the Frenchman's ban. + +But quickly, let us hope, the time may come, +When peacefully the British flag shall wave, +And when the rebels' terrorizing drum +Shall be as still as Riel's rebel grave, +O'er the wide land, whose sides two oceans lave; +When demagogues of party shall retire, +Or curb their selfish zeal, their land to save +From factious feuds and savage rebel fire. +And all that tends to raise the patriot's scorn and ire. + +From ocean unto ocean runs a band, +A double band of hard and gleaming steel; +It binds in one this fertile, mighty land, +In bonds which all should recognize and feel, +If anxious to promote their country's weal. +A bond which Nature's sympathetic law +Should fasten on our hearts with solid seal, +Which factious feuds should ne'er asunder draw, +Nor wily traitors cut, by selfish treason's saw. + +The strange, stupendous, magic power of steam, +In works, is great as fam'd Aladdin's ring, +It carries men o'er miles of land and stream, +And maketh loom and forge, with labour sing, +And o'er the land, a busy air doth fling. +That fluid, too, that none can well define, +In active life hath wrought a wondrous thing. +It speeds our words with lightning flash or sign, +And maketh glorious light from midnight's darkness +shine. + +Then to our country's future we may gaze +With gladden'd eyes, and hearts with hope aglow, +That our young country still its head will raise, +And stand 'mid nations, in the foremost row, +High honour'd there, and honour'd not for show-- +For solid worth, and lasting pow'r and fame +Will be her portion, if her footsteps go +In duty's path, and if the ruddy flame +Of honor shines within, and keeps away all shame. + + * * * * * + +YOUTHFUL FANCIES. + + The morning of a gladsome day in spring + Had scarce its freshness brought to weary men, + When, o'er the meadows wet, a boy did sing, + And whistled o'er a tune, and carroll'd-it, again, + In youthful happiness unconscious then + Of aught which time might bring, of pain or woe, + But careless, pitching stones in bog or fen, + It seem'd as if he buried there, also, +All worldly cares, so blithely did he onward go. + + And yet he was no careless, heedless boy, + Who thought but of the present time alone. + Of future years he thought, but with such joy, + His thoughts but pleasure gave, nor caused a groan + From out the breast that claim'd them as its own; + His thoughts were of the future, fair and bright, + And fresh from his unburden'd heart, alone, + Untarnish'd by the hard and glaring light, +By which he yet might see with such a diff'rent sight. + + A picture of the blissful future, he + Had gaily painted in his youthful mind, + And thought no color there too bright to be + An image of his share from fortune kind, + Which she, in future years, would give so free, + To him, the lucky sailor on life's sea. + He thought of honor, happiness and fame, + As he went gaily o'er the dewy lea, + And to his mind no thought of failure came, +To win a prize of worth, in life's tremendous game. + + He heard his parents, brothers, sisters, all, + With pride and fondness, speak his honor'd name, + And listen'd, while a nation's mighty call + Invited him to honor and to fame, + And crowds his praises shout, with loud acclaim; + He saw in wealthy town his mansion wide, + And in the country view'd his fields, the same, + Until, in rapture, he had almost cried, +"In happiness and wealth all others are outvied." + + + He saw a lovely maiden by his side, + Who soon with him his favor'd lot would share, + He saw her upward glance of joy and pride, + As to his eyes she rais'd her face so fair, + So proudly glad that he, her lord, was there. + And all unconscious of her own sweet grace, + But, confident in his protecting care, + She gave him first within her mind the place, +And raised him high above all others of his race. + + And now, how joyful rings the marriage bell, + Upon the brightest morn in his career. + He proudly hears the mighty organ swell, + While orange buds, and bridal robes, appear, + And people stop, the merry notes to hear. + And now the organ peals its parting strain, + And, issuing forth, they hear a stirring cheer, + While, crowds surround the stately marriage train, +To cheer him and his bride, and cheer them once again. + + These are the thoughts that fill his boyish mind, + And agitate and fire his youthful breast, + Oh, why should fortune oft' be so unkind, + And real life appear in sombre colors drest, + And dash to earth bright hopes, and give so much unrest? + Oh, why should boyish hopes, and maiden's dreams + Fail, sadly fail, to stand the crucial test? + Say, why should all the brightness of man's schemes +Full often fade away, like earth's forgotten themes? + + Why do you ask, O sad inquirer? How + Can things like that be known to mortal ken? + Suffice it, that it suits the mortal Now, + And leads our thoughts to the eternal Then, + When darkness shall be light, to ransom'd men, + When dreams of bliss, with glad fruition crown'd, + And happiness, untold by prophet's pen, + Shall fill the hearts of those who sought and found +That peace, which lighted up, and cheer'd life's weary +round. + + * * * * * + +HAPPINESS. + +Fair Happiness, I've courted thee, +And used each cunning art and wile, +Which lovers use with maidens coy, +To win one tender glance or smile. +Thou hast been coy as any maid, +So lofty, distant, stern and cold, +And guarded from a touch of mine, +As miser guards his precious gold. + +To win a smile from thee, did seem +A painful, fruitless thing to try, +Thy scornful, thin and cruel lips, +No pity gave thy steely eye. + +Thy countenance, so sternly set, +Did seem to say how vain to knock +At thy heart's door, for all within +Was hard, as adamantine rock. + +Thus unto me thy visage seem'd, +But faces do not always tell +The feelings of the heart within, +Or thoughts that underneath them dwell. + +For e'en at times, I saw thy face +Relax, and look with pity down, +On struggling, weary mortals here, +Without one scornful glance or frown. + +At times I've seen thy steely eye, +Sheath'd with a look of tender love, +As if thou saw our mortal woes, +And fain would help, but dare not move. + +As if some higher power than thine, +Directed all things here below, +And for some wise and happy end, +Let struggling mortals suffer woe. + +Except at times, when from thy face, +A cheerful light is shed on men, +And when, withdrawn within thyself, +We, hopeful, watch for it again. + +Such is the happiness of earth,-- +A sudden light, a glancing beam, +Which cheers us in our lonely bark, +Upon times dark, relentless stream. + +The stormy waves roll darkling on, +And with the current we must go, +Perchance to meet some cheerful beams +Of happiness, amid our woe. + +But, if we guide our bark aright, +And guard the precious tenant there, +We soon shall reach a sea of light, +From this dark, troubl'd stream of care. + +Then, may we never let the shade +Of bitter trouble and despair, +Hide from our eyes the happy gleams, +Which even we, at times, may share. + + * * * * * + +LOVE. + +Thou source of bliss, thou cause of woe, +Disturber of the mind of man, +Wilt thou still calmly onward go, +A sightless leader of the van? + +In court and camp wilt thou still rule, +And nation's destinies still sway; +Make wise men act as doth the fool, +And blindly follow thee, away? + +Thou siren nymph, ethereal sprite, +Thou skilful charmer of mankind, +Oh, when wilt thou lead man aright, +And when will they thy cords unbind? + +Thy potent spells have still their force, +And reason's dictates still are scorn'd, +And reason runs a shackl'd course, +While life, with love, is still adorn'd. + +Thou fond inmate of maiden's breast, +Thou lighter up of manly heart; +Thou surely hast some high behest, +And we shall surely never part. + +We'll never part, but oh, thou friend +And cheerer of life's dreary way. +May reason guide us to the end, +And may she ever with thee stay. + + * * * * * + +HATE. + +While love inspires, and friendship warms + All hearts, in ev'ry state, +High over thee, grim hatred storms, + As pitiless as fate. + +Remorseless, unrelenting, hard, + It holds its stubborn way, +Which duty's claim cannot retard, + Nor righteous thoughts delay. + +With steady look, it keeps its eye + Fixed firmly on its foe; +With panting zeal it hurries by, + To make its deadly throw. + +In bosoms white it sits in state, + And often, faces fair +Conceal the rankling fire of hate, + Which looks may not declare. + +It is not strange to church or state, + For oft beneath the gown +Of prelate grave, and judge sedate, + It sits with hideous frown. + +Disturbing truth and righteous law, + It scorns the bitter tear, +And laughs at all we hold in awe, + And all that causes fear. + +O God of love, and not of hate, + Look down where'er we be, +And snatch us, ere 'tis yet too late, + From hate's black, raging sea. + +From rolling tides of vengeful thought, + Oh, lift us far above, +And may we thank Thee as we ought, + From pleasant seas of love. + + * * * * * + +DISPLAY. + +Deep planted in the heart of man, + Wherever you may go, +Display hath fertile seeds, which sprout, + And daily larger grow. + +As oftentimes, in happy soil, + A lofty tree may rise, +And 'neath its gloomy, blighting shade, + A sprout, fair, tender, dies. + +One lovely sprout, yes, more than one + Droops, dies beneath the shade, +And, where might be a garden plot, + A tangl'd waste is made. + +Ill favor'd weeds, and poison'd fruit, + In rank luxuriance reign, +And virtuous plants may strive to grow, + But strive to grow in vain. + +Oh, man, why in thy foolish heart + Should one seed grow so well, +That naught but chaos there should reign, + 'Mid poison plants of hell. + +Oh, man, immortal in thy soul, + Thou dost possess a will, +Then why not prune these noxious sprouts, + With firm and steady skill. + +If thou would'st make thy heart a plot, + Trimm'd, bright, and pure, and clean, +Oh, let no tree o'erpow'r the rest, + Or rank o'ergrowth be seen. + + * * * * * + +THOUGHT. + +The blight of life, the demon, Thought--BYRON. + + +With demon's shriek or angel's voice, +'Mid hellish gloom, or heav'nly light, +Thought haunts our path o'er land and sea, +And dwells with us, by day and night. + +In roomy hall, or narrow hut, +It withers, blasts and kills with gloom, +Or gently onward smooths the path +Of him, who gives the tyrant room. + +With siren voice it soothes our woe; +It dwells with us in blissful dreams; +But when we wake, it tells us then, +That it is far from what it seems. + +Rebellious o'er its prostrate slave, +Its iron chain of bondage swings, +Or, govern'd by a master hand, +In numbers loud and strong, it sings. + +And, with its keys of rarest mould, +Its