Chapter III: Part 3

Home where the curlew's calling
Notes that are wild and free!
Home, where the mist is falling
Into a storm-tossed sea.

Parents of brave, dead soldiers,
Dear sisters, sweethearts, wives,
Is there no balm in Gilead
For all the dear lost lives?

Yes, there's a balm in knowing
They died for you and me:
Their precious blood bestowing,
The price of liberty!

Dear lusty lad from Lewis:
Brave blue-eyed boy from Skye:
In this great war you show us
How bravely men can die!

THE ALKALI LAND

or

A-ROAMING I WOULD GO.

I left my old home and my friends in the East,
Ambitious to better my fortunes, forsooth;
And seek amid scenes of the strenuous West,
The gold which had gilded the dreams of my youth.

But gold not alone, was the dochus mo chree
Which painted that faraway country so fair;
A lure more compelling was beckoning me--
The maiden I loved since my childhood was there!

I did what a man without money must do,
Just walked when the "brakies" were looking too sharp.
I sang when I felt in the humor, 'tis true--
When lonesome, like David I hung up my harp!

I envied the lot of the fellow inside,
Who traveled in comfort asleep or awake;
While I, of all comfort and slumber denied,
Was beating my way on the beam of a brake!

Thus onward I journeyed by night and by day,
Combating the problems of food and of rest--
Content as I traveled the wearisome way
To know I was nearing the wonderful West.

My pilgrimage, first uneventful and slow,
Changed color as Texas' vast reaches I struck.
Arizona the arid, and New Mexico--
Half hell and half heaven, were also my luck.

When tortured and weak by the heat of the sand,
And swollen my tongue and the water was done,
I wondered no more as I passed through the land
At the myriad bones bleaching white in the sun.

Yes, on as I plodded the limitless range,
In that land of hot sand and eternal clear skies,
How oft in my thirst did I long for a change
To my own native hills, where the watersprings rise!
O Compton beloved! what visions arose,
Of thy hills and dark vales and thy cold mountain streams!
And each fountain-like fuadhran[D] which bubbles and flows,
On the farm back at home in the land of my dreams!

Some tell me the beauty of Nature, abroad,
Surpasses in grandeur the country we boast--
They'd alter their views if they traversed the road
I wearily tramped on my way to the "Coast".

There may be a spot in some faraway clime
Where Nature in robes of perfection is dressed;
But give me her moods and her image sublime
As seen in the wild, woolly wastes of the West!

I slept with the red men who roam through that land--
Gaunt remnant that tells of the white man's abuse;
And often, although I could not understand,
Was I lulled by the soft clucking language they use.

We never took thought on occasions like these
Of the dangers which lurked as we lay on the ground--
Though the howl of coyote was borne past on the breeze,
And the rattlesnake coiled with an ominous sound!

Asleep 'neath the stars of that beautiful clime,
In the shadowy gloom that same mesa had cast,
Undisturbed in my slumbers, I'd dream of the time
When the long dreary miles still ahead would be passed.

Mysterious mesas! how ghostly ye loom!
How spectral and huge o'er the alkali waste;
The secrets of ages thy vastness entomb,
Are seemingly safe in thy mystical breast!

When shadows of even' crept over the land,
And mountains around me grew ghostly and grey,
The fringe of the foothills I anxiously scanned
For lithe, tawny forms ever prowling for prey.

Oft during my journey I fancied that rain
Fell cool from a cloud on my thirst-swollen lips;
Yet cloudless the sky o'er that quivering plain--
'Twas the last ray of hope undergoing eclipse!

At times would the lure of this mirage prevail,
Till, reason returning, I'd hasten me back;
For I knew the safe trail was to follow the rail
Gleaming hot in the sun on the Santa Fe track!

The phantoms of fever thus beckoned in vain,
Where better and stronger than I had been lost;
Though the hell of Mohave was scorching my brain,
I crossed it in safety and struck for the Coast.

