Chapter IV (2)

What though false friends should turn aside,
Or chill with icy look;
What though he meet the pitying pride,
The proud heart ill can brook;
There are depths of love in one gentle heart,
Whose faith with death alone will part.

Aye! well may thy brow relax its gloom,
For a talisman hast thou
'Gainst hopes that are blighted in their bloom,
'Gainst scornful look or brow--
_Her_ heart is a high and a holy throne
Where monarch supreme thou reignest alone.

Kindly return her tender gaze,
Press closely that little hand,
Whisper fond words and soothing praise--
They are ever at thy command;
It is all the harvest she asks to reap
In return for love as the ocean deep.

A BOY'S HOPES.

Dear mother, dry those flowing tears,
They grieve me much to see;
And calm, oh! calm thine anxious fears--
What dost thou dread for me?
'Tis true that tempests wild oft ride
Above the stormy main,
But, then, in Him I will confide
Who doth their bounds ordain.

I go to win renown and fame
Upon the glorious sea;
But still my heart will be the same--
I'll ever turn to thee!
See, yonder wait our gallant crew,
So, weep not, mother dear;
My father was a sailor too--
What hast thou then to fear?

Is it not better I should seek
To win the name he bore,
Than waste my youth in pastimes weak
Upon the tiresome shore?
Then, look not thus so sad and wan,
For yet your son you'll see
Return with wealth and honors won
Upon the glorious sea.

TO A BEAUTIFUL CHILD ON HER BIRTHDAY,
WITH A WREATH OF FLOWERS.

Whilst others give thee wond'rous toys,
Or jewels rich and rare,
I bring but flowers--more meet are they
For one so young and fair.

'Tis not because that snowy brow
Might with the lily vie,
Or violet match the starry glance
Of that dark, lustrous eye;

Nor yet because a brighter blush
E'en rose leaf never wore,
But 'tis that in their leaves lies hid
A rare and mystic lore.

And with its aid I now shall form
A wreath of flow'rets wild--
Graceful, and full of meaning sweet,
To deck thy brow, fair child!

The primrose, first, the emblem fit
Of budding, early youth;
The daisy in whose leaves we read
Pure innocence and truth.

The rosebud, sign of youthful charms,
We well may give to thee,
And with it join the sweet frail leaves
Of the shrinking sensitive tree.

And, tribute to thy modesty,
The violet emblem meet,--
Itself concealing, yet on all
Shedding its perfume sweet.

And for thy kind and gentle heart
We bring the jessamine,
To twine with ivy, ever green--
True friendship's sacred sign.

Thy wreath is formed--of blossoms bright
I've twined each link, and, yet,
Another flower I still must add,
The fragrant mignonnette,

Which says "However great the charms
That to thy lot may fall
Thy qualities of heart and mind
By far surpass them all."

Aye, be it thus, and ever may
This lovely wreath, as now--
Emblem of every precious gift--
Be fit to deck thy brow.

But, last and dearest, 'mid the buds
Of that bright varied lot
Must ever be, my gentle child,
The sweet forget-me-not!

MY THOUGHTS TO-NIGHT.

I sit by the fire musing,
With sad and downcast eye,
And my laden breast gives utt'rance
To many a weary sigh;
Hushed is each worldly feeling,
Dimmed is each day-dream bright--
O heavy heart, can'st tell me
Why I'm so sad to-night?

'Tis not that I mourn the freshness
Of youth fore'er gone by--
Its life with pulse high springing,
Its cloudless, radiant eye--
Finding bliss in every sunbeam,
Delight in every part,
Well springs of purest pleasure
In its high ardent heart.

Nor yet is it for those dear ones
Who've passed from earth away
That I grieve--in spirit kneeling
Above their beds of clay;
O, no! while my glance upraising
To yon calm shining sky,
My pale lips, quivering, murmur,
"They are happier than I!"

But, alas! my spirit mourns
As, weary, it looks back--
Finding naught of good or holy
On life's past barren track--
I mourn for the countless errors
That on mem'ry's page crowd on,
And sorrow for lost chances
Of good I might have done.