stores of hoarded wealth unlocks, +It dives for man beneath the sea, +And cleaves for him the hardest rocks. + +Forever thus it lives and acts, +With angel host, or demon throng,-- +To sing with voice of heav'nly love, +Or shout, with dismal, hellish song. + +Thus shall it live, thus shall it act, +While ages shall their cycles roll; +It leaves us when we reach the grave +But oh? it rises with the soul. + +And still it lives in that beyond, +As here it lives in this our sphere, +To light our road and cheer our path, +Or torture us with nameless fear. + + * * * * * + +PURITY. + +Keep pure the thoughts within thy mind, + For they to actions turn, +Which succor want, or pity woe, + Or all but self they spurn. + +Keep pure thy thoughts, for outward looks + Will then in beauty shine; +Although thy face be plain, 'twill be + A human face divine. + +Keep pure thy thoughts by trust in God, + And, when in trouble's sea, +Look thou for strength to brave the storm, + Upon thy bended knee. + +Then lift thy head with fearless front, + For come whatever may, +Thou'lt gather strength to brave it well, + Thro' ev'ry passing day. + +Keep pure thy heart, oh, keep it pure, + And thou wilt bless the hour, +When thou withstood temptation's siege, + And bridl'd passion's pow'r. + + * * * * * + +FAREWELL. + +Farewell! and know, where'er I roam, + My heart still turns to thee, +From spacious halls, or trackless woods, + Or on the foaming sea. + +Farewell, my friend! oh, could I say, + My love, my own, to you, +My outlook on this dreary world + Would have a brighter hue. + +But duty calls, and I must go, + E'en now, with outstretch'd hand, +I take a sad, sad leave of thee, + To dwell in distant land. + +For thy sweet sake I'll onward toil, + In earnest, patient strife. +Content, if thou shalt know I live + An earnest, useful life. + +And if, in future years thou'rt free, + And none has gain'd thy heart, +Oh, darling, wilt thou come to me, + And we shall never part. + +My shatter'd life will then be sweet, + My spirit shall rejoice, +And weariness forsake my frame, + At thy dear, loving voice. + +Farewell! farewell! and oh, the words + Dwell on my falt'ring tongue; +Oh, sad, despairing accents now, + That from my lips are wrung. + +O, God, look down in gracious love, + And, for my pray'rs and tears, +Oh! guide and bless that gentle maid, + Through all the coming years. + +And, if on earth we meet no more, + Grant, in thy boundless love, +That I till death may faithful be, + And meet with her above. + + * * * * * + +IRELAND. + +Thou green isle of sorrows, I think of thee daily, + And sad are the thoughts that come into my brain, +When here, to my home, o'er the wide, rolling ocean, + Is wafted the news of thy trouble and pain. + +Oh, Erin! I love thee in spite of thine errors, + And now for thee, Erin, my heart is forlorn, +Disturb'd as thou art by such various terrors, + Thou beautiful isle, where my kindred were born. + +E'en now, in my thoughts, I can climb thy steep +mountains, + Or roam through thy valleys, where green shamrocks +grow, +Or over thy meadows, where hedges of hawthorn + Stand gracefully clipp'd, an impassable row. + +And I see the thatch'd cottage, where often, the +stranger, + With kind word of welcome, is met at the door; +The castle or tow'r, a shelter from danger, + When foemen invaded thy sea-beaten shore. + +Oh, Erin, I roam, in my thoughts, by thy rivers, + I stand by thy lakes, in delight at the view, +And ever I pray for the time, that delivers + This nation from strife, and from misery, too. +From Shannon's green banks unto Erne's limpid waters, + I've travell'd in thought, while this was my pray'r: +That sons of Fermanagh, and Limerick's daughters. + Should join in a union of loyalty, there. + +For what loyal maid, from the banks of the Shannon, + Or what Irish lad, from the slopes of the Bann, +Would not dread the day, when the boom of the cannon + Should speak of destruction and death, from the van? +And what loyal son of old Ireland's glory, + From Cork's cove of beauty, to Foyle's distant shore, +Would not mourn the day, when, cold, lifeless and gory, + Brave forms downfallen, should rise never more? + +And who would not hail, throughout Erin's dominion, + The time when Religion's bright form should arise, +And sail o'er the land; with her blest, healing pinion, + And bring to all hearts the truth in one guise? + +And then, in his home, afar o'er the ocean, + Or by the turf fire, upon Erin's old sod, +Each Irishman, kneeling in humble devotion, + Would love all his brothers, while praying to God. + +Oh Erin, mavourneen! Let Love's joyous fingers + Strike out from your harps, one glad, resonant strain, +And, if one discordant, harsh, jarring note lingers, + Oh, strike for your country, together again! +And then, when your hands and your hearts are united, + When you kneel at one shrine, when you bow to one law. +With a sea of glad brightness, your isle shall be +lighted, + While thunders the chorus, of Erin-go-bragh. + + * * * * * + +BY THE LAKE. + +The waves are dashing on the shore, + With wild, glad joy, I stand and view them; +And, as they break with sullen roar, + My heart responds with gladness, to them. + +They've pow'r to thrill the human soul, + As on the shore they break so madly, +The spirit, bounding, hears their roll, + And speaks responsive, wildly, gladly. + +The heart, with proud, defiant beats, + Re-echoes the triumphant roar, +And, as each wave its course retreats, + The pulse retires to beat once more. + +The gull screams wildly o'er the waves, + Defiant in its stormy glee; +It screams, perchance, o'er wat'ry graves + And recks not, heeds not, nor do we. + +But comes a time, when waves and wind, + In restful quietude remain, +A change then comes upon the mind, + And stormy passion's recent reign. + +The gull sails softly thro' the air, + For all is calm and still below; +Peace, blessed peace is ev'rywhere, + And all regret the recent throe. + +The man, remorseful, thinks of how + Defiant thoughts reign'd wild and high, +The waves are mourning, sobbing now, + In peace, but yet in agony. + + * * * * * + +LOUIS RIEL. + +Misguided man, thy turbid life + This day in shameful death shall close, +And thou shalt ne'er behold the sun, + That in thy sight, this morn, arose. + +The moon, which yestere'en so clear, + Shone thro' thy cell's small window pane-- +No more shalt thou behold its light, + Or see its chasten'd rays, again. + +No more thy voice, 'mong savage hordes, + Shall sound, with baneful, potent spell, +To make them rise with savage force, + And 'gainst their country's laws, rebel. + +And thou art calm in trustful hope, + And conscience gives thee little pain, +'Tis strange, but man's a myst'ry deep, + Unsolv'd in finite thought's domain. + +The scaffold's there, and thou art firm; + Thou walkest forth upon it now; +The thoughts within thy breast are hid, + But calm and peaceful is thy brow. + +The man of God, thy faithful friend + Of brighter days, and happier years, +Upon thy cheek, with holy lips, + A kiss imprints, 'mid blinding tears. + +The priest and thou art praying now, + For thy poor soul, before 'tis gone, +When suddenly, with crashing force, + The door descends--the bolt is drawn. + +And what can be the pray'r of those, + Who learn'd with awe thy dreadful death? +It is that thou God's mercy found, + Before thou yielded up thy breath. + +It is that thou that mercy found, + Which thou to others never gave; +That thy rebellious, restless soul, + A pardon found, beyond the grave. + +Man's justice had to take its course, + And tie the fatal hempen knot, +For vengeance cried from out the ground, + Where lay the blood of murder'd Scott. + +But who shall say e'en such a cry + Did drown the voice of pard'ning love, +Which comes to sins of deepest dye, + From Him who died, but reigns above? + + * * * * * + +LINES ON THE NORTH-WEST REBELLION. + +The war is o'er, and vict'ry crowns + Our youthful soldiers brave, +And back their homeward steps have turn'd, + Save those who found their grave; +Save those whom rebel bullets fell'd, + Whose martial souls have gone, +Whose bodies rest beneath the plains + Of wide Saskatchewan. + +Sleep on, brave hearts! Nor bugle sound, + Nor beat of martial drum +Shall make you spring to arms again, + And to your comrades come. +Sleep on, brave hearts! Nor western storm, + Nor rebel balls you'll feel; +You fought the last campaign of life, + And fought it well, with Riel. + +And others wounded in the strife, + Their valor still will burn, +And to the bloody field again, + Their spirits brave return; +Tho' maim'd, and bruis'd, and battle worn, + Their names are honor'd here, +Next to the names of those who fought, + And found a bloody bier. + +Oh, British troops are brave, + To charge the foreign guns, +And British spirit shows itself + In our young country's sons. +Long, long may truth and valor strong, + Inspire Canadian hearts, +To meet with steady bravery, +All rebel balls and darts; + +To meet all foreign foes, or quell + The sinful rebel's pride, +And teach that right must yet prevail, + That justice must preside; +That law must ne'er be set at naught, + By selfish cliques or elans, +That right must ne'er give way to might, + That liberty is man's. + + * * * * * + +THE TEACHER. + +Say, sadden'd mortal, thou who goest along +With look so weary, and with step so slow, +Why trillest thou no blithe and cheerful song, +Why whistlest thou that tune, so sad and low? + +What trouble weighs thee down, what sorrow sore +Lies heavy on thy yet so youthful breast? +Sure fortune yet holds wide for thee her door; +Sure fame and joy yet wait thy earnest quest. + +Why, know'st thou not the birds for thee do sing, +The flow'rs for thee with perfum'd beauty grow, +With melody for thee the wild birds sing, +With rippling laugh, the cheerful streamlets flow? + +Then why, my friend, once more I ask of thee, +Why shows thy face so much unrest and pain? +What painful phase of life dost thou still see? +What sad, sad woe, doth in thy heart remain? + +Bright flash'd the teacher's languid eye, +Flushed his pale cheek, with bright, tho' fleeting +flame; +Leap'd forth his voice with energetic cry, +And thus, to me express'd, his thoughts they came. + +"Inquirer, cease, thy words stir up the fire, +That erst did fill my live and vig'rous brain; +Thy words stir up the seeds of healthy ire, +That still, with latent pow'r and force, remain. + +"'Tis strange, thou think'st, that darkly on my brow +The shadow of a careworn spirit stays; +My youth, with springless step, doth make thee bow +Thy head, in kindly wonder, and amaze. + +"Thou would'st not look with such a puzzl'd air, +Upon my weary pace, and heavy eye, +If thou didst know the cause of my despair, +The