Chapter V: Canto THE FIFTH: I

Around, both far and wide, on every hand The prairie all environs me; I see Nought save a stretch of green and treeless land, Conspicuous alone for nudity: A sea of earth, a boundless stretch unspanned Except by Heaven's broad horizon-band.

II.

The very vastness of its sameness lends A fascination which it else had not; And here my sense of solitude transcends What I have felt on any other spot: Of solitude, yet not of loneliness, For God seems present, and His distance less.

III.

The sea alone of Nature's works can vie With this in solitude. None else can be Compared to it. Here 'neath his Maker's eye The creature seems to stand more openly Than elsewhere. Here his very solitude Makes man appear by God more nearly viewed.

IV.

Yet is not here God's awfulness displayed; His kindliness and mercy more appear; For flow'rs, the precious emblems He has made Of graciousness, in plenitude are here. In rich profusion blooming unconfined, They seem to whisper softly: "God is kind."

V.

Yet break they not the solitude; nor can The works of Nature break the solitude. Man needs the presence of his fellow-man, And ever needs it, whatsoe'er his mood; Except when, in the hour he calls his own, He holds communion with his God alone.

VI.

How vast this solitude! And yet 'tmay be That, ere a decade's course is fully run, This prairie, where no being I can see Inhabiting, may be well built upon; And even on this lonely stretch of ground Surrounding me, a city may be found.

VII.

So rapidly have risen in the past The cities in this Western land, that well May we expect that not at all less fast Shall future cities rise. And here may dwell A population, whose increasing rate Shall rival cities of an older date.

VIII.

I once had thought that I would choose to live Upon the prairie-land. My youthful eyes Raised here a mighty castle, which should give A home to me and mine. To youth there lies A fascination in the great Unknown, Which some in old age have not yet outgrown.

IX.

Thus was I fascinated, and I thought A prairie life, untrammeled, free and blest, Much happiness to me had surely brought; And so I longed to roam the mighty West. But kindly Fate forbade me then to roam, Well knowing that the West was not my home.

X.

But now I stand upon the prairie, now I see the land which once I longed to see-- And fain must smile, as I remember how This land seemed once a paradise to me. But that was ere my eye had ever seen These thousand miles of treeless prairie-green.

XI.

Nay, this is not the prairie that I saw In youth's mirage; 'twas fairer far than this. For youth's imagination knows no law, And soars to heights of future-coming bliss, In lands where gladness reigns eternally, Too bright, too beautiful, alas! to be.

XII.

For each his load of pain and woe must bear, And each must feel the weight of Sorrow's hand, And each will sometimes bow in deep despair, And 'neath his burden think he cannot stand. But strength will come to each in time of need, For they whom grief destroys are few indeed.

XIII.

Thus youth's bright visions vanish all away, And nought remains save memory. And we Can calmly watch them thus dissolve, and say:-- "'Tis better thus; 'tis best they should not be." For Time has shown us, in his onward flight, That all our visions were too grossly bright;

XIV.

That, had the dreams we cherished come to pass, We should not be the men that now we are; That what we saw through youth's bright distance-glass Was but a trinket shining as a star; That selfish pleasure, with its gaudy gleams, Alone illumed the brightest of our dreams.

XV.

And we have learned that 'tis not all to be Self-seeking pleasure-hunters; higher far Are works of kindliness and charity Which we can do, whate'er our frailties are. And we have learned that pain and sorrow, though Unwelcome guests, have each a work to do.

XVI.

And so we grieve or sorrow not to see Our visions melt away like Winter's snow; But rather thank we all our God that He Sent forth the edict that it should be so; And humbly bless, with gratitude sincere, The hand that led us to a higher sphere.

XVII.

Farewell! thou vast and fertile prairie-land. Farewell! Not long so dreary wilt thou be; Already man, with ever-busy hand, Is cultivating and enriching thee; And with the wealth of this, thy virgin soil, Thou well rewardest him for all his toil.

XVIII.

In cloudy height surrounding me, uprear The Rocky Mountains their uncounted heads. And mountains, mountains only now appear, So thickly clustered that the sun but sheds Upon their highest peaks his morning light, While all below is hidden from his sight.

XIX.

Here rise their sky-aspiring pinnacles In barren ruggedness and majesty; While here some verdure-covered height instils An awe less dread by its fertility; And here again, a peak of snowy whiteness Relieves the gloom and shadow by its brightness.

XX.

Each one a thing of grandeur, each alone Inspiring fearsome wonder in my soul, What marvel that my being all is thrown Aghast in awe by this stupendous Whole? What wonder that I stand in mute amaze, Dumfounded by the scene whereon I gaze?

XXI.

My God, how wonderful Thy works appear! How mighty art Thou, and omnipotent! Before Thee, bending low in reverent fear, I humbly bow. My human pride is bent. Thou, Thou art God my awful Maker, I Am helpless in my weak humanity.

XXII.

I hear the Psalmist's words again,[H] and now Their fuller meaning bursts upon my soul; Thou madest all the earth and heaven, Thou Dost hold the mighty seas within control; These lofty heights were form'd by Thy right-hand; Thou formedst all--all bow to Thy command.