But, courage! I must arouse me,
The day is not yet o'er,
And I still may make atonement
Ere leaving life's last shore:
One act of meek oblation,
A tear of penance bright,
Will be counted as rare treasures
In heaven's loving sight.

THE BOY'S APPEAL.

O say, dear sister, are you coming
Forth to the fields with me?
The very air is gaily ringing
With hum of bird and bee,
And crowds of swallows now are chirping
Up in our ancient thorn,
And earth and air are both rejoicing,
On this gay summer morn.

Shall we hie unto the streamlet's side
To seek our little boat,
And, plying our oars with right good will,
Over its bright waves float?
Or shall we loll on the grassy bank
For hours dreamy, still,
To draw from its depths some silv'ry prize,
Reward of angler's skill?

I do not talk of the tempting game
The forest covers hide,
So dear to the sportsman--plovers shy,
Pheasants with eye of pride,
For I know your timid nature shrinks
From flash of fire-arm bright,
And the birds themselves hear not the din
With more intense affright.

But we may tread the cool wood's paths,
And wander there for hours,
Discovering hidden fairy dells,
Be-gemmed with lovely flowers;
And while you weave them in varied wreaths;
In oaks of giant size
I'll seek for nests of cunning shape--
I, too, must win some prize.

Then, sister, listen! squander not
These hours of precious time
With stupid book or useless work--
It is indeed a crime;
But haste with me to the wood-lands green,
Where forest warblers sing
And bees are humming--like them, too,
We must be on the wing.

THE CHILD'S DREAM.

Buried in childhood's cloudless dreams, a fair-haired nursling
lay,
A soft smile hovered round the lips as if still oped to pray;
And then a vision came to him, of beauty, strange and mild,
Such as may only fill the dreams of a pure sinless child.

Stood by his couch an angel fair, with radiant, glitt'ring wings
Of hues as bright as the living gems the fount to Heaven flings;
With loving smile he bent above the fair child cradled there,
While sounds of sweet seraphic power stole o'er the fragrant air.

"Child, list to me," he softly said, "on mission high I'm here:
Sent by that Glorious One to whom Heav'n bows in loving fear;
I seek thee now, whilst thou art still on the threshold of
earth's strife,
To speak of what thou knowest not yet, this new and wond'rous
life.

"Dost cling to it? dost find this earth a fair and lovely one?
Dost love its bright-dyed birds and flowers, its radiant golden
sun?
I come to bid thee leave it all--to turn from its bright bloom,
And, having closed thine eyes in death, descend into the tomb.

"Thou shudderest, child! with restless gaze from me thou turn'st
away;
'Mid summer flowers and singing birds wouldst thou remain to
play;
Thou still wouldst bask in the dear light of thy fond father's
smile,
And on thy mother's doating heart would linger yet awhile.

"'Tis well, sweet child, I blame thee not, but in spheres far
away
Are blossoms lovelier far than those which tempt thee here to
stay;
And if the love of parents fond with joy thy heart doth fill,
In those bright distant realms is One who loves thee better
still!

"That One for thee in suffering lived--for thy sake, too, he
died;
Oh! like the ocean is His love, as deep, my child, as wide.
Leave, then, this earth ere hideous sin thy spotless brow shall
dim--
One struggling breath, one parting pang, and then thou'lt be with
Him!"

A smile lit up the sleeper's face, but soon it softly fled,
The rose leaf cheeks and lips grew wan--could it be the child was
dead?
Yes, dead--and spared the ills of life, and in bright bliss above
The pure soul nestles in the light of God's unbounded Love.

A GIRL'S DAY DREAM AND ITS FULFILMENT.

"Child of my love, why wearest thou
That pensive look and thoughtful brow?
Can'st gaze abroad on this world so fair
And yet thy glance be fraught with care?
Roses still bloom in glowing dyes,
Sunshine still fills our summer skies,
Earth is still lovely, nature glad--
Why dost thou look so lone and sad?"