stern, substantial, solid reason why. + +"Didst ever know, my friend, what I endure, +In slavish, plodding work, from day to day, +Which work should be in its own nature pure, +And lifted high, from gross and heavy clay. + +"Examinations, cram and pressure high, +Are daily kept before my anxious mind; +What tho' for higher aims I daily sigh, +This is my work, and this my daily grind. + +"I work, you say, on minds, and hearts, and souls, +Alas, 'tis true, but what can e'er atone +For dry, mechanic thought, and lifeless coals, +Which light not up, but turn the intellect to stone? + +"Work on! ye faithful, grinding and hair-splitting band, +Work on, in slavish fear, and penitential pain, +But daily pray, that thro' this young and prosp'rous +land, +A system, higher, purer, freer, yet shall reign. + +"Yours shall not be the blame, the people must it bear, +For, while they look for quick results, for hot-bed +flow'rs, +Amongst them, they the various ills must surely share, +Of hasty fev'rish work, compell'd by outside pow'rs." + +Thus spoke the man, and closed his lips became, +The fire forsook his lately flashing eye, +His nerves relax'd, and o'er his brow, the same +Dark cloud of bitter woe, could I descry. + + * * * * * + +THE INDIAN. + +When wooded hill, and grassy plain, + With nature's beauties, gaily dress'd, +Lay calm beneath the red man's reign, + And smiling, in unconscious rest, + +Then roam'd the forest's dusky son, + In nature's wildness, proudly free, +From where Missouri's waters run, + Far north, to Hudson's icy sea. + +From Labrador, bleak, lonely, wild, + Where seal, 'mid icebergs, sportive play, +Far westward wander'd nature's child, + And wigwam built, near Georgia's Bay. + +With bow of elm, or hick'ry strong, + And arrow arm'd with flinty head, +He drew with practis'd hand the thong, + And quick and straight, the shaft it sped. + +Full many a bounding deer or doe, + Lay victims of his hand and eye, +And many a shaggy buffalo, + In lifeless bulk did lowly lie. + +The forest did his wants supply, + Content he was with nature's scheme; +For, fail'd the woods to satisfy, + There came response from lake or stream. + +His simple shell of birchen rind, + Propell'd by skilful hands, and strong, +Down cataracts and rivers pass'd, + And over lakes, it went along. + +With spears, from stone or iv'ry, wrought, + Or hooks, ingenious made of bone, +He stores from out the waters brought, + Nor look'd for forest gifts, alone. + +Contentment dwelt within his heart, + And, from his dark and piercing eye +His freedom showed, unbred of art, + His honor look'd unconsciously. + +Untaught by books, untrain'd by men, + Vers'd in the thoughts of bard or sage, +He yet had read from nature's hand, + A book unwrit, yet wise its page. + +One would have thought a man so bless'd + And richly, too, with manly pow'rs, +Had surely some far higher quest, + Than living thus, in nature's bow'rs. + +One would have thought, that when he knew + The laws of God, and cultur'd men, +His mind would take a nobler view, + And light pursue, with eager ken. + +But such is not his happy state, + Since light of knowledge round him shone; +He still stands sadly at the gate, + And few still go, where few have gone. + +And whose the fault, and whose the blame, + That thus his mind is still so dim, +That wisdom's lamp, with shining flame. + Still gives so pale a light, for him. + +Oh, thinking white man, look around, +And, when you have discern'd the cause, +Express yourself with certain sound, +Concerning this poor forest child, +Who left his father's hunting ground. + + * * * * * + +TO NOVA SCOTIA. + +OH brothers, friends, down by the sea, + We can thy voices hear, +And painful is their tone, and free, + Upon each brother's ear. + +We hear each voice, pitch'd strong and high, + And, could we see you now, +Our hearts would heave another sigh, + At each beclouded brow. + +We hear thy voice, from day to day, + In one long, doleful strain, +Oh tell us why, oh brethren say + Why sounds that voice of pain. + +Are we not one, in race and creed, + Rul'd by one gracious queen? +And we have all receiv'd our meed + Of praise and pelf, I ween. + +Why vex her now, who's rul'd so long + Upon her virtuous throne? +Why sing her such a doleful song, + And send her such a groan? + +And why annoy that whiten'd head, + Our land's adopted son, +Who wisely drew love's slender thread, + And wedded us in one. + +And firmer yet he wish'd to bind + Us to our country's weal, +And see, plann'd by his master mind, + One band of glitt'ring steel, + +One shining track, which stretches far, + From wild Columbia's shore, +To where those doleful voices are, + And the Atlantic's roar. + +Oh brethren, friends down by the sea, + With us your voices raise, +Instead of groans, oh, shout with glee, + With us, one shout of praise. + +And trust him, brethren, trust us, too, + Seek not from us to go; +Our country's good is weal for you, + And common, all our woe. + + * * * * * + +A SNOW STORM. + +I hear the wintry wind again, + I see the blinding snow, +Pil'd high, by eddying winds, in heaps, + No matter where I go. + +The storm is raging hard, without; + But let us not complain, +For fiercely tho' it rages now, + A calm will come again. + +And, though the wildly raging storm + Makes all things bleak and bare, +Beside the fire we brave it well, + And closer draw our chair. + +In social fellowship, our hearts + With kindly thoughts grow warm; +Then is there not a pleasant side, + E'en to a raging storm? + +And when the angry storm has calm'd, + As ev'ry storm must do, +Then, sure, the tempest's handiwork, + Has pleasant features, too. + +An artist's eye would look around, + Upon these calmer days, +And view the pure white heaps of snow, + With pleas'd and puzzl'd gaze. + +Like purest marble, deftly carv'd, + They stretch o'er vale and hill, +Fair monuments, not made by man, + But rear'd by nature's skill. + +The sweeping curve, the graceful arch, + The line so firm and free; +A skilful sculptor well might say: + "Can this teach aught to me?" + +The trees are rob'd in purest white, + And gleaming atoms shine +From out the snow, beneath the sun, + Like stones from Ophir's mine. + +The merry shouts of busy men + Sound, as they dig the snow; +And, when the way is clear, the bells + With joyful jingle, go. + +Then who shall say the tempest's work + Brings more of pain than joy; +Or that the evil things, to us + Are pain, without alloy? + + * * * * * + +CATCHING SPECKLED TROUT. + +In early days, when streams ran pure, + Untainted from their spring, +Unchok'd by sawmill dust, or logs, + Or any other thing, + +Each river, creek and rill ran on, + So pure, and free, and bright, +That through the gloomy shades, they shed + A cheerful, happy light. + +The finny tribes, of varied kinds, + Ran swiftly to and fro, +And with most swift and graceful dart, + The speckl'd trout did go. + +So swift to dash, and quick to see, + He caught the fatal fly, +Before less active fishes had + E'en turn'd to it their eye; + +For, ever active and alert, + At once, or not at all, +He caught the tempting bait he saw + Upon the waters fall. + +These were the days to angler dear, + When, with his hook and line, +He brought his treasures from the brook, + So splendid and so fine. + +Each angler had his fav'rite spot, + Wherein he held his breath, +To watch the fishes rush and plunge, + So sure to bring its death. + +But now the angler rarely throws + With great delight, his line, +Or listens to the rippling brook, + Beside the wild grape vine. + +The finny treasures now are scarce, + In river, creek or rill, +For poison'd are they by the dust, + That comes from lumber mill. + +The picturesque and shady grove, + Which streamlets hurried by, +Are now uncover'd by the sun; + Full many a stream is dry. + +The poet's land is going fast; + Wild beauty must give place +To useful and substantial things, + Which benefit our race. + +But who shall e'er forget the joys, + When, from some shady nook +He flung his fly, with practic'd hand, + Far out upon the brook? + + * * * * * + +THE HUNTSMAN AND HIS HOUND. + +When hill and dale, long years ago, + Lay clad in nature's dress, +And flourish'd the primeval pomp + Of nature's wilderness, + +A huntsman and his hound would roam, + Where fed the timid deer, +And where the partridge's drum, or whirr, + Brought music to his ear. + +In sooth, he heard all forest sounds + With real sportsman's joy; +And here he always pleasure found, + With little of alloy. + +The pigeon's coo, the squirrel's chirp, + The wild-bird's thrilling lay, +Brought freshen'd pleasure to his heart, + At ev'ry op'ning day. + +But music sweeter far than aught + In wood or vale around, +Was the loud crackling of the deer, + Or baying of his hound. + +Full many a deer his steady aim, + With faithful rifle slew, +But, faithful as his rifle was, + His hound was faithful, too. + +With loud, sonorous bay, he ran + Through swamp, or darken'd brake, +Till, from the bush the deer would bound + Far out into the lake. + +And then, with ready boat at hand, + The hunter got his game; +For to its struggling, frightened mark, + The well-aim'd bullet came. + +And thus they liv'd from day to day, + This hunter and his hound; +With nature's simple joys content, + He felt not life's dull round. + +A hunter's life he dearly lov'd, + And still, from day to day, +No other sound he lov'd to hear, + Like his own deer-hound's bay. + +But soon that voice must sound no more; + The faithful dog must die; +The man must hunt the deer, without + That well-known, guiding cry. + +The hound had chas'd a noble buck + Right down into the lake, +But roll'd the waves so high and strong, + The noble beast did quake + +With fear, for now he saw 'twas death, + To leave the solid shore-- +A lesser danger there he saw, + So back he came once more. + +He came with fierce, determin'd bounds, + Impell'd by wild despair, +With lower'd head he reach'd the dog, + Who bravely met him there. + +But short the fight, the antlers gor'd, + The dog's brave heart, so true +To him who stood upon the shore, + As spell-bound by the view. + +The dog's death yell rang o'er the lake, + For him, and for his foe, +As whizzing came the well-aim'd ball, + That laid the slayer low. + +The bullet came, but yet too late + To save the gallant hound; +And long the hunter mourn'd his loss, + And miss'd his voice's sound. + + * * * * * + +GRACE DARLING. + +The steamer Forfarshire, one morn + Right gaily put to sea, +From Hull, in merry England, + To a Scottish town, Dundee. + +The winds were fair, the waters calm, + And all on board were gay, +For sped the vessel quickly on, + Unharrass'd in her way. + +All trim and neat the vessel look'd, + And strong, while, from on high +Her flag stream'd gaily, over those + Who deem'd no danger nigh. + +So strong she look'd from stem to stern, + That all maintained that she +Would weather e'en the fiercest storm, + From Hull unto Dundee. + +But bitterly deceiv'd were they, + When off North England's shore, +The vessel in a nor'-west gale, + Did labor more and more. + +Her timbers creak'd, her engines mov'd + With weak, convulsive shocks, +And soon the ship, beyond control, + Rush'd madly on the rocks, + +And then a lighthouse keeper saw + Her struggle with the waves, +And knew that soon, if came no help, + They'd find them wat'ry graves. + +"What boat," he said, "could pass to them + O'er such a raging sea, +And e'en if I should venture out, + Oh! who would go with me"? + +"Oh father, I will go with you, + Out o'er the raging sea; +To rescue them, come life, come death, + I'll work an oar with thee." + +She went, and battling with the sea, + They reach'd the vessel's side, +And sav'd nine precious lives, + From sinking in the tide. + +For those, who on the wreck remain'd, + Afraid to trust the waves, +In such a frail and loaded boat, + Soon found uncoffin'd graves. + +All noble acts, unconsciously + Are done, with pure intent; +And thus, upon her errand bold, + This noble maiden went. + +And when, from many mouths, she heard + Her praises told aloud, +'Twas but for simple duty done, + This modest maid felt proud. + +And when, into her lone abode + Fam'd artists quickly came, +No swelling and self-conscious pride + Did animate her frame. + +They knew rewards would scarcely do, + To tell what should be told, +And yet, they gave this modest girl + Five hundred pounds in gold. + +But gold her peerless bravery + Could neither buy nor pay, +And yet, content, her lonely life + She liv'd from day to day. + + * * * * * + +A DREAM. + +One night, while peaceful in my bed +I lay, unwitting what befell, +By Morpheus' arms clasped close, +In blissful rest, I slumber'd well. + +When suddenly, unto my ears +There came a dreadful, piercing sound, +So strange unto my startl'd mind, +I left my bed with single bound. + +And then, transfix'd unto the floor, +I stood, in terror pinion'd there, +With drops of sweat upon my brow, +And eyes with fix'd and rigid stare. + +I listen'd for the dreadful sound, +Which brought such terror to my brain; +And then, with wildly beating heart, +I heard the fearful noise again. + +Affrighted yet, I heard the noise, +Which, tho' 'twas modified in tone, +It terror brought unto my heart, +And from my lips it drew a groan. + +For horror yet was in the sound, +That froze my blood, and fix'd my eye; +It seem'd to me a demon's shriek, +Or wailing banshee's boding cry. + +But soon my eyes unfix'd their stare, +My senses clearer now became, +And borne unto my sharpen'd ear, +I heard a sound, but not the same. + +Within the plaster'd wall, near by, +I heard a grinding, ringing tone-- +A mouse was gnawing at a board; +That was the sound, and that alone. + +I waited then, and listen'd long; +But naught there came unto my ear, +Save this, and lying down again, +I wonder'd what had caus'd my fear. + +And then I thought 'tis thus with us-- +We mortals, who, with darken'd sight +See things, and fearful sounds do hear, +Which cause our narrow senses fright. + +But when we waken from this dream, +With senses join'd to earth no more, +Our brighten'd faculties will see +No fear, where fear there was before. + + * * * * * + +THE TEMPEST STILLED. + +The sky was dark with threat'ning clouds, +And fiercely on the raging sea, +The roaring tempest wilder swept, +And fiercer rag'd old Galilee. + +Deep, dark and wild the waters roll'd, +And fast across the lurid sky +The black clouds pass'd, as if to hide +The lights of heav'n from human eye. + +A little boat, from crest to crest +Was lash'd about, and wildly thrown, +While down below lay timid souls, +Too faint to shriek, too weak to groan. + +While thunders roll'd, and lightning flash'd, +And fiercer onward rush'd the waves, +Deep down below these mortals look'd +With freighted mind, to wat'ry graves. + +The helmsman held the rudder still, +But unavailing his control; +The blasts grew wild, and wilder yet, +And louder grew the thunder's roll. + +His hand grew faint, his heart grew sick, +As still he saw the lightning's glare, +And heard the thunders toll his doom, +And voices shriek it in the air. + +Air, water, heavens, all combin'd, +Seem'd on the ship their wrath to pour, +Combin'd to sink it in the tide, +And keep it ever from the shore. + +One hope was left, and only one; +The Master on a pillow slept, +And to him these affrighted ones, +So weak of faith, in silence crept. + +With gentle touch they wake the Lord, +And half in hope, and half in fear, +They cry, "save us, or we're lost. +O Master, Lord, wilt thou not hear?" + +With gentle mien the Master rose, +And to his mild, but mighty will, +The thunders, winds and billows bow'd, +And answer'd yes, his "peace be still." + +"O, fearful ones, why do you fear?" +Then said the mighty Lord of all; +"Why trust ye not, ye faithless ones, +And call in faith, whene'er ye call?" + +Thus, on the raging sea of life, +While billows wild around us swell, +Let faith in Christ our fears disperse, +Let trust in Him our sorrows quell. + +When bitter anguish fills our breast, +And weak and trembling grows our hand, +Give Christ the rudder of our ship, +And he will bring us safe to land. + +For wind, and sea, and thunder's roll, +His great command at once obey, +And those who trust Him, He will lead +Through storm and gloom, to perfect day. + + * * * * * + +THE SCHOOL-TAUGHT YOUTH. + +His step was light, and his looks as bright + As the beams of the morning sun, +And his boyish dreams, as the rippling streams + That gently onward run, +Without a shock from rugged rock + To check their course of glee, +As they wound their way, day after day, + To their destin'd goal, the sea. + +He had come from the schools brimful of rules, + His head and note-book cramm'd +With varied lore; from many a shore + Pack'd solid in, e'en jamm'd. + +He'd learn'd a part of many an art, + Had studied mathematics, +And thought he knew how people grew, + In palaces or attics. + +He'd scann'd the page of many a sage, + And did his mind adorn +With classic sweets, and varied treats, + Preserv'd ere he was born. +"And now," says he, "upon life's sea, + I'll steer my bark so truly;" +"She is," he thought, "so trim and taut, + She cannot prove unruly." + +He look'd each morn, with cultur'd scorn + On homely barks beside him, +And pass'd them by right merrily, + Whenever he espied them. +"O do but note how well they float," + An aged man did say; +He pass'd him by with flashing eye: + "I've mark'd me out my way." + +"And did you see how easily + Those ships their helm obey'd, +When in that storm your vessel's form + So near the rocks was laid. +Young man so stern, you've yet to learn + That sailing on life's sea +Is not an art to get by heart, + Just like the rule of three. + +"You'll have to know this 'fleeting show,' + Tho' fleeting it may be, +Requires tact to think and act, + That is not known to thee." + +Thus the old man said, but this youth so read + In varied arts and lore, +Bent not his neck, but trod the deck, + And calmly look'd on shore. + +But soon the shore was seen no more, + The sea, so calm, got troubl'd; +The billows wild, no more beguil'd, + But round him boil'd and bubbl'd. +The craft it sway'd; the boy, dismay'd, + Saw how she rode unsteady; +The helm in vain they tug and strain, + For storms she is not ready. + +She pitch'd and toss'd; she's lost! she's lost! + For see the rocks beside her; +Each effort's vain; she's cleft in twain, + And now, O woe betide her! +The old man spoke, as through her broke + The cruel rocks around her. +"Advice was vain; you took the chain, + And helplessly you bound her. + +"For all your store of varied lore, + Tho' guidance and defence, +Was quite in vain to stand the strain, + Like rocks of common sense." + + * * * * * + +THE TRUANT BOY. + +AFTER MOORE'S "MINSTREL BOY." + +Oh, the truant boy to the woods has gone, +And you ne'er, alas, can find him, +He's strapp'd his empty school bag on, +For his books are left behind him. + +He's gone to shake the beechnuts down +From a height--'twould make you shiver, +And stain his hands a gipsy brown, +With the walnuts by the river. + +"Away from school!" said this youth so free, +"Tho' all the world should praise thee, +I'd rather climb this walnut tree, +Because it's such a daisy." +The truant fell, but the stunning shock +Could not bring his proud soul under; +"I'll try again, and here I go +To get those nuts, by thunder!" + +So he tightly strapp'd his bag so neat, +This soul of spunk and bravery, +And said, "If I in this get beat, +I will go back to slavery." +But he climb'd the tree, and got the nuts, +And wander'd home in the gloaming, +Well knowing, as the door he shuts, +That his pa, with rage, is foaming. + +But he gets some bread, and steals to bed +With his heart fill'd up with sorrow, +And shudders, as he looks ahead, +And thinks of school to-morrow; +He knows the score of lies he'll tell +Will scarce prevent a licking, +And he sadly wonders if 'tis well +To go thus walnut picking. + + * * * * * + +THE FISHERMAN'S WIFE. + +The fisherman's wife stood on the beach. + One chilly April day, +And far out on the lake she look'd, + And o'er the waves, away. + +The ice which late had spann'd for miles + This rolling, inland sea, +Had now releas'd its wintry grasp + The long pent waves were free. + +And now resistlessly they roll'd, + And frightful was the sound, +As cakes of ice, dash'd to and fro, + Against each other ground. + +A north-west wind had lately lash'd + The waves to fury wild, +But now they fast were sinking down, + Like tam'd and frighten'd child. + +The woman caught their soughing sound, + As tho' she heard a groan, +And heard them roll upon the beach, + With sad and solemn moan + +For late, with wild, hilarious glee, + Their reckless course had run, +And now, it seem'd as if they thought + Of all the ill they'd done. + +The fisherman's wife stood on the beach, + And still her eyes did strain, +To catch of mast or sail, a glimpse, + Upon the inland main. + +The woman turn'd her from the beach, + Loose flow'd her streaming hair, +And, louder than the white-rob'd gull, + She shriek'd in wild despair. + +Three days ago her husband had, + For wife and children's sake, +Dar'd changeful gales and floating ice, + Upon the treach'rous lake. + +With two stout hearts he left the shore, + To reach the fishing "grounds," +Undaunted by the freezing winds, + Or ice-floes crushing sounds. + +They reach'd the grounds, but scarce had turn'd + Upon the homeward track, +When came the wild