XXIII.

And what is man to Thee? He well may fall Before Thee worshipping, when thus he sees Thy vast creations. Weak indeed and small Doth man appear before such works as these. In meek humility I bend my knee Before Thee. Lord, why thinkest Thou of me?

XXIV.

Yet why should all these wonders, thus arrayed Before me, more command my reverence Than man, the greatest creature God has made, And chiefest pledge of His omnipotence? Before the man these wonders fade away, As pales the moon before the orb of day.

XXV.

For man is given a living, loving soul; Man lives as other works of God live not; He strives to reach a high and Heav'nly goal-- Incomparably higher is his lot. God's greatest work, how fitly he should be The one which most adores His majesty.

XXVI.

But each creation, when it first reveals Itself to man, impresses him anew With God's omnipotence, and so he feels New cause for adoration in each view. Himself though greatest, these creations each Their own great lessons to his spirit teach.

XXVII.

And ye, great mountains, have your lessons, ye Have mighty truths to teach the heart of man Of God's omnipotence and majesty, Which, if he will to learn from ye, he can. But many blindly grope upon their way, Refusing all the light of Nature's ray.

XXVIII.

A mountain tarn, with waters still and blue, Here nestles, open to the heavens whence It seemingly derives its azure hue. Here, has this little tarn pre-eminence, For 'mid such mighty works appearing less, It must attract us by its littleness.

XXIX.

'Tis small; but, like the cloud that servant saw Whose master bade him look for rain, it grows To greater bulk; for hence the streamlets draw Their first supplies; and each one onward flows, With speed increasing, down the mountain side, And rolls, a river, in the ocean tide.

XXX.

So great from little things evolve; and as Man looks upon this tarn and cannot see The mighty river flowing hence, but has To hear report of its immensity; So faith should teach him patiently to wait While little things of life lead on to great.

XXXI.

But I must leave ye now; I cannot stay, Great mountains, in your midst. Regretfully Must I be borne upon my Westward way, And leave ye far behind me. Yet, should ye No more delight my eye, it cannot be That I shall e'er forget your majesty.

XXXII.

A quiet voice within me whispering, Advises me to tarry not, nor spend Unneedful hours in westward travelling; For peace awaits me at my journey's end. Alas! 'tis but the mountain solitude That thus has calmed and soothed my weary mood.

XXXIII.

I would it _were_ a voice intuitive To say that all my suffering should be Now swept away; that henceforth I should live In peace and quiet happiness; that she Whose love alone can shine upon my life With healing light, could be my loving wife.

XXXIV.

Ah no! It cannot be. Such happiness Is not for me. Yet will I haste me on As best I may. Kind fortune yet may bless The man on whom her smile has never shone. No more I'll linger here, no more delay My steps, but haste with speedy gait away.

XXXV.

With rapid flight I pass the mountains through, Nor pause to rest upon my hurried way Till, like a picture, burst upon my view The unsung beauties of Vancouver's Bay. Nor here I pause, and, onward speeding fast, Victoria appears in view at last.

XXXVI.

Here Nature's gifts, all lavishly displayed, Make this a spot most fair and beautiful. Utopia's scene could here be fitly laid. These wooded heights, these straits so clear and cool, The distant mountain's--In the poet's eyes What, more than this, could be earth's Paradise?

XXXVII.

But beauties physical cannot combine Alone to make an earthly Paradise; But where the lamps of Love most brightly shine, There, there the happiness of Heaven lies, And bitter hatred, by its cursed spell, Will make a very Paradise a hell.

XXXVIII.

I wander through the city; there is nought Of beauty or attractiveness here shown. Nature, and Nature only, here has brought Adornment. But that little man has done Which bare necessity compelled him do; And nothing tasteful meets my weary view.

XXXIX.

I pass the city through, and onward, till A pleasing view awakens me, I stray. Here, standing on a high and wooded hill, Imposing is the view that I survey. Afar, across the straits, the mountains rise In sunlit mightiness before my eyes.

XL.

So near they seem that I could almost be There, at their feet, before the noon of day. And yet I know the mountains, seemingly So near, in truth are many miles away. The air, so pure and undefiled, brings near The view, which else far distant would appear.

XLI.

Thus is it with our cherished hopes. We see, Not seeming far, a life of happiness Before us; and so close it seems to be, That present grief and trouble pain us less Than otherwise they would. More cheerfully We bear our trials for their brevity.

XLII.

But, as the days of pain roll slowly by, And lengthen them to weary months and years, And all our hopes of happiness still lie Unfructified, these almost yield to fears; And faith alone will give us strength to bear Affliction's heavy scourge without despair.

XLIII.

Deep disappointment constantly renewed Has weakened us; but still we hope to gain That brighter life. But oh! if we'd reviewed, At first, that life of long-continued pain, We scarce had found the strength to struggle through The path o'ershadowed with so dark a hue.

XLIV.

But each new day has brought a new-born hope, Each night of rest has strengthened us anew, And given us again the power to cope With pain and trial; and we still pursue Our way in faith, and day by day we cherish The hope that on _that_ day our pain will perish.