"Ah! mother it once sufficed thy child
To cherish a bird or flow'ret wild;
To see the moonbeams the waters kiss,
Was enough to fill her heart with bliss;
Or o'er the bright woodland stream to bow,
But these things may not suffice her now."

"Perhaps 'tis music thou seekest, child?
Then list the notes of the song birds wild,
The gentle voice of the mountain breeze,
Whispering among the dark pine trees,
The surge sublime of the sounding main,
Or thy own loved lute's soft silvery strain."

"Mother, there's music sweeter I know
Than bird's soft note or than ocean's flow,
Vague to me yet as sounds of a dream,
Yet dearer, brighter than sunshine's gleam;
Such is the music I fain would hear,
All other sounds but tire mine ear!"

"Ah! thou seekest then a loving heart,
That in all thy griefs will bear a part,
That shelter will give in doubt and fear,
Come to me, loved one, thou'lt find it here!"

"Sweet mother, I almost fear to speak,
And remorseful blushes dye my cheek,
For though thou'st watched me from childhood's hour,
As thou would'st have done a precious flower,
Though I love thee still as I did of yore,
Yet this weak heart seeketh something more:

A bliss as yet to my life unknown,
A heart whose throbs will be all mine own,
The tender tones of a cherished voice,
Of him who shall be my heart's first choice;
And who at my feet alone shall bow,
This, this is the dream that haunts me now."

"Alas, poor child, has it come to this?
Then bid farewell to thy childhood's bliss,
To thy girlhood's bright unfettered hours,
Thy sunny revels 'mid birds and flowers;
Of the golden zone yield up each strand
To cling to a hope, unstable as sand,
And forget the joys thy youth hath wove
In the stormy doubts of human love,
The feverish hopes and wearing pain
That form the links of Love's bright chain!"
Alas! the mother spoke in vain!

The girl's dream was soon fulfilled,
Her hopes by no dark cloud were chilled;
A lover ardent, noble too,
With flashing eyes of jetty hue,
With voice like music, sweet and soft,
Such as her dreams had pictured oft,
Now at her feet, a suppliant bowed,
And love eternal, changeless vowed.

Listening, then, with glowing cheek,
And rapture which no words might speak,
She thought, with bright and joyous smile,
They erred who thus could love revile,
Or say it had many a dark alloy,--
Had it not proved a dream of joy?

But, alas for her! she learned too soon
That love is fleeting as rose of June,
That her eyes might shine with olden light,
And yet be found no longer bright;
That she might devoted, faithful prove,
Yet her lover grow weary of her love.
Many an hour of silent tears,
Of heart-sick doubts, of humbling fears,
Of angry regrets, were hers, before
Her heart would say, "He loves no more."

Weary of life and its thorny ways,
She sought the friend of her early days:
"Mother, I bring thee a breaking heart,
In sorrows deep it hath borne a part;
Speak to me tenderly as of yore,
Let thy kiss rest on my brow once more;
To the joys of my girlhood back I flee,
To live alone for them and for thee!"

TO A YOUNG MOTHER ON THE BIRTH OF HER FIRST-BORN CHILD.

Young mother! proudly throbs thine heart, and well may it
rejoice,
Well may'st thou raise to Heaven above in grateful prayer thy
voice:
A gift hath been bestowed on thee, a gift of priceless worth,
Far dearer to thy woman's heart than all the wealth of earth.

What store of deep and holy joy is opened to thy thought--
Glad, sunny dreams of future days, with bliss and rapture
fraught;
Of hopes as varied, yet as bright, as beams of April sun,
And plans and wishes centred all within thy darling one!

While others seek in changing scenes earth's happiness to gain,
In fashion's halls to win a joy as dazzling as 'tis vain--
A bliss more holy far is thine, far sweeter and more deep,
To watch beside thine infant's couch and bend above his sleep.

What joy for thee to ling'ring gaze within those cloudless eyes,
Turning upon thee with a glance of such sweet, strange surprise,
Or press a mother's loving kiss upon that fair, white brow,
Of all earth's weight of sin and care and pain unconscious now.