nor'wester down + On their frail fishing smack. + +Yes, wring your hands, thou fisher's wife, + For thou hast cause to wail +For him who left the fishing "grounds" + In that wild north-west gale. + +'Mid frozen snow, and blocks of ice, + And fiercely rolling waves, +He and his little crew went down, + Uncoffin'd, to their graves. + + * * * * * + +YE PATRIOT SONS OF CANADA. + +Ye patriot sons of Canada, + Whate'er your race or creed, +Arise, your country claims you now, + In this, her hour of need. + +Arise, with right and valor girt, + To battle with the foe, +Which threatens to defy our laws, + And lay our country low. + +Arise, for black rebellion's flag, + Again may 'mongst us wave, +And traitors in our country's camp, + May dig our country's grave. + +The law was righteously enforc'd, + Riel did fairly die, +And why should we give way to those, + Who raise the rebel's cry? + +In spite of priest's or statesman's voice, + Quebec, forsooth, must rage, +And, with her wrongful acts and words, + Insult experience and age. + +And demagogues, with purpose vile, + Must lead the trait'rous cause, +And hound unthinking masses on, + To wreck our country's laws. + +Then rise, each patriotic son, + And guard your country's flag, +Both for your own and country's sake, + Oh, never let it drag. + +By vote, and action, if there's need, + Assert your country's claim, +To brandish high stern Justice' sword, + O'er any race or name. + +Arise then, sons of Canada, + In purpose strong and bright, +Fear not the foe, nor doubt results, + For God defends the right. + + * * * * * + +A PROTESTANT IRISHMAN TO HIS WIFE. + +"Just forty years to-day, my dear, + We sail'd from Irish waters, +And bade farewell, with many a tear, + To Erin's sons and daughters. + +"You'll recollect how ach'd our hearts, + That day in Tipperary, +When we set forth for foreign parts, + For distant woods or prairie. + +"You know our very hearts were rent + With grief, almost asunder, +And if we thought all joy was spent, + No exil'd heart will wonder. + +"But soon we reach'd our strange, new home, + Where mighty forests flourish'd, +With others, forc'd like us to roam, + Who in our isle were nourish'd. + +"But now I'm fairly happy here, + And so are you, my Mary, +But still I've seen you drop a tear + Betimes, for Tipperary. + +"We've many friends from home, here, now, + And some we call our brothers, +While some we meet with clouded brow,-- + Their creed, our feeling smothers. + +"There's some from Dublin, Cork, indeed + There's some from distant Galway, +But ev'ry man, whate'er his creed, + Should own his country, alway. + +"Tho' one attends the church, and one + Devoutly seeks the chapel, +Agreeably they yet might run, + Nor have one discord apple. + +"True Irishmen have often met, + One common cause to feel, +And many a furious onset met, + With 'valor's clashing steel.' + +"And surely there will come a day, + When common thoughts and aims, +Will shed a pure and healthy ray, + And show what duty claims. + +"Sure Parson E. went o'er the sea, + And back he came so smiley, +With stick so fine from black-thorn tree, + For father John O'Rielly. + +"Thus we, as Irishmen, should ne'er + Forget our common land, +Or claims of breth'ren, ev'rywhere, + Upon our heart and hand." + + * * * * * + +NATURE'S FORCES OURS. + +I see the wild and dashing waves + Break madly on the shore; +With glee I watch their stately course, + With joy I hear their roar. +The howling of the wildest storm, + The shrieking of the gull +Drive quickly all of pain away, + And all my fears they lull. + +I join my feeble voice with theirs, + Triumphant in its yell, +For evil powers of earth I scorn, + And all the pow'rs of hell. +Tho' men and devils both unite, + And all their force combine, +I feel, ye waves and howling winds, + That all your strength is mine. + +For He who holds you in His hand, + And moulds you to His will, +Can whisper to all hostile pow'rs, + As to you, "Peace, be still!" +He bends your necks like osiers green, + Also the necks of men; +Therefore with you I raise my voice, + And shout aloud, again. + +For you are on my side, ye waves, + And you, ye winds, are mine. +If I but cast off worldly cares, + If I my will resign. +Then let me feel what I have felt + Full oft, in days of yore-- +A fearful, joyous pulse of life + Thrill through me at your roar. + +Let me fling on your crests, ye waves, + My loads of heavy woe, +And on your wings, ye howling winds, + My cares and sorrows throw. + + * * * * * + +THE READING MAN. + +With patient toil, from day to day, + The printed page he scann'd, +The page of learned book, or sheet + With news from foreign land. + +And people thought him wond'rous wise, + And he himself was vain +Of all the knowledge he had stor'd + Within his jaded brain. + +What other men were working at, + He knew from day to day, +But never dream'd his barren task + Was only idle play. + +Fill'd with the thoughts of other minds, + His words were barren, dry; +He seldom coin'd a thought himself, + He had so many by. + +And when he found himself alone, + Where self could only think, +He found the store within his brain, + A weight to make him sink. + +What he had always thought were ends, + He saw were only means, +And, for his urgent purpose now, + Were worth--a row of beans. + +With loud and bitter voice he curs'd + Newspapers, books and all, +That weaken'd his own manhood's force, + And drove him to the wall. + +He saw that man must be himself, + Or he will live in vain, +That nothing in this world can take + The place of his own brain. + +The man who rides, but never walks, + Should surely never pout, +If in a race he falls behind, + Where horses are rul'd out. + +The man who thinks by press or book, + No matter how profound, +Will find a grave some day, beneath + An ink and paper mound. + + * * * * * + +A VIRTUOUS WOMAN. + +Proverbs, Chap. xxxi. + +A woman pure, oh, who can find? +Her price is dearer far than gold, +And greater in her husband's mind, +Than shining gems, or pearls untold. + +In her he safely puts his trust, +And while her life shall last, +His welfare she shall surely seek, +His honor, holding fast. + +With willing hands she works in flax, +In wool, and many other things, +And, rising early in the morn, +Her household's portion duly brings. + +She buyeth fields, she planteth vines, +And girds herself to duty's round, +And far into the shades of night, +Her spindle plies with busy sound. + +Her open hand, and gen'rous heart, +The poor and needy daily bless, +And in the cold her household walk, +All warmly clad in scarlet dress. + +And she herself, in bright array +Of gorgeous silk and tapestries, +Brings gladness to her husband's face, +Who sits in honor 'mid the wise. + +In honor and in virtue strong, +Her joy shall come in future days; +She speaks with gentleness to all; +The law of kindness guides her ways. + +She governeth her household well, +And eateth not of idle bread, +Her husband gives the praise she earns, +Her children bless her worthy head. + +Amid the virtuous and the good, +Of womankind she stands alone, +Unconscious of her priceless worth-- +A queen on her domestic throne. + + * * * * * + +MAN. + +One day I sat me down to write, +And thought with might and main, +But neither subject fit, nor thoughts, +Came to my barren brain. + +And then I laid my pen aside, +With sad, despairing mind, +And, fill'd with self-contemptuous scorn, +I thought of human kind. + +I saw a trifling, feeble race, + With narrow thoughts and aims, +Each noble aspiration crush'd + By rigid duty's claims. + +Selfish and hard, they toil'd along, + And, in the bitter strife, +Neglected all that sweeten'd toil, + Or that ennobl'd life. + +Another day I sat me down; + A happy subject came, +And pleasant thoughts light up my mind + With bright and cheerful flame. + +And, as I thought, with heart aglow, + Self-satisfied I grew, +And guag'd with ampler girt, my mind, + And minds of others, too. + +With satisfaction now, I view'd + Creation's mighty plan; +And had a clearer vision too, + And juster thoughts of man. + +A toiling mortal yet, I saw, + But saw no more, a clod, +For far as mind o'er matter is, + He stood, plac'd by his God. + +For now I saw to man was given + The right to rule and reign, +And bend all other pow'rs to his, + In nature's wild domain. + +The light of endless life gleam'd forth + From his pain'd body's eye, +And tho' in shackles now it liv'd, + That light should never die. + +The window now, thro' which it look'd, + Might clos'd in darkness be, +But in a world above, beyond, + Eternal light 'twould see. + +And this is what I learn'd that day, + When I sat down to write: +That man, above all earthly things, + Sits plac'd by lawful right. + +And tho' he lives this life below, + 'Mid accidents and pain, +There is a better life for him, + When he shall live again. + +And tho' his road upon this earth + Be dusty, bleak and bare, +Another, and a joyful road, + Is his, to travel there. + + * * * * * + +LIFE. + +"What is life?" I asked a lad, + As on with joyful bound, +He went to join the merry troop, + Upon the cricket ground. + +He paus'd at once with pleasant look, + This bright-ey'd, laughing boy, +"Why, life," said he, "is sport and mirth; + With me 'tis mostly joy. + +"The tasks which I receive at school, + I feel to be unkind; +But when I get my ball and bat, + I drive them from my mind. + +"With other boys I run and shout, + I throw and catch the ball, +Oh, life is a right jolly thing, + To take it all in all." + +"And what is life?" I asked a maid, + Who trod, as if on air, +So lightly she did trip along, + So bright she look'd, and fair. + +The maiden stopp'd her graceful steps, + And to my words replied, +"Oh, life's a lovely dream," she said, + With some slight boons denied. + +"But love, and health, and beauty crowns + My lot so filled with cheer, +That joy beams forth from ev'rything, + To favor'd mortals here. + +"The birds and flow'rs are fill'd with joy, + With joy the birds do sing; +The very rain that comes from heav'n, + Seems loads of joy to bring. + +"And when I look to future years, + The view seems brighter still, +And brighter grow the perfum'd flow'rs, + As I go up the hill." + +"And what is life?" I asked a man, + A man of middle years. +"This world is truly call'd," he said, + "A vale of bitter tears. + +"I thought this earth a bright, fair spot, + But that was long ago; +I view it now, with truer sight, + And see a world of woe. + +"With disappointment and regret, + And hopes thrown to the ground, +I live, but with an aching heart + I tread life's weary round." + +"And what is life?" This time a man + With hoary hair replied: +"This life consists of gracious boons, + With evils by their side. + +"To leave the bad, and choose the good, + Is done but by the few, +And that is why mankind are such + A discontented crew. + +"With greed, the pleasure now is grasp'd, + Or what they deem is so, +Not thinking that each pleasure now, + May bring a future woe. + +"My son, take heed to what I say, + And see thou mark it well, +All earthly joys, too much indulg'd + Will lead you down to hell. + +"For Heaven's sake, I pray you now + To curb your youthful will, +Nor give your headstrong passions play, + To use their deadly skill. + +"There's joy, my son, all through this life, + To meet, as well as woe, +And if mankind would act aright, + Much more of it they'd know. + +"With prudence, virtue, for your friends, + And caution by your side, +And faith in God's o'erruling pow'r, + Your life will calmly glide. + +"Content to bear the ills you meet, + Mix'd always with your joy, +For human prudence can't avert + Some woes, which still annoy. + +"Pray that your mind be strong and clear, + And vigorous your frame, +Your heart inspir'd with love and fear + For your Creator's name." + + * * * * * + +A HERO'S DECISION. + +He just had reached the time of life, + When cares are felt by men, +But when they're strong to bear them well,-- + A score of years and ten. +"Heigh ho!" says he, "and this is life, + The dream of earlier years, +In which we see so much of joy, + And naught of bitter tears. + +"I've lived a half a score of years, + In search of fame and glory, +For all earth's boasted joys I've sought, + But ah! what is the story?" + +The story! 