XLV.

Thus is it best that we should never know What is to be, but walking in the path Appointed, thank our God who made it so; And daily forward press our way in faith Unquestioningly, knowing well that He, Who chose that path, is wiser far than we.

XLVI.

Upon the waters now the sun has poured His morning light; each little ripple gleams In joy because the day has been restored, And dances lightly in its welcome beams. And gladly, brightly on the wavelets go, And musically murmur as they flow.

XLVII.

And as they flow they breathe upon the air An odour strengthening, which had not been Except the sea waves shone and glittered there. No unbrined waters roll these hills between, For, by their constant forth and backward motion, They tell their kinship to the mighty ocean.

Roll, roll, great Pacific, roll!
Ten thousands of years with their joys and their fears,
Thy billows cannot control.
Still roll, Pacific, roll!

Toss, toss, great Pacific, toss!
For the hunter of seal, whose woe is thy weal,
And whose gain is thine only loss.
Still toss, Pacific, toss!

Foam, foam, great Pacific, foam!
On thy rock-bound coast the wild Indians boast
Thy mountains, not thee, their home.
Still foam, Pacific, foam!

Surge, surge, great Pacific, surge!
Though the mariners hear, with prophetical fear,
In thy surging their deathly dirge.
Still, surge, Pacific, surge!

Roar, roar, great Pacific, roar!
For the gold-hunter's breast is in wilder unrest
Than the billows that lash thy shore.
Still roar, Pacific, roar!

Moan, moan, great Pacific, moan!
For the Inca of old, with his treasures untold,
From Peruvian shores is gone.
Still moan, Pacific, moan!

Wave, wave, mild Pacific, wave!
On the light, sandy bar of thine islands afar,
In banana-tree grove is the old tale of love
Still told by the dusky brave.
Wave gently, Pacific, wave!

XLVIII.

I know not what it was that bade me seek A letter from my Love. She promised not To write to me, nor did I ever speak Of that sad sorrow which would be my lot In wandering alone and friendless here, And hearing nought from her so fondly dear.

XLIX.

But some small quiet voice, scarce listened to, Enforced by its importunate command This tardy recognition, sooner due; And having sought a letter, now I stand And hold in trembling hand the paper she Has held, and written on so daintily.

L.

To read her words beneath the public eye Were desecration. I must seek a spot Where I alone can commune quietly With her, and where the vulgar gaze is not. Then let me seek the free and open air, And read my loved one's words of greeting there.

LI.

What writes my Love? Ah Love! thou hast been ill. Dread fever laid thee low when I had gone, And I was not beside thee--by his will Except for whom thou now had'st been my own. And, though he be thy father, may my curse Rest on him; and I would I could do worse.

LII.

He, for his selfish pride to cause thee pain; He, for his littleness of mind to lay Thee low in sickness; God grant he may gain His due reward. And may the Lord repay The haughty baronet, in full degree, For all the wrong that he has rendered thee!

LIII.

But now thou art recovered, now thy heart Alone is sick. Ah Love! thou mournest too, No less than I, that we must live apart. 'Tis selfish, yet I thus would have thee do; I would not have thee happy while away From me, sweetheart, thy love would else decay.

LIV.

And did'st thou think thy father would relent Because thine illness threatened thee? Ah! no, His stubborn pride would still remain unbent Though thou at Death's dark portal layedst low. His pride is greater than his love for thee, And greater even than his hate for me.

LV.

We may not be united, loved one--Nay, What writest thou? Ah Love! Love! is it true? It cannot be that thou art mine to-day, And wast before, the while I never knew. Oh God! my God hear Thou thy servant's cry, And let his thankful praise ascend on high.

LVI.

Mine eyes are dim--Nay, tears? It cannot be; I am a man, and am not wont to weep. Yet beats my happy heart so joyfully The quick revulsion causes me to steep Mine eyes in tears. Though Grief could not compel These tears to flow, Joy bade them, and they fell.

LVII.

Nay, cease to flow, ye tears, for I must read Those words again so full of promised joy. So quickly read I, and such little heed I paid to little words which might alloy, Perchance, the whole, that I must read anew, Those words, and know my rendering is true.

LVIII.

"The latest book you wrote has pleased well The populace, and men of high renown Upon its certain power for good all dwell; And this has been so pleasing to the Crown That, recognizing your unquestioned right, The Queen has now created you a knight.

LIX.

"This pleases me, my dearest one, but, oh! What follows gives me higher pleasure far I quick resolved to let my father know That you were now a knight, and, in a prayer, With tearful eyes, I begged him to allow My loved one to return and claim me now.

LX.

"When first I spoke he heeded not, but soon His face relaxed, and then, 'The boy has won,' He said, 'a worthy name. Then take thy boon, And tell him I will call him now my son.' Then, kissing me, he raised me from my knee, And, smiling, bade me write in haste to thee."

LXI.

And thou _art_ mine, my love--my very own! And none can sever us. I seem not yet To realize that all my pain is gone. 'Tis hard such heavy sorrow to forget. Ah, Love! what now can give us grief or pain? And who shall part us when we meet again?