Then, as thy loved one's sleeping breath so softly fans thy
cheek,
And gazing on that tiny form, so lovely, yet so weak,
A dream comes o'er thee of the time when nobly at thy side
Thy cherished son shall proudly stand, in manhood's lofty pride.

Yet a sad change steals slowly o'er thy tender, loving eye,
Thou twin'st him closer to thy heart, with fond and anxious sigh,
Feeling, however bright his course he too must suff'ring know,
Like all earth's children taste alike life's cup of care and woe.

But, oh! it lies within thy power to give to him a spell
To guard him in the darkest hour from sorrow safe and well;
Thou'lt find it in the narrow path the great and good have trod--
And thou thyself wilt teach it him--the knowledge of his God!

A CHILD'S TREASURES.

Thou art home at last, my darling one,
Flushed and tired with thy play,
From morning dawn until setting sun
Hast thou been at sport away;
And thy steps are weary--hot thy brow,
Yet thine eyes with joy are bright,--
Ah! I read the riddle, show me now
The treasures thou graspest tight.

A pretty pebble, a tiny shell,
A feather by wild bird cast,
Gay flowers gathered in forest dell,
Already withering fast,
Four speckled eggs in a soft brown nest,
Thy last and thy greatest prize,
Such the things that fill with joy thy breast,
With laughing light thine eyes.

Ah! my child, what right have I to smile
And whisper, too dearly bought,
By wand'ring many a weary mile--
Dust, heat, and toilsome thought?
For we, the children of riper years,
Task aching heart and brain,
Waste yearning hopes and anxious fears
On baubles just as vain.

For empty title, ribbon or star,
For worshipped and much-sought gold,
How men will struggle at home--afar--
And suffer toils untold;
Plodding their narrow and earth-bound way
Amid restless care and strife,
Wasting not merely a fleeting day,
But the precious years of life.

And thou, fair child, with to-morrow's dawn
Wilt rise up calm and glad,
To cull wild flowers 'mid wood and lawn,
Untroubled by memory sad;
But, alas! the worldly-wise of earth,
When life's last bonds are riven,
Will find that for things of meanest worth
They've lost both Life and Heaven.

TO A YOUNG GIRL WITH AN ALBUM.

Gentle Lily with this Album my warmest wishes take,
I know its pages oft thou'lt ope and prize it for my sake,
For, though a trifling offering, it bears the magic spell
Of coming from the hand of one who loves thee passing well.

O could thy young life's course be traced by will or wish of
mine,
A smiling, joyous future--a bright lot would be thine,
No cloud should mar the gladness of thy fair youth's op'ning
morn,
The roses of thy girlhood should be free from blight or thorn.

Howe'er, 'tis better ordered by a Blessed Power above
Who sends us cross and trial, as a token of His Love;
For we'd cling, ah! far too closely to earthly joys and ties,
Unwilling e'er to leave them for our home beyond the skies.

As the pages of this volume, unwritten, stainless, fair,
Life opens out before thee, let it be thine aim and care
To keep the record spotless, and ever free from all
That thou might'st wish hereafter remorseful to recall.

Not seeking to o'ershadow thy smiling azure eyes,
Nor see that girlish bosom heave with sad thoughts and sighs,
I would whisper low, while wishing thee, all earthly, cloudless
bliss,
Be life a preparation for a better life than this!

TIME'S CHANGES IN A HOUSEHOLD.

They grew together side by side,
They filled one house with glee
Their graves are severed far and wide--
By mountain stream and tree.

Mrs. Hemans

They were as fair and bright a band as ever filled with pride
Parental hearts whose task it was children beloved to guide;
And every care that love upon its idols bright may shower
Was lavished with impartial hand upon each fair young flower.

Theirs was the father's merry hour sharing their childish bliss,
The mother's soft breathed benison and tender, nightly kiss;
While strangers who by chance might see their joyous graceful
play,
To breathe some word of fondness kind would pause upon their way.

But years rolled on, and in their course Time many changes
brought,
And sorrow in that household gay his silent power wrought!
The sons had grown to gallant men of lofty heart and brow,
The fairy like and joyous girls were thoughtful women now.