'tis the same old tale, + Told long, long years ago, +But strange, each for himself must learn + This earth's a 'fleeting show.' + +"The dreams of sanguine, hopeful youth, + Are chiefly dreams alone, +Whose falseness often breaks the heart, + Or turns it into stone. +Fame's or ambition's giddy height + Is only seldom gain'd, +And often half the pleasure leaves, + Just when the height's attain'd." + +But still I strive, and still I hope, + And still I fight the battle, +Besieg'd by earth's artillery, + With all its horrid rattle. +Then come, ye mocking earthly foes, + E'en come like fiends of hell, +I'll fight the battle till I die, + And I will fight it well. + +"I'll change my tactics quickly, tho', + Fight on a diff'rent line, +And on my waving battle flag, + I'll mark a diff'rent sign. +Until this present moment, I + Have fought in single strife, +But I will fight no more alone, + I'll get myself a wife. + +We'll then fight all who dare oppose, + E'en should it be her brother, +And when we've vanquish'd all our foes, + We'll turn and fight each other." + + * * * * * + +ODE TO MAN. + +A man is not what oft he seems, + On this terrestrial sphere, +No pow'r to wield, no honor'd place, + Oft curb his spirit here. + +He knows not what within him lies, + Until his pow'rs be tried, +And when for them some use is found, + They spring from where they hide, + +To startle and to puzzle him, + Who never knew their force, +Because his unfreed spirit kept + A low and shackl'd course. + +Dishearten'd and despairing, he + Had often sigh'd alone, +Not thinking that in other ways + His spirit might have grown. + +Not thinking that another course, + Which needed pluck and vim, +Might raise his drowning spirit high, + And teach it how to swim; + +To battle with the rolling tide, + That hurries onward men, +And raise his head above the waves, + That come and go again. + + * * * * * + +A SWAIN TO HIS SWEETHEART. + +What subtle charm is in thy voice, +That ever, when I hear its tone, +My heart doth pleasantly rejoice, +And fondly turns to thee alone? + +The mem'ries of a toilsome life +Are banish'd by its potent spell, +And earthly care, and earthly strife, +No whisper'd sorrows dare to tell. + +Where hope had fled, new hope inspires; +Comes life, where lately life had gone; +New purposes my bosom fires, +To battle hard and bravely on. + +What charm dwells in thine eye of blue, +That thus, by its magnetic pow'r, +The world to me hath brighter hue, +And happier grows each passing hour? + +With virtuous thought, and pure desire, +Thine eyes look forth from lofty soul; +Contagious, then, my thoughts aspire +To reach, with thee, thy lofty goal. + +Thine eyes contemptuously look down +On all that's sordid, mean and low; +Around thy head is virtue's crown, +About the feet is virtue's snow. + + * * * * * + +THANKSGIVING DAY. + +God of the harvest, once again + Our joyful tones we raise, +For all Thy goodness, day by day, + We give Thee thankful praise. + +With blessings rich, from fertile field, + And gifts from fruitful tree, +We wish, this day, our thanks to yield + With earnest hearts, to Thee. + +We plough'd the ground, we sow'd the seed, + But Thou didst send the rain +In grateful show'rs, in time of need, + And now we've reap'd the grain. + +The sun with grateful heat did shine; + The dew did nightly fall; +And now, for loaded tree and vine-- + We give Thee thanks for all. + +The bee, in well-fill'd honey cells, + Her sweets for us hath stow'd, +The crystal water in the wells, + For us from springs hath flow'd. + +The lowing herd, the prancing steed + Receiv'd we from Thy hand, +And we, this day, return our meed + Of praise, throughout the land. + +Then let us sing with earnest hearts, + Tho' joyful be each lay, +And thankful ev'ry song that starts + On this Thanksgiving Day. + + * * * * * + +A SUNSET. + +"Oh come," said I unto my love, + "And let us view the setting sun, +And watch the fleeting clouds above, + So brightly color'd, ev'ry one." + +Thus lightly to my love, I spake, + And she responded lightly, too, +And by my side her place did take, + Her young heart gladden'd by the view. + +I walk'd along, she tripp'd beside, + Short was the time, until we stood +Above the rolling, glassy tide-- + Above old Huron's mighty flood. + +"Oh, see," said I, "the glorious sight, + Now spread before our favor'd gaze-- +The clouds all flame, the sea all light, + The sun, one grand, terrific blaze." + +E'en such a time, and such a scene + Could not love's gentle pow'r dispel. +I saw my love's grave, thoughtful mien, + I turn'd and said: "your thoughts pray tell." + +"My thoughts! Oh yes, since you request, + My thoughts were centr'd all in you, +As chang'd my gaze from crest to crest, + Across the glassy ocean's blue; + +"And, as I saw the waters shine + With polish'd splendor from the sun, +Thus gleam'd, I thought, this love of mine, + Thus shall it gleam till life is done. + +"And, as I saw the bars of gold, + And clouds with crimson deeply dy'd, +Your love, I thought, was wealth untold, + And my heart's blood, your crimson tide." + +"And yours," I said, "your love to me + Is one great, shining, glassy flood; +Your face, reflected, there I see, + So beautiful, so bright and good. + +"My nature glows at thy dear name, + With deep, red heat, like yonder ball, +It shines with constant, ruddy flame; + It shines for you, but tinges all. + +"But see, the sun has sunk to rest, + As if beneath the distant wave, +But still the colors in the west, + Show that he still shines from his grave. + +"And thus, my love, when I shall sink + Into the dark and dread Unknown, +'Tis surely just for us to think, + Some rays shall shine for thee alone. + +"And if it be my fate to stay, + While thou shalt calmly sink to rest, +'Tis surely right for me to say, + Some light from thee shall cheer my breast." + + * * * * * + +THE MAPLE TREE. + +Where craggy hills round Madoc rise, + With scenic grandeur bold, +Where frowning rocks, from wooded heights, + Look down so stern and cold, + +On peaceful vales, and silent lakes, + And islets, wild and fair, +Where trees, in fadeless beauty clad, + Display their verdure there. + +Where men, undaunted by the force + Of nature's stern array, +Determin'd, drive a prosp'rous course, + And honorable way. + +Here doth the oak rear high its form, + The spreading beech beside, +And here the hemlock meets the storm, + With branches stretching wide. + +The pine, with straight and lofty stem, + The birch, whose shapen rind +Sails o'er the lakes by dusky hands, + Or favorable wind. + +Such trees as those, are widely known, + And many more beside, +And may be found from Madoc's hills, + To Huron's waters wide. + +Right dear they are to sturdy hearts; + To pioneers, their name +Lights up the thoughts of other days, + With bright and cheerful flame. + +But dearer far than all of these, + Than all from sea to sea, +To Canada's brave sons of toil, + Is the stout maple tree. + +The maple tree! the maple tree! + Because its leaf so fair, +Is emblem of our Canada, + And all our hopes are there. + +Our country thrives, and so shall we, + On this, our native sod, +If we respect our maple tree, + And worship only God. + +The maple leaf! the maple leaf! + Tho' in the fall it fade, +May it but die, to bloom again, + And brighten up the glade. + +Oh, deeper strike each year thy roots, + Young Canada's fair tree, +That no rude hand may tear thee up, + Thou emblem of the free. + +If on thy branch an eagle bold, + Or other bird of prey, +Shall dare with haughtiness to sit, + May it soon fly away. + + * * * * * + +GODERICH. + +Where once the red deer, wolf or bear, +Pursued by hardy Indian braves, +Lay low, in cunning grove or lair, +And listen'd to the rolling waves. + +Where once the maple and the beech, +In nature's splendor tower'd high, +Far, far beyond the white man's reach, +Was this lone spot, in years gone by. + +The lofty bank, and level plain, +With wide-mouth'd maitland stretch'd to view, +Look'd out upon the inland main, +And back, where virgin forests grew. + +No harbor then, nor water-break, +Made by the mind and hand of man, +But fast into the rolling lake, +In nature's course, the river ran. + +No pennon stream'd from lofty mast, +No ships were there, propell'd by steam, +For then, instead of whistle blast, +Was heard the lordly eagle's scream. + +The light canoe of birchen rind, +Sent o'er the waves by skilful oar, +Express'd so plain the untrain'd mind-- +Content with this, it wish'd no more. + +No chimneys, tall and massive made, +Show'd where the white man ground his corn, +For there no white man yet had stray'd, +Where but the forest child was born. + +And now, where spacious mansions stand, +Where grace and culture now reside, +There clasp'd the Indian brave the hand +Of his own war-won forest bride. + +Where once the painted warrior wrote +His thoughts in rudely pictur'd signs, +A cultur'd language now we quote, +And write and print, in graceful lines. + +Where once the hieroglyphic bark +Told when the warlike bow should twang, +The torch of light with glowing spark, +Is held aloft by faithful Strang. + +But there is yet another flame, +With pure and holy light to shed; +And all revere that