LXII.

I do not love the title, and would choose To bear it not; but this may never be. The baronet would doubtless then refuse To let his daughter be a wife to me, And loud invectives on my head would pour. He loves her, but he loves a title more.

LXIII.

But 'tis not mine to judge the baronet, E'en though he shaded all my brighter life; My duty bids me all the past forget, For he has given me a loving wife. So be it mine all passions to control, And speed me home to greet my soul's twin-soul.

LXIV.

Then, farewell, Canada! If I have been O'erladen with a heavy-burdened heart, While all thy many beauties I have seen; And if my sorrow should a vein impart Of sadness to my thoughts, or bitterness, Oh, think not this can make me love thee less.

LXV.

Farewell, great Canada! And oh! forgive An exiled Englishman if he esteem His native country highest, and would live By choice in England. Do not let it seem That on thy charms he sets but little store; He loves thee well, but must love England more.

* * * * *

As boldly on high ye rise to the sky,
Great mountains, my message convey,
And tell to the Heaven the joy that is given
To me and to mine to-day.

Ye tall, waving trees, tell ye to the breeze,
And bid it to bear away
Afar on its wing, the words that I bring:
"My love is my own to-day."

And you, little bird, your voice must be heard;
Hum out to the flow'rs my lay.
As o'er them you hover, oh! say that I love her,
And say she is mine to-day.

And, oh! pretty flowers, put forth all your powers,
And tell to the bees that stray
Your blossoms among, the words of my song:
Oh! tell of my joy to-day.

And ye, busy bees, give heed to my pleas,
My loving request obey;
As ye fly to and fro, let your fellows all know
The joy that is mine to-day.

Let Nature all see my joy, and for me
Her many-tongued pow'rs array,
And bid them rejoice, and sing with one voice,
Because of my joy to-day.

THE END.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: The war of 1812-14.]

[Footnote B: The facts related in the following verses relative to the siege of Quebec and the death of Wolfe have been taken from Dr. Withrow's "History of Canada," and I take this opportunity of acknowledging my indebtedness to the author. The history has been invaluable to me in the composition of this poem. Without its help the "Song" would have been far more incomplete than it now is.--_W. S. S._]

[Footnote C: "Pale and weak with recent illness, Wolfe reclined among his officers, and, in a low tone, blending with the rippling of the river, recited several stanzas of the recent poem, Gray's 'Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.' Perhaps the shadow of his approaching fate stole upon his mind, as in mournful cadence he whispered the strangely pathetic words:

'The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth ere gave,
Alike await the inexorable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.'

"With a prescience of the hollowness of military renown, he exclaimed, 'I would rather have written those lines than take Quebec to-morrow.'"--_Withrow's History of Canada, p. 246_.]

[Footnote D:

Yet in spite of thy queenly disdain, Thou art seared by my passion and pain; Thou shall hear me repeat till I die for it, Sweet, "I love thee! I dare to love _thee_."

--_Marie Corelli, "The Romance of Two Worlds."_]

[Footnote E: "The Berlin Decree" of Napoleon, issued November 1, 1806, declared a blockade of the entire British coast. * * * Great Britain retaliated by the celebrated "Orders-in-Council," which declared all traffic with France contraband, and the vessels prosecuting it, with their cargoes, were seized. These restrictions pressed heavily on the neutrals, especially the United States, which now engrossed much of the carrying trade of the world.--_Withrow's History of Canada_, p. 301.]

[Footnote F: War was precipitately declared June 18, 1812. * * * Almost simultaneously the obnoxious "Orders-in-Council," the chief ostensible cause of the war, were repealed.--_Ibid_, p. 303.]

[Footnote G: Another cause conspired to fan the war feeling to a flame. Great Britain, pressed by the difficulty of managing her immense fleets, asserted the "right of search" of American vessels for deserters from her army. The U. S. frigate Chesapeake resisted this right, though sanctioned by international law.--_Ibid_, p. 302.]

[Footnote H: Psalm viii.]

* * * * *

VISIONS.

* * * * *

VISIONS.

I.

THE NEW RESOLVE.

Last night, as I sat in my study,
And thought o'er my lonely life,
I was seized with a passionate longing
To escape from the weary strife;

To flee far away from my fellows,
And far from the city's roar,
And seek on the boundless prairie
A balm for my burning sore--

The sore of the weary spirit,
The burn of the aching heart
Of him who has known true friendship--
Has known it--but only to part.

And I said in that hour of anguish:
"I will fly from the haunts of men,
And seek, in the bosom of Nature,
Relief from my ceaseless pain."

As lonely I sat, and thus pondered,
A voice seemed to speak in my ear;
And the sound of that voice was like music,
And its accents were mellow and clear:

"Weary soul, though all men have forsaken,
Thy God hath remembered thee still;
The sorrow and pain thou hast suffered
Are part of His infinite will.

"Sorrow not, though He call thee to suffer;
Evade not His righteous decree;
Be faithful, and live uncomplaining
The life He has ordered for thee;

"For God is thine infinite Father,
His purpose is all for the best.
Fight bravely, for after the battle
He giveth thee comfort and rest."