The hour of changes had arrived, and slowly, one by one,
The playmates left the parent's roof, their own career to run;
The eldest born, the mother's choice, whose soft and holy smile
In childhood's days had told of heart as angel's free from guile.

Formed in resolve, and scorning all earth's pleasures and its
fame,
Had offered up his life to God, a teacher of His name:
His spirit sighed not long on earth, he found a quiet grave
'Mid forests wild whose shades he'd sought the Red man's soul to
save.

Far diff'rent was the stirring choice of his youthful brother
gay,
His was the glitt'ring sword and flag, the drum, the war steed's
neigh;
And the proud spirit that had marked his childhood's earliest
hour
Distinguished still the warrior brave in manhood's lofty power.

Alas for him, and visions vain of fame that lured him on,
An early grave in a distant land was the only goal he won!
His gaze bedimmed that yearned for home rested on alien skies,
And alien watchers wiped death's damps, and closed his dying
eyes.

A third with buoyant heart, had sought far India's burning soil,
Thinking to win wealth's treasures by a few years' eager toil,
But ere those years had sped their course, from earth's cares he
was free,--
He sleeps beneath the shadow of the date and mango tree.

But the sisters who had brightened once the home now desolate--
Lived they to mourn each brother's loss? was theirs a happier
fate?
In childhood's sports and youth's high dreams they'd borne a
happy part,
But severed they were doomed ere long in death to sleep apart.

The tall and dark-eyed girl whose laugh, so full of silvery glee,
Had ever told of spirit light, from care and shadow free,
Had early left her happy home, the bright and envied bride
Of a husband whose ancestral name betokened wealth and pride.

Alas for her who in youth's hour had basked in love's sunshine,
That husband stern deserted her in cold neglect to pine;
The merry smile soon fled her lip, the sparkling light her eye,
In vain she sought a southern clime, she only went to die.

And now of all the lovely band who'd joined in mirth of old,
There is, alas! but one sweet flower whose tale remains untold:
She was the joy, the pride of all, that gentle girl, and fair,--
With deep and dreamy azure eyes and shining golden hair.

E'en her bold brothers, in their youth, were gentle when she
played,
From reckless sports, from daring games their eager hands they
stayed;
And when amid their thoughtless mirth harsh feelings might awake,
They ever yielded to her prayers, and rested for her sake.

Oh! hers was far the brightest lot in life's eventful race!
She passed from earth ere care had left upon her brow one trace--
She passed from earth with loving ones grouped round her dying
bed,
And on a mother's tender breast rested her throbbing head.

'Twas thus that each beloved one of that bright joyous band,
Save her, had found a lonely grave in a far distant land;
Yet murmurs 'gainst high heaven's decrees as impious were as
vain--
For in far happier regions will that household meet again!

THE VOICES OF THE DEATH CHAMBER.

The night lamp is faintly gleaming
Within my chamber still,
And the heavy shades of midnight
Each gloomy angle fill,
And my worn and weary watchers
Scarce dare to move or weep,
For they think that I am buried
In deep and quiet sleep.

But, hush! what are those voices
Heard on the midnight air,
Of strange celestial sweetness,
Breathing of love and prayer?
Nearer they grow and clearer,
I hear now what they say--
To the Kingdom of God's glory,
They're calling me away!

See my gentle mother softly
To me approaches now,
What is the change she readeth
Upon my pale damp brow?
She clasps her hands in anguish
Whose depth no words might say?
Has she, too, heard the voices
That are calling me away?

The father fond of my children,
First sole love of my youth,
The loving, the gentle hearted,
And full of manly truth,
Is kneeling now beside me,
Beseeching me to stay--
Oh! 'tis agony to tell him
They're calling me away.

If earthly love could conquer
The mighty power of Death,
_His_ love would stay the current
Of failing strength and breath!
That voice whose tender fondness
So long has been my stay
Should tempt me from the voices
That are calling me away.

Ah! they bring my children to me,
That loved and lovely band,
And with wistful awe-struck faces,
Around my couch they stand,
And I strain each gentle darling
To me with wailing cry,
As I for the first time murmur:
"My God! 'tis hard to die!"