honor'd name, +And all respect that rev'rend head. + +That hoary head, which, from the place +Where mild religion's beams doth play, +Hath warn'd, implor'd our fallen race, +And pray'd, while years have pass'd away. + +Beneficent and kind old man, +Accept our humble tributes now, +And when is run thine earthly span, +May fadeless wreathes entwine thy brow. + + * * * * * + +VERSES WRITTEN IN AUTOGRAPH ALBUMS. + +TO MISS ---- + +Youth is the time when all is bright; + The mind is free from care; +No thoughts of aught, save present joys, + Can find an entrance there. + +And, if a thought of future years + Steal o'er the careless mind, +That thought speaks of a happier time + When years are left behind. + +But when the years of youth have fled, + And life is fill'd with pain, +We think full oft of vanish'd years, + And wish them back again. + +And oft this wish will soothe our pain, + And oft allay our woe, +Oh, sweet to us is mem'ry then, + When we think of long ago. + +May thou live on till youth has pass'd, + And feel but little pain, +And may thou, in a blest old age, + Live o'er your youth again. + +TO A FRIEND. + +With kindly thoughts full oft we've met, +And bow'd at Friendship's sacred shrine; +Oh, may we ne'er those thoughts forget, +But may they still our hearts entwine. + +May both retain those feelings long, +Which prompt the words of friendly tongue, +May I not fail to think of thee, +Nor you to think of T. F. Young. + +TO MISS ---- + +My friend of days, but not of years, +With kindly heart these lines I trace, +To tell you of a kindly wish, +Which I upon this page would place. + +It is that thou thro' future years +May meet with very much of joy, +And just a little grief, because +Continued happiness will cloy. + +And when, in future years, you read +What I to you just now have sung, +Let others praise or blame, do thou +Think pleasantly of T. F. Young. + +TO ---- + +These lines, which on this leaf I write, +I trace with friendly thoughts of thee, +And hope, when o'er this page you glance, +You'll think a kindly thought of me. + +And why should I this tribute ask? +Why crave from you this humble boon? +Because I knew you through life's morn, +And hope to know you in its noon. + +Because the path of life we trod, +With youthful hearts so free from pain, +When both together went to school, +And wander'd gaily home again. + +This, then, is why I ask of you, +As on this little page you look, +To think of me, with other friends, +Whose names are written in your book. + + +TO A FRIEND. + +In years to come, when looking o'er + These lines I've penn'd for thee, +I trust that thou shalt ne'er have cause + To think unkind of me. + +And if you have, let memory + Try hard to blunt the dart, +And tho' I may deserve the blame, + Let kindness soothe the smart. + + +TO A FRIEND. + +The youthful joys of vanish'd years, + The joys e'en now we share, +Have something of a sacred bliss, + Which time can not impair. + +For when the years of youth have gone, + Its joys and hopes have flown, +The mem'ry clings with fond embrace-- + Those joys are still our own. + +Then, as I write these words for you,-- + This earnest wish I pen: +That you may think but pleasant thoughts-- + When life's liv'd o'er again. + +May nought of sorrow, or of woe, + Invade to wound or pain, +And may the joys that we have shar'd + Be bright in mem'ry's train. + + +TO MISS ---- + +In tracing here these lines, my friend, + Which spring from friendly heart, +I here record an earnest wish, + For thee, before we part: + +May health and happiness serene, + Long, long with thee abide, +May youthful joys no sorrow bring, + Nor future woes betide. + +And when thy youthful beauty leaves, + And youthful thoughts thy breast, +May thou in calm old age still live, + In happiness and rest. + + +TO A LITTLE GIRL. + +Go, little girl, your course pursue, + On life's rough ocean safely glide, +May want nor woe e'er visit you, + Nor any other ills betide. + +Improve the shining hours of youth, + For soon, alas, they will be gone, +Strive hard for learning, zeal and truth, + For ev'ry soul must fight alone. + + +TO A FRIEND. + +Within this little book of thine, + Are thoughts of many a friendly mind, +Express'd in words, on which you'll gaze + In after years, with feelings kind. + +And while you're scanning o'er each page, + These lines I write, perchance you'll see, +And tho' they're penn'd by careless hand, + You'll know that they are penn'd by me. + +Perhaps you'll think of school-days then, + Of happy school-days, long since past, +When you and I, in careless youth, + Thought that those days would always last. + + +TO MASTER GEORGE TWIDDY. + +G o on your way, my youthful friend, +E arth's joys and woes to feel, +O 'er rough and smooth, your course will tend, +R ight on, thro' woe and weal, +G ird up yourself then, for the fight, +E ach foe to meet without affright. + +T hink not too much of joy or woe, +W hich one and all must meet, +I n duty's path still onward go, +D ark days and bright to greet, +D etermin'd still to do your best, +Y our work, be sure, will then be blest. + + +TO MISS ---- + +The fairest flowers often fade, + And die, alas! too soon, +Ere half their life is sped, they droop, + And wither in their bloom. + +But may thy life thro' future years, + In healthful beauty shine, +And when you think of other days, + Think of this wish of mine. + + +TO MISS MILLY SCOTT. + +Memories of happy school-days, +In which we view the years gone by, +Long they last, and long they cheer us-- +Live well the moments as they fly, +Your youth is passing swiftly by. + +See, then, Milly, that your school-days +Can no mem'ries sad retain. +Onward! upward! be your motto, +Try and try, and try again, +The future will reward the pain. + + +THOMAS MOORE. + +The land of poetry and mirth, +Of orators and statesmen, too, +To one more genial, ne'er gave birth, +Than when, gay Moore, it brought forth you. + +The land of Goldsmith, Wolfe and Burke, +May well, with gladness, sound thy name, +And honor thee, whose life and work +Produc'd a bright and joyous flame. + +Thy lively genius, sparkling, free, +Emitted rays, which sparkle yet, +And gladden hearts across the sea, +When tears of pain their eyelids wet. + +Mild Goldsmith sang with taste, and well, +And so did Wolfe, his plaintive ode, +But thou, alone, possess'd the spell, +That served to ease thy country's load. + +O'Connell work'd with wondrous skill, +With silv'ry tongue, and prudent head, +With patriotic heart and will, +To ease Oppression's crushing tread. + +He did remove th' oppressor's weight, +Or made it rest more lightly there, +But still there crowded in the gate +The ills of life we all must share. + +Great Burke, with comprehensive mind, +Pour'd forth his thoughts, too lofty far, +To glad his humble, simple kind, +Who could not reach the lowest bar. + +But thou brought forth thy tuneful lyre, +And swept it with a skilful hand, +And hearts, with joy and hope afire, +Arose to bless thee, thro' the land. + +Thy songs of love, religion, fame, +Resounded from each hill and dale, +And fann'd the patriotic flame, +In beautiful Avoca's vale. + +They reach'd us here, we have them now, +And treasure them, both rich and poor; +And here's a green wreath for thy brow, +Of Irish shamrocks, Thomas Moore. + +In fadeless verdure may it stay, +And long thy gifted head entwine, +For time will mark full many a day, +Till head and heart shall live, like thine. + + +ROBERT BURNS. + +One hundred years have come and gone, +Since thy brave spirit came to earth, +Since Scotland saw thy genius dawn, +And had the joy to give thee birth. + +There was no proud and brilliant throng, +To celebrate thine advent here, +And but the humble heard the song, +Which first proclaim'd a poet near. + +But genius will assert its right +To speak a word, or chant a lay, +And thou, with independent might, +Asserted it from day to day. + +No fawning, sycophantic whine, +Marr'd the clear note thy spirit blew, +Thy stirring words, thy gift divine, +Were to thyself and country true. + +Tho' heir to naught of wealth, or land, +Thy soaring mind, with fancy fir'd, +Saw, in Creation's lavish hand, +The gifts display'd, thy soul desir'd. + +The field, the forest and the hill +Supplied thee with exhaustless wealth, +The singing birds, and flowing rill, +Unto thy soul gave food and health. + +An honest man thou lov'd, and thou +Wert honest to thy bosom's core, +As harden'd hand, and sweated brow, +A true, tho' silent witness bore. + +No empty theorizer, thou, +Thy words said what thyself would do, +Thou ne'er would make thy spirit bow, +That worldly honors might accrue. + +Torn by temptations, strange and wild-- +Hard-hearted critics laugh to scorn +The fate of the "poetic child," +In rugged, bonnie Scotland born. + +But let them laugh, they laugh in vain. +For they, or we, who know in part, +Can never gauge the mighty strain, +That burst the genial poet's heart. + +It is enough for us to know +The songs he sang for Scotland's sake, +Which winds of time can never blow +Into oblivion's silent lake. + +O Burns! thy life was sad, we know, +Thy sensitive and fertile mind +Had to withstand full many a blow, +Dealt by the ignorant and blind. + +But let us do thee justice here, +Tho' distant from thy native shore, +For all thy faults repress the sneer, +And thy great qualities explore. + +In Canada, where all are free, +And none can e'er be call'd a slave, +Let Scotia's sons remember thee, +And weave a garland for thy grave. + +In fancy, let them grace thy brows +With wreathes of fadeless asphodel, +And let them yearly plight their vows +Unto the bard they love so well. + + +BYRON. + +While genius endows the sons of men +With eloquence, or with poetic pen, +It leaves them still the frailties of our frame, +It does not curb, but fans th' unrighteous flame. +It gives a wider, nobler range of thought, +But such advantage, oft, is dearly bought. +Man's lower nature troubles scarce the low, +But, like a fiend, at natures high doth go. +Of such a nature, now, these lines shall tell, +Who wrote full many a line, and wrote them well. +Byron, the noble, sensitive and high, +Whose bosom hath not heav'd for thee a sigh? +Whose breast hath not full often given room +To mournful thoughts, for thy untimely doom? +Thy genius soar'd to regions bright and fair, +And thou, such times, were with thy genius there. +And then thy lofty mind, 'neath passion's sway, +Left its high throne, and wander'd far astray. +'Twas strange and sad, that one so richly bless'd, +Should find within the world, so much unrest; +But we can in thy life and nature see +The means, to some extent, that fell'd the tree. +Thy shining youth, men much too freely prais'd, +And then the cry of blame, too loudly