And the sound of that voice was like music,
And its accents were mellow and clear;
No longer I felt I was lonely,
For I knew that my Father was near.

And as I sat silent, and pondered,
My sorrow all vanished away;
My strength was "renewed like the eagle's"
And I longed for the breaking of day.

That again I might join in Life's battle,
And fight with a strength not my own,
Till my foes should be vanquished and scattered,
My enemies all overthrown.

For thus would I silence all scoffers,
And show them, by deed and by word,
How strong is the faith of a Christian,
How mighty the arm of the Lord.

II.

THE HIGHER DUTY.

I saw the sun. He shone in splendour bright,
Casting his radiance over dale and hill;
And all creation joyed to see his light:
He shone, and thus fulfilled his Master's will.

I saw the moon and stars. They gave their light
To guide the sailor o'er the trackless sea,
To show the traveller his path by night:
They shone, fulfilling all their Lord's decree.

I looked to earth, and saw the plants and trees,
Each growing fitly to the pattern made,
And yielding proper flowers and fruits. And these
All grew, and thus their Master's will obeyed.

I looked around, and saw my fellow-men,
Created by the same Almighty hand;
A higher destiny was granted them--
To rule the earth, obeying His command.

And, as I looked, the vision grew less bright,
And only through the darkness could I see
That, in their power and God-given might,
Men ruled, fulfilling half their Lord's decree.

Here was much chaos and confusion still;
And here no perfect concord seemed to be.
Each lived as best accorded with his will:
Men ruled, all heedless of their Lord's decree.

And, as I looked, deep sorrow filled my heart;
"Oh man!" I cried, "in God's own image made,
Shall sun, and moon, and trees, all do their part,
And thou alone fall short and retrograde?

"Thou--greatest of all God's created things!
Thou--ruler, by His order, of the earth!
Shake off thy sin, and, on aspiring wings,
Rise! and be worthy of thy glorious birth."

I cried; and from the darkness forth there came
A voice, which said in harsh and mocking tone:
"Dost thou possess so undefiled a name,
Art thou, amongst thy fellows, good alone,

"That thou shouldst vilify thy fellow-men?
Thou art not innocent nor free from guile--
Thou too art man. Go, nor return again,
Sinful, thy fellow-sinners to revile."

It ceased. But, as I turned to join the strife,
In milder accents spake that voice again:
"An humble heart, a pure and useful life--
And not vain words--will raise thy fellow-men."

III.

THE HIDDEN PURPOSE.

I was weary and faint with temptation and trial, For the prayers I had made had but met with denial, And the slow-coming doubt, which had once hardly found In my heart a mean place, was now strong and profound.

And my soul was in anguish, for suffering keen, And intense disappointment, too often had been New prepared for my portion, till now, as I lay By new sorrow re-stung, all my faith passed away.

Then a curse on my lips rose, and darkly I swore That the God who had led me should lead me no more; His existence was doubtful, but, if He should be, He had been but a God of vindiction to me.

So I vowed that henceforward the path that I trod Should be chosen by me, and not ordered by God; And relief seemed to greet my resolve as I lay, All in sleeplessness, waiting the breaking of day.

But as quiet I lay, and thought o'er my decision, All my wakefulness passed, and I saw in a vision, By my side standing closely, an Angel of Light, Clothed in shining apparel resplendently bright.

And I lay there all trembling in fear as I lay, Till with beckoning finger he led me away; Then I rose and went forth in the darkness of night, And, still trembling, I followed that Angel of Light.

And I followed him on till he paused in his flight Where a Christian lay sleeplessly passing the night; And I heard him repeat as he lay on his bed, "My paths are divided, Lord, which shall I tread?"

And I saw that the one led to glory and fame, While the other fulfilled not his heart-cherished aim; But the scales of mortality darkened his eye, And the thing I saw plainly he could not descry.

Then the Angel breathed o'er him, and light seemed to break O'er his soul, and he saw then the path he should take. Then his spirit was eased, and sweet sleep o'er him came, For he thought this would lead him to glory and fame.

But I saw that the path he had chosen that day Would lead him from glory and fame far away; But I saw, too, that, were he not led in this path, The love of the world would have shaken his faith.

For his pride, swelling high in the glory of gain, Would have led him from God to things sinful and vain. But his trouble would lead him to God now for rest; And I saw that the plan of his Maker was best.

Then the Angel went forth, and I followed him still, Thus impelled by the force of his Heavenly will, Till he stayed where two lovers stood breathing their vows, With the fondness that love and deep passion arouse.

Then he put forth his hand, and he pointed in wrath; And the fever-fiend rose with a horrible laugh. But the man felt him not as he poisoned his blood, And the woman saw nought as still smiling she stood.

But I knew that that meeting was surely their last, For the shadow of death on the man was now cast. And my heart could but pity the woman, whose pain I yet knew would redound to her infinite gain.

For deception and falsity deep in the heart Of the man were writ large, and there truth had no part; And the pain of her mourning was nought when compared With the agony he would have caused her, if spared.

Quickly onward then hasted the Angel of God, And I still followed close in the steps that he trod; And I saw, when his flight was arrested again, That we stood where an infant lay tossing in pain.