O boundless Pacific! I deem it no loss
To flee to thy arms from the cactus and sand;
How sweet on thy deep, heaving bosom to toss
After parching so long in the alkali land!

I boarded a schooner that slopped in the bay--
A tub of a ship for Seattle outbound--
And up from old Frisco we wallowed our way
To lovely Seattle, the Queen of the Sound.

And there on a hill, in a beautiful spot,
Overlooking Lake Union's low murmuring wave,
The love of my youth, whom so long I had sought,
Alone among strangers I found--in her grave!

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote D: Water spring.]

A CHRISTMAS DREAM.

On Christmas night I sallied forth,
To the Red Mountain in the north;
The bright abode of men of worth
'Twixt here and heaven;
Where Finlay's stakes in mother earth
Are firmly driven.

I ambled up the village road,
Past many an Irishman's abode,
And carried quite a heavy load--
The most inside;
I faith sincerely thanked the code
The way was wide.

Here conscience loudly whispered, "Dhu,
How oft hath it been told to you,
The end that way would lead you to
Should you persist--
With soldiers of the ribbon blue
At once enlist."

I answered conscience, "give me peace,
The time of pledges draws apace,
When we must swear to shun the glass
And all its riot;
We've but a single week of grace
So let's enjoy it."

I followed up by Keenan's gate
Unto the "turn" where two ways meet,
Thence to the left the mountain street
Would guide me right,
Tho' for my life I could not see't,
Just in that light.

For where two highways ran before,
I saw a dozen tracks or more;
And which to take, I wasn't sure,
By either eye;
'Twas but a chance against a score,
And yet I'd try.

I started on with divers tacks,
And strove to reconcile the tracks
Which darted round, like jumping jacks,
Before my gaze;
'Twould take a dozen crowd a cacks
Their course to trace.

Had I big John's and Eddie's charts,
To tell me where the highway parts,
Reducing by their magic arts
Nineteen to two;
I would have from my heart of hearts
Poured blessings due.

Confusion worse confounded, gee!
On every track a horse I see,
And all alike it seems to me
As barley scones--
I vow, Pete Gagne's cavalry--
Proud, prancing roans!

Their bones were rattling in the cold
Like vales of which Ezekiel told!
A few indeed did seem too old
To nibble corn;
The colt among them all was foaled
Ere "Smoke" was born.

Ah! crippled, gaunt and wild-eyed steed,
Thy woes are great, your want is feed!
Reminds me of D. Bunker's breed
That gasps for breath;
Aye, one and all are built for speed--
To certain death!

I asked the leader of the band,
If he could tell, upon which hand,
The mountain turnpike pierced the land
Around those parts;
I'd shipped a sea, I told him, and
Had lost my charts.

"The left!" he answered with a yell;
"Tis easy, sir, your course to tell;
And that will lead you down to--well,
To "Robert's road."
Then straight away on yonder hill
Is "Smoke's" abode.

"The right hand road you must not take,
As that will lead to Moffat Lake,
Where Cookshire sportsmen saw "big snake"
Through Alden's glass.
And thots of serpents make me quake
From head to cass."

I gave my guide a social wink,
And started on, is cha ro blink,
Till my exuberance, I think,
Broke into song:
I said "good evening" to the "Mink,"
And passed along.

The air was keen, the night was bright,
And in the north that mystic light,
(In my exaggerated sight)
Was one to please;
The whole suggested yellow, white
Or greenish cheese!

I gained momentum down the ridge,
And jumped John Moggish's hump-backed bridge;
Then climbed the mountain, hedge by hedge,
Unto the crest.
And thought it there my privilege
To take a rest.

I could not find the mountain store
Which Channel mentioned in his leor,
My vision's better than before,
I really think:
Aye, C---- accounts for one or more--
And he don't drink.

But stores aside, I wandered on
To where the school house windows shone,
Altho' there seemed to me but one--
A dancing glare:
I thought the northern lights were on
The programme there.

And just within, O "hully gee!"
Is that a single Christmas tree,
Or is my vision still aglee?
For lack of breath--
A moving forest do I see
As saw Macbeth?