rais'd. +The fickle crowd, thy person loudly curs'd, +And then thou fled, and dar'd them do their worst. +Unfortunate in love, thy youthful heart +Was pain'd, and likewise with the burning smart +Thy vanity receiv'd from critic's pen, +Which often makes sarcastic, stronger men. +Let us be fair with thee, thy fate deplore, +And grieve thy youthful death, if nothing more. +Let us in mercy judge, for thus we can, +E'en with thy faults, thou wert a noble man. + + +MEMORIES OF SCHOOLDAYS. + +There are mem'ries glad of the old school-house, + Which throng around me still; +And voices spoke in my youthful days, + My ears with music fill. + +Those youthful voices I seem to hear, + With their gladsome, joyous tone, +And joy and hope they bring to me, + When I am all alone. + +I think of the joys of that time long past, + Of its boyish hopes and fears, +And 'tis partly joy, and partly pain, + That wets my eyes with tears. + +For 'tis joy I feel, when I seem to stand, + Where I stood long years ago, +And when I think that cannot be, + My heart is fill'd with woe. + +My old school mates are scatter'd far, + And some are with the dead, +And my old class mates have wander'd, too, + To seek for fame, or bread. + +And those who still are near my home, + And whom I often see, +Have come to manhood's grave estate; + They're boys no more to me. + +And tho' we meet in converse yet, + And each one's thoughts enjoy, +Our thoughts and words are not so free, + As when, each was a boy. + +For the spring of life is gone for us, + With all its bursting bloom, +And manhood's thoughts, and joys, and cares, + Are now within its room. + +But the mem'ry of our bright school days, + Will last through ev'ry strain, +And time will brighten ev'ry joy, + And darken ev'ry pain. + +The rippling of our childhood's laugh, + Will roll adown the years, +And time will blunt, each day we live, + The mem'ry of our tears. + +Our boyhood's hopes, and boyhood's dreams, + And aspirations high, +Will doubtless never be fulfill'd, + Until the day we die. + +But still we'll cherish in our hearts, + And live those days again, +When awkardly we read our books, + Or trembling held the pen. + + * * * * * + +SUNRISE. + +How few there are who know the pure delight, + The chaste influence, and the solace sweet, +Of walking forth to see the glorious sight, + When nature rises, with respect, to greet +The lord of day on his majestic seat, + Like some great personage of high degree, +Who cometh forth his subjects all to meet, + Like him, but yet more glorious far than he, + He comes with splendor bright, to shed o'er land and +sea. + +With stately, slow and solemn march he comes, + And gradually pours forth his brilliant rays, +Unheralded by sounding brass or drums, + His blazing glory on our planet plays, +And sendeth healing light thro' darken'd ways. + His undimm'd splendor maketh mortals quail, +And e'en, at times, it fiercely strikes and slays; + But then it brighteneth the cheek so pale, + Revives the plant, and loosens every nail + That fastens sorrow to the heart, within this vale. + +But 'tis the morning glory of the sun, + I would request you now to view with me, +'Twill cheer that smitten heart, thou grieved one, + And lighter make your load of misery, + When you can hear and see all nature's glee. +Come friend arise, determin'd, drowse no more, + But stroll away to yonder hill with me; +And all the landscape round we shall explore, +All nature slumbers now; its sleep will soon be o'er. + +The stillness now is strange, oppressive, grand, + The hush of death is now o'er all the earth, +As if it slept by power of genius's hand, + But soon the spell shall break, and songs and mirth, + And light, shall all proclaim the morning's birth. +E'en now behold the sun's advancing gleams, + The heralds of his coming, but the dearth +Of words forbid my telling how the streams, +And dewy grass are glinting, sparkling in the beams. + +Or of the change, so steady and so sure, + That creeps upon creation all around, +Unwaken'd yet from slumbers bright and pure, + By atmospheric change, or earthly sound, + Such as at times awakes with sudden bound. + +There comes a change o'er earth, and trees, and sky, + And all creation's work wherever found, +Save man, for he, with unawaken'd eye, +In dozing, slothful ease, will yet for hours lie. + +The grandest artificial sights will pall + Upon the taste, and oft repeated, tire, +But each succeeding morn, the monarch Sol + Bedecks the world with fresh and vig'rous fire, +That cheers the fainting heart and sootheth ire. + Each morn, the gazer seeth something new, +And even what he saw will never tire, + For in an aspect clear and fresh, the view + Will gladden still your eyes, tho' oft it's gladden'd +you. + +By slow degrees the heralds make their way, + Until, at last, old Sol himself appears, +To reign supreme thro' all the blessed day, + As he hath reign'd for many thousand years + O'er joy and woe, bright smiles and bitter tears. +The very air is now astir with life, + And all around, unto our eyes and ears +Come evidences of a kindly strife, +For fields, and air, and trees with bustling now are +rife. + +All animated nature seems to vie + Each with the other, in their energy +Of preparation for the day's supply + Of work or play, or whate'er else may be + Prompted for them to do instinctively. +The grass is fill'd with buzzing insect throngs, + There's music in the air, and every tree +Is vocal with the wild-bird's gladsome songs, +Songs unrestrain'd by care or memory of wrongs. + +A million tiny drops of crystal dew, + In shining splendor make the meadows fair; +The leaves upon the trees are greener, too, + As, swaying in the gentle morning air, + They are again prepar'd to stand the glare +Of Sol's meridian heat, and give their shade + To myriads of feather'd songsters there. +Our trip to see the sun arise is made, + Let us retrace our steps, and bravely share + Our portion of life's grief, anxiety and care. + + * * * * * + +LINES IN MEMORY OF THE LATE VEN. ARCHDEACON ELWOOD, A.M. + +When men of gentle lives depart, +They leave behind no brilliant story +Of fam'd exploits, to make men start +In wonder at their dazzling glory. + +The scholar's light, religion's beams, +Tho' fill'd with great, commanding pow'r, +In modest greatness throw their gleams, +In quiet rays, from hour to hour. + +The greatest battles oft are fought, +Unseen by any earthly eye; +The victors all alone have wrought, +And, unapplauded, live or die. + +'Twas thus with thee, thou rev'rend man; +In peaceful, holy work thy life +Was spent, until th' allotted span +Was cut by Time's relentless knife. + +Far from the keen and heartless train, +Who daily feel Ambition's sting, +Thy life, remov'd, felt not the pain, +Which goads each one beneath her wing. + +What pains thou felt, what joys thou knew, +Who shall presume to think or tell? +But this we know: there daily grew +Within thy heart, a living well. + +That well of love increas'd each day, +The milk of human kindness flow'd, +And cheer'd the faint ones on their way, +Along a hard and toilsome road. + +Thy voice rang out for years and years, +In fancy, yet, we hear its roll, +And see thy face, thro' blinding tears, +Fill'd with a love for ev'ry soul. + +Thy words we shall not soon forget, +Thy deeds shall be remember'd, too, +And now, while ev'ry eye is wet, +Let us accord thee honor due. + +Thou battl'd not 'gainst hosts of hell, +With words alone, convincing, warm; +Thy deeds were like the fatal shell, +That bursts amid the battle's storm. + +The temple now, which stately stands +A lasting monument, shall tell +Of lib'ral hearts, and willing hands, +Urg'd on by thee to labor well. + +O father, friend, well see no more! +Thy fight is done, and it was long; +But thou hast reach'd another shore, +And singeth now a blessed song. + +The snows shall come upon the hills, +The valleys, too, with white be spread, +The birds shall whistle by the rills, +The flowers shall their fragrance shed. + +The spring shall come to deck the earth, +In garb of vernal loveliness; +And sorrow shall abound, and mirth +Betimes shall cheer our deep distress. + +The seasons shall perform their rounds, +And vegetation bloom and fade, +But thou wilt heed nor sights nor sounds, +For thou to rest for aye art laid. + + * * * * * + +ST. PATRICK'S DAY. + +The chilly days of March are here, +The raw, cold winds are blowing; +All nature now, is bleak and drear, +But piercing winds and frosts are going. + +But frosts nor snows, nor biting blast, +Can chill the warmth within each heart, +When comes around the day at last, +To sainted mem'ry set apart. + +For many centuries thy name, +St. Patrick, has been warmly bless'd, +And many more thy righteous fame +Shall animate each Christian breast. + +Each Christian, and each patriot, too, +Shall celebrate for years, the day, +And show the world that they are true +To virtuous worth, long pass'd away. + +Oh, Ireland! for many years +Unhappy thou hast been, and sore, +But long, we're thankful thro' our tears, +Sweet songs have sounded from thy shore. + +While other lands in bitter strife +Fought wildly for kingship or gold, +The words of peace, the way of life, +Within fair Ireland were told. + +The Druid priests their rites forbore, +And listen'd to the words that fell +From Patrick's pious lips, as o'er +The land he told his story well. + +His lips told of the way of life; +His self-denying actions, too, +Enforc'd the truth, where all was rife +With wrongful rites of darken'd hue. + +The people listen'd to his voice, +And learn'd to love the faith he taught; +When fruits arose in after years, +They bless'd the name of him who wrought. + +Who wrought successfully to place +Religion's fight within the land-- +A benefit to all his race, +At home, or on a foreign strand. + +Religion's flight shone clear and bright, +And then the lesser lights appear'd; +Learning arose with quiet might, +And simple minds it rais'd and cheer'd. + +Old Tara's heathen temple rung +With sounds, whose waves are rolling yet, +From which unmeasur'd good has sprung, +Which grateful hearts will not forget. + +The triple leaf--St. Patrick's flow'r-- +Long may it grow, long may it bear +Those symbols of the mighty Pow'r, +That rules the sea, the earth, the air. + +The Shamrock! may our hearts entwine, +And meet in one, as it, tho' three; +And may your patron Saint, and mine, +Our patron saint forever be. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADA AND OTHER POEMS BY YOUNG *** + +********** This file should be named 6957.txt or 6957.zip ********** + +This eBook was produced by Sergio Cangiano, Juliet Sutherland, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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