And the mother, with tear-laden eyes, kneeling there, Sought relief from her trouble in heart-broken prayer, As she cried unto God, in a piteous tone, That He would not deny her the life of her son.

And the Angel himself breathed a sorrowful sigh, And I thought that a tear glistened bright in his eye, As he stretched forth his hand, and commanded the soul Of the child to ascend to its Heavenly goal.

Then I heard a loud cry of distress on the air, And I saw the lone mother lie grief-stricken there; And the tears of compassion flowed fast from my eyes, Though I knew that God's action was kindly and wise.

For disease on the child had imprinted its stain, And his life would have been but a long-endured pain, Had his Father not early exerted His might, And thus called the young soul to the Kingdom of Light.

Then the scene seemed to melt in the darkness away, And again on the couch in my chamber I lay. And the Angel of God by my side again stood; And he gazed on me sadly and said, "God is good."

Then I saw him no more, but with morn I awoke And remembered the words that the Angel had spoke; And the scenes of the vision, repictured again, Passed before me, and brought me a balm for my pain.

For I knew that my God had not called me in vain To temptation and trial, and I would not complain; But with gladness I went forth anew to the strife, Knowing now that my Father was guiding my life.

* * * * *

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

* * * * *

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

THE SERPENT.

Canada, the time approaches,
And is even now at hand,
When thou must declare what ruler
Thine allegiance shall command.

In thy midst there creeps a Serpent--
Deadliest of all thy foes--
Gliding in among thy councils,
Spreading venom where she goes.

Like the fatal boa-constrictor
Charming those who soon must die,
She can so transfix her victim
By the glitter of her eye,

That the greatest of thy statesmen
Dares not question her decree,
But in meek humiliation
Bows to her, abjuring thee.

Rise, Canadians! and boldly
Thrust the Serpent from your land;
And should any strive to help her,
Crush them with your martial hand.

Rise unanimous, and fear not
In your country's cause to fight;
Better bloodshed than surrender
To the wily Serpent's might.

Hurl from power the men who basely
Truckle to the Serpent's will;
Cast them out and call on others--
Truer men--their place to fill.

Men whose chiefest aim shall be to
Fight for Canada and home--
Men who will not bow before the
Dictates of the Church of Rome.

Canada, the time approaches,
And is even now at hand--
Wilt thou choose that Rome or England
Thine allegiance shall command?

PRO DEO ET PATRIA.

Silent yet fiercely the battle is raging;
Blood is not flowing, but poison is spread;
Freedom and slavery madly are waging
A war that will last till its cause shall be dead.

Canada, thine is the field of the battle,
Nor would the conflict be long or severe,
Were not thy statesmen, "like dumb, driven cattle,"
Led by emolument, daunted by fear.

Slowly advances the Jesuit faction,
Crafty and subtle the means they employ.
Protestants fight, but uncertain their action--
Party dissensions their power destroy.

Love of their country still loudly professing,
On to the conflict _divided_ they go.
Firmest allegiance to Britain confessing,
Still _disunited_ they fight with her foe.

Canada, these are the men who defend thee--
These the brave soldiers who fight in thy name:
Fierce is the struggle, but soon will the end be;
And Leo shall lead thee to glory and fame!

DESPONDENCY.

_A Response to "Courage," by Celia Thaxter._

You have said that there is not a fear Or a doubt that oppresses your soul, That your faith is so strong That it bears you along, Ever holding you in its control.

'Tis a comfort to know there is one Whose allegiance cannot be denied, But I fain would enquire, (For your faith is far high'r Than is mine): Have you ever been tried?

Have you sought to aspire to a life Higher far than the one that is past? Have you laboured through years, By your hopes crushing fears, But to meet disappointment at last?

Have the friends who should love you the best, In your absence forgotten that love, And refused to impart To your grief-stricken heart All the solace their kindness would prove?

Has the world misconstrued your intents, And endeavoured to sully your fame? Has the venomous tongue With its calumny stung Your proud heart, and dishonoured your name?

I desire not to "chide" you nor "vex," But I ask you to answer me now; Did the torturing pain Of a love that is vain Ever furrow your heart like a plough?

Have you loved with so fervent a love That, when failure and hopelessness came, All the torments of hell In your breast seemed to dwell, Scorching courage and faith in their flame?

One of these may have fall'n to your lot; What if all were apportioned to me? Could I then "lift my head," Nor a single tear shed?-- Has such faith been allotted to thee?

I have sought to be true to my God, I have sought to be faithful as you; But such "tumult and strife" Have embittered my life That I am not so faultlessly true.

TO L. W.

When the path of my life Lay through trouble and strife, And temptation encompassed me round, As a light in the shade Thou wast sent to mine aid; And a harbour of refuge was found.

I beheld in thine eye, As a beam from on high, The ray of compassion revealed; And I turned in relief From the Valley of Grief; I turned to be strengthened and healed.

In the words that you breathed All my sorrow was sheathed, And peace, like a dove, settled down. And the calm of your presence, Like mercy's pure essence, Recaptured the faith that had flown.