But, O hark! Those strains of Heaven,
Sound louder in mine ear,
Whisp'ring: "Thy God, Thy Father,
Will guard those children dear."
Louder they grow, now drowning
All sounds of mortal birth,
And in wild triumphant sweetness
Bear me aloft from earth!

CONTENTS.

Introduction

_SACRED POEMS._

Abraham's Sacrifice

An Afternoon in July

An Autumn Evening at Murray Bay

Ash Wednesday

Beneath the Snow

Blind Man of Jericho

Canadian Snow Fall

Canadian Summer Evening

Emigrants' Monument at Point St. Charles

Fall of the Leaf

Garden of Gethsemane

Huron Chief's Daughter

Jacques Cartier's First Visit to Mount Royal

Looking Forward

Magdalen at the Madonna's Shrine

Maple Tree

Mater Christianorum, Ora Pro Nobis

Monument to Irish Emigrants

Mystical Rose, Pray for us

Old Towers of Mount Royal, or Ville Marie

On the Death of the same revered nun, the venerable Mother St. Madeleine

Our Mountain Cemetery

Our Saviour's Boyhood

Our Canadian Woods in Early Autumn

Our Saviour and the Samaritan Woman at the Well

Parting Soul and her Guardian Angel

Plea for our Northern Winters

Purification, The

Recollect Church

Rich and Poor

River Saguenay

Sister M. B.'s arrival in Montreal

Stable of Bethlehem, The

Ten Lepers, The

Touching Ceremony

Tryst of the Sachem's Daughter, The

Vesper Hour, The

Virgin of Bethlehem

Welcome to our Canadian Spring

White Canoe--A Cantata

White Canoe--A Legend of Niagara Falls

White Maiden and the Indian Girl

Winter in Canada

_NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE POEMS._

Bound for California

Charles VII and Joan of Arc at Rheims

Cornelia's Jewels

Four Wishes

Girl Martyr

Hunter and his Dying Steed, The

Lady of Rathmore Hall

Red Rock Camp

Shepherdess of the Arno

Soldier's Death

St. Francis of Borgia by the Coffin of Queen Isabel

St. Ignatius Loyola at the Chapel of our Lady of Montserrat

Two Birth Nights

Village Girl and her High-born Suitor

Wood Fairy's Well

Wreath of Forest Flowers

Young Greek Odalisque

_LYRICAL POEMS._

A Few Short Years from Now

Alain's Choice

Autumn Winds

Choice of Sweet Shy Clare

Clouds that Promise a Glorious Morrow

Come Tell me some Olden Story

Death of the Pauper Child

Earth's Moments of Gloom

Emigrant's Address to America

Far West Emigrant

Final Reckoning

Flowers and Stars

Harvests

Hon. James B. Clay

In Memory of the Late G. C. of Montreal

Maude--a Ballad of the Olden Times

Moonlight Reveries

Nature's Music

On Some Rose Leaves brought from the Vale of Cashmere

_REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS._

Rejoicing after the Battle of Inkerman

Sea Shore Musings

Sunset Thoughts of a Dying Child

To the Soldiers of Pius Ninth

Tribute to the Memory of the Rev. Sister the Nativity, Foundress of the Convent of Villa Maria

Welcome to the Month of Mary

When will it End

Whispers of Time

Worldly Death Bed

_VERS DE SOCIETE._

After the Ball

Bride of a Year

Flirtation

Harry (engaged to be married) to Charley (who is not)

Modern Courtship

Transplanted Rose Tree

Young Novice

_VOICES OF THE HEARTH._

Boy's Appeal

Boy's Hopes

Child's Dream

Child's Treasures

Girl's Day Dream and its Fulfilment

Given and Taken

Husband and Wife

My Thoughts to-night

Time's Changes in a Household

To a Beautiful Child on her Birthday with a Wreath of Flowers

To a Young Girl with an Album

To a Young Mother on the Birth of her First Born Child

To my First Born

To my Husband on our Wedding Day

Voices of the Death Chamber