And better still the forest gleams
With all a youngster most esteems:
A greater crop, as groaning beams
Did there attest
Than Tupper saw in wildest dreams
Of wheat out West.

And bachelors (might they be fewer)!
I thought I'd see you single, sure,
But there they sit, at least a score,
On benches stuck;
Each one a wilted, lone wall flower
Awaiting pluck.

We pray you, O assultin Turk,
So noted for unholy work,
To send his devilship your clerk
Across the seas:
To drive our single men to kirk
With marriage fees.

Or send Armenians not yet dead
And take our bachelors instead;
Should you then hanker for their head
Just plant their hide:
And thus avoid that hellish dread
Infanticide!

Behold! I've reason now to stare!
For are there not two Finlays there--
And only one on earth I swear--
Come off my hat!
A worthier to fill a chair
Has never sat.

Red Mountain, thy neglect condone--
Within that "chair" your bard enthrone:
Instead of bread, don't give a stone
As others do--
Another Finlay like your own
You'll never know.

Sweet singer! may your mother tongue,
Embellished by thy gift of song,
Be ever heard the clans among
While print is read--
May future bards thy notes prolong
When thou art dead.

Thus on and on, while cycles roll,
May Gaelic--language of the soul--
Be heard in song from pole to pole,
From east to west,
Until the final tempests bowl
This earth to rest!

Concluding--I would humbly ask
All hypocrites to shun the task
Of shooting from behind a mask
Their fellow men--
And help us all to fling our flask
To Hinnom's glen!

We've heard the loud, despairing moan
Of sinners, reaping what they've sown,
In midnight fields with thistles grown
Where devils glean.
Yet let the first to cast a stone
Himself be clean.

No living mortal can invite
The gaze of creatures who delight
In showing spots upon the white
Which God hath gi'en.
Alas, alas, a little spite
Will find the stain.

But who's to judge? The serpent's there,
In every breast that breathes the air,
Though some with skill and acting rare
His form conceal;
While others full to view must wear
The squirming eel!

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Double quotation marks within double quotation marks were often used in this text.

Pages 9-10, Table of Contents, often the first line listed in the contents does not match the first line of the actual poem. For example on _The Fenian Raid_, the table of contents suggests it begins "From de countrie of de Eagle" when in actuality, it begins "From de country of de Yankee." This anamoly was retained.

Page 9, "LABONNS" changed to "LABONNE'S" (JOHN LABONNE'S DREAM)

Page 9, "someting" changed to "somet'ing" (write to me somet'ing)

Page 10, THE HOLLERNZOLLERN'S PRAYER is listed in the text as "HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER Or THE HOLLERIN' HOHENZOLLERIN"

Page 10, "devine" changed to "divine" (of "right divine")

Page 10, "MacLEOD" changed to "McLEOD" (DONALD McLEOD)

Page 35, "Jersualem" changed to "Jerusalem" (Jerusalem how hot)

Page 37, "Hindenberg" changed to "Hindenburg" (He ordered Hindenburg)

Page 44, the word "thot" was retained in the text as the transcriber couldn't ascertain whether it was a mistake or meant as dialect.

Page 66, "an't" changed to "Can't" (Can't you jus for one)

Page 69, "Trudell" changed to "Trudel" (of me, Joseph Trudel)

Page 83, "d e" changed to "de" (Of de U. S. at this tam)

Page 106, the second to the last stanza of _The Lumberjack_ was indented differently than the rest of the poem. It was arranged to match the rest. The orignal looked like

O, the lumberjack is loyal
And he'll surely see to it,
In the grind against the Kaiser
That each axe will "do its bit";

Page 119, "lands'end" changed to "lands' end" (to lands' end, too)

Page 124, "magestic" changed to "majestic" (tall, majestic pine tree)

Page 125, "elewhere" changed to "elsewhere" (elsewhere not in all)

Page 130, "ALKILI" changed to "ALKALI" (THE ALKALI LAND)

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