Since then, if perplexed, If harassed or vexed, If tempted, afflicted or tried, I have sought thee to cheer, Thou hast ever been near To comfort, to soothe and to guide.

Thus a thrill of affection Must greet the reflection That thou hast considered my needs; And my heart can but move With a reverent love As I ponder thy merciful deeds.

Though feeble and weak Are the words that I speak, Such gratitude wells in my soul, That I dare not express What I fain would confess, Lest my pen should escape my control.

Yet these measures restrained Will have surely attained The purpose that caused them to be, If of all that I feel They should chance to reveal But a hint, in a whisper, to thee.

YOU WRONG ME, KATE.

You wrong me, Kate, you wrong me
In harbouring the thought
That he who loves so fondly
Would injure thee in aught.
The pang that I must feel, Kate,
When dark suspicion lurks
Within thy breast, is real, Kate,
And mischievously works.

The tone with doubt inflected,
The calm, reproachful look,
The name of one suspected
In light arraignment spoke;
These, these enforce the heart-ache,
And instigate the strife,
And these, in chiefest part, take
The joy from out my life.

For bright within my soul, dear,
On Love's unsullied throne,
With absolute control, dear,
Thou reignest Queen alone.
With reverence I chose thee,
With pride I placed thee there;
And none did e'er oppose thee,
And none shall ever dare.

All womankind shall merit
A just regard from me,
And all the sex inherit
A claim to courtesy;
But none has ever claimed me
Her vassal, slave or thrall,
For Kate, my heart has named thee
The sceptred Queen of all.

Then trust me, Kate, oh! trust me,
In absence, far or near,
And judge me not unjustly,
But hold my promise dear.
Will not my word content thee?
I cannot give thee more:
Oh Kate, my Kate, repent thee,
And love me as before!

FLOSSIE.

I know a maiden, scarce thirteen,
A sweet and gentle maid,
With dignified and graceful mien,
And manner calm and staid.
But I've seen her, when none but her parents are nigh,
When her spirits are flowing exuberantly,
With her feet tossing high, while her arms in accordance,
Are wildly upraised in the Fling or the Sword-dance.

I know a maid whose hazel eye
Outshines the light gazelle's,
And hid beneath its brilliancy,
A pensive shadow dwells.
But I've seen it illumed with a mischievous light,
Which the sparkles displayed in the meteor's flight
Cannot meet, as her laughter reverberates round,
And merrily echo responds to the sound.

I know a maid whose accents mild,
And words of sober sense,
Declare her woman more than child,
Yet mark her innocence.
But I've heard her repeating the quip or the joke,
While merriment shone in her eyes as she spoke,
As, with skill that is seldom excelled on the stage,
She worthily mimicked the actor or sage.

I know a maid, a loving maid,
Whose quiet, gentle ways,
In look, in voice, in act displayed,
Must bring her love and praise.
But I know that when nimbly she's tripping the dance,
When her eyes sparkle bright with a mischievous glance,
When her sallies of innocent wit shall outpour,
She will capture the hearts that were callous before.

TO ETHEL.

So you think you will be a Scotch lassie;
The braw Hieland lad in a kilt
Has taken your fancy, dear, has he?
And you, too, would be clad in a "tilt."

Well, not one will gainsay you nor blame you,
For your wishes are ever fulfilt;
And how proudly your father will claim you,
When arrayed in a tartan and "tilt"!

And your mother will certainly further
The hopes that her Ethel has built;
You have only to ask to ensure their
Fulfilment concerning the "tilt."

And I--(Oh! I know I don't count, dear,
And for speaking acknowledge my guilt,
For my wishes to nothing amount, dear,)
I would rather you hadn't a "tilt."

For although thou wilt take us by storm, dear,
Looking sweet, as thou certainly wilt,
Yet, you know, it is very bad form, dear,
And not English to wish for a "tilt."

And I thought, (but of course was mistaken,
For my hopes lie around me all spilt),
That my Ethel would never awaken
To sigh for a Hielander's "tilt."

None the less will I try to be glad then,
Nor let courtesy play me the jilt;
Though I know that my heart will be sad when
Little Ethel is wearing her "tilt".

DEAR LITTLE ETHEL.

Dear little Ethel,
Child that I love,
Come, as an angel,
Down from above.

Golden-rayed tresses,
Shining and bright,
Inviting caresses,
Mirroring light.

Eyes blue and tender,
Beaming with joy.
Who would offend her?
Who would annoy?

Ripple thy laughter!
Bubble thy glee!
Loud will the rafter
Echo to thee.

Clinging to mother,
Set on her knee;
She has no other
Dearer than thee.

Slave thou hast bound her;
Nestles thine arm,
Twining around her,
Telling thy charm.

Innocent speeches
Silencing strife;
Hallowed each is:
Pearls of a life.

Come, come and kiss me,
Child of my heart.
Oh! I would miss thee
Were we to part.

God in His mercy
Shelter my dove,
Dear little Ethel,
Child that I love.

TO D. R. P.

(_In imitation of A. Lindsay Gordon._)

Well, Douglas, I'm sorry you've got to be homing, Though I grant it's unwise to continue your roaming, But the evening's to spare ere you drop me astern, So come up to my room and indulge in a yarn.

Here's tobacco in plenty--"Gold Flake," very good; No "Birdseye," or "Honeydew," that's understood. But this isn't bad, though a stranger to you-- (Here is Dick: Bring up ginger and whiskey for two).

And now take a seat, there are two, as you see, The red rocker for you and the other for me. Don't demur, for no guests will arrive, I am sure; If they do, why there's room on the bed or the floor.

So you're going to England again. Well, your visit Has nigh made me homesick--no miracle, is it? I was born there, and there I was nurtured and bred, And I love the old land. (There's a match overhead).

It is four years ago, more than that, since I started Away from my home. Well, I'm not chicken-hearted, But your accent, your manner, the things you have said, Have just taken me back to the life I once led.

And it seems there's a canker that Time will not heal, Though I certainly thought that I never should feel Its soreness again. I had settled down here, Thinking happiness mine, till your lordship drew near.

And now, with your talk of the land of my birth, All those sad recollections you rudely unearth. Don't apologise, man, for I'm glad it is so, There's a joy in the grief that I wouldn't forego.

There's a joy in remembering all that has been, And recalling the pleasures that once I have seen; And if bitterness follows, I'm ready to suffer, For this morsel is sweet though the next may be tougher.

Let the fool in his folly anticipate sorrow, I, for one, will refuse to take thought for the morrow. There is joy in our life if we will but enjoy it; But the most of us do what we can to destroy it.

For we fume and we worry and fret ourselves thin By regret for what might be or what might have been; And the blessings of life we incessantly miss By ignoring entirely the pleasure that is.

You have taught me a lesson; though little you thought Or intended to do it, the lesson is taught. By your actions, not words, have I learned to be wise, To embrace every joy, every sorrow despise.

Did I say that I _thought_ there was happiness here? I was wrong, for I _know_ it; 'tis perfectly clear. If you'll listen a bit, take your pipe up again And continue your smoke, I will try to explain.

To begin with, the land I've adopted as mine Has a place in my heart, a peculiar shrine. And my love for the country is true and sincere; If I can't live in England I wish to live here.

Then, I freely confess, if my way has been hard, And my path somewhat rough, still I have my reward. Let my rung on life's ladder be low as it may, I have fought single-handed each step of the way.

It is well to have fortune, mayhap it is well In the tents of the noble and titled to dwell; But the man who has builded his home with his hand Is the happiest man in the happiest land.

Let milord and milady inherit their wealth, I am legatee only of vigor and health; Every cent that I own has been earned by the sweat Of my brow, and I'm proud to acknowledge it yet.

There's a happiness here every other beyond, Except one: to be bound in the mystical bond Which is woven with throbs of the heart that is true, And the glances of eyes of a love-lightened hue.

And, perchance, even I may have tasted the bliss That is found in the warmth of the soul-inspired kiss; And it may have been mine--But I travel too fast. It is time that the cobbler returned to his last.

But your silence has been philosophic and deep, And I hope you've enjoyed--why, the man is asleep! Only closing your eyes? Well, perhaps that will do To tell the marines, but it's grossly untrue.

I was speaking of England? Undoubtedly so, So I was, but it's just twenty minutes ago. I've been talking since then in a serious strain, And perhaps 'tis as well that I've spoken in vain.

Don't apologise. What, is it time for your train? Well, Douglas, then here's to our meeting again And meanwhile, old man, don't forget the pedantic And long-winded fellow across the Atlantic.

CHRISTMAS

'Tis Christmas day; the bells ring out The joyous tidings far and near, And children hail with gladsome shout The merry sound of Christmas cheer.

'Tis Christmas day, the children's day, When He was born a little child, To take Creation's sin away, And purify the Truth defiled.

He taught the world to walk by faith, And, lest their feet should go astray, He trod Himself the faithful path, And showed His followers the way.

He taught a Hope to all oppressed By Sorrow's weight or Sin's remorse; Himself the contrite sinner blessed, To give His words a greater force.

Oh! ye who tread in Trial's way, Nor scarce can murmuring resist, Remember, on His natal day, The faithful suffering of Christ.

And ye, whose thoughts in memory trace A darkened life of wrongful deeds, Look up and see His kindly face, Who now for your allegiance pleads.

Oh! Christians, to your name be true, Cast all your faithlessness away, And let your hope be born anew On this, your Saviour's natal day.

A SERENADE.

From afar, in the dead of night, By the moon's dim, uncertain light, To salute thee with loving rite, I come, sweetheart, I come.

Oh! refuse not to hear my lay; From the depths of my soul I pray. Let my accents my love betray To thee, sweetheart, to thee.

As I sing in the shade below, As the words of my greeting flow, I am thrilled with the fervent glow Of love, sweetheart, of love.

I have come from the silent moor, In the still of the midnight hour; I have come by my passion's power For thee, sweetheart, for thee.

Then awake from thy slumbers light; Ere he speed on his homeward flight, Bid thy lover a last good-night. Good-night, sweetheart, good-night!