Chapter VIII: Part II (3)

And to mix with those who, robed and crowned,
Walk by the crystal sea;
To gather with the other lambs
Beside the Saviour's knee.

We will keenly miss our absent child;
Lonely tears our loss will tell,
But His voice says, "It is well with her,
We answer, "It is well."

It is well to know that safely home
Is this our dearest one;
To know she's with the children fair
Gathered around the throne,

'Tis no light thing that God has stooped
Our dear one home to bring,
From weariness and painfulness
To the presence of the King.

Let weeping and rejoicing,
Mingled, our sorrow tell;
We are lonely, oh our Father
But Thou knowest it is well.

TECUMTHE.

(From the "Globe.")

October's leaf was sere;
The day was dark and drear.
Wild war was loosed in rage o'er our quiet country then;
When at Moravian town,
Where the little Thames flows down,
In the net of battle caught was Proctor and his men.

Caught in an evil plight,
When he'd rather march than fight,
Every bit of British pluck and resolution gone.
And sternly standing near,
As a British brigadier,
Stood Tecumthe, our ally, the forests' bravest son.

A prince, a leader born,
His dark eye flashed with scorn,
He said: "My father, listen, there's rumours from afar,
Of mishaps, and mistakes,
Of disasters on the lakes,
My father need not hide the mischances of the war.

"My braves have set their feet,
Where two great rivers meet;
We went upon the war-path; we raised the battle-song;
We met in deadly fight,
The Yengees in their might,
Till the waters of the Wabash dyed crimson flowed along.

"They ask us, in their pride,
To idly stand aside,
To be false to our allies, and neutral in this war;
They think that Indian men
Will never think again
Of wrongs by Yengee spoilers, how false their treaties are.

"Allies both firm and true,
For our Father's sake to you,
Our Great Father round whose throne the mighty waters meet;
When din of battle's high,
Only coward curs will fly;
It is not Shawnee braves show foes their flying feet,"

"This is insolence to me,"
Said Proctor bitterly.
"But a paltry leader," said the brave red-skinned ally
"We stand in hopeless fray,
To meet defeat today;
A shadow falls around me, my fate is drawing nigh."

High-hearted Indian chief
No thought of fear or grief
Stilled the swellings of his heart, tamed the lightning of his glance
Without lordship, without land,
"Lord alone of his right hand,"
Of a heart that never beat retreat when duty said advance.

He had looked on battle oft,
Now his eagle glance grew soft,
And who can tell what sights his prophetic vision saw
Events were drawing near,
And he was a mighty seer,
Even greater than the prophet, the grim Elskwatawa.

For, in a waking dream,
He saw forest, vale and stream,
Which, by force or fraud, the white race wrung from doomed red men.
"Old things are passed," he said,
"No blood that can be shed,
Will ever give us back our broad hunting-grounds again"

"Over the burial mound,
Over the hunting-ground,
Over the forest wigwam the greedy white wave flows,
In treachery, or wrath,
They sweep us from their path,
Backward, and ever backward, beyond Sierra snows

"We tried to stem the wave,
We have been bold and brave,
We held the losing cause, the Great Spirit hid his face,
Our nation's place is gone,
The white wave will roll on,
Until from sea to sea we have no abiding place

"Although we do not stand
To do battle for our land,
The allies that we fight for, though white men, do not lie,
Their foes are ours, stand fast,
This fight shall be my last,
'Tis fitting, on the war-path, the Shawnee chief should die

"Where we have pitched our camp,
Red blood shall dye the swamp,
The battle to the swift, the victory to the strong,
But be it as it will,
My braves shall vanish still,
Slain by pale face customs, snared by their treacherous tongue"

He turned, where in their pride
Stood his warriors by his side,
For them to-morrow's sun might shine, to-morrow's breezes blow,
"But Tecumthe's lot is cast,
This fight shall be his last,
And they will do my wish," he said, "when I am lying low"

Wyandot's chieftain grave,
Young and lithe, hold and brave,
Stood by Tecumthe, waiting the beginning of the fray;
Tecumthe silence broke,
And thus to him he spoke,
"My brother from this onset I'll never come away.

"This scarf of crimson grand,
By brave Sir Isaac's hand,
Was bound round me with praise, when his heart towards
me was stirred;
I belt it around you,
My brother brave and true,
Think about Tecumthe, and remember his last word.

"When on the red war-path,
War fiercely to the death,
Be pitiful and tender to the helpless and the fair,
I fought--have many slain,
But not a single stain
Of blood of maids or children dims the good sword I wear.

"Brother, a forest maid
Within my wigwam stayed,
She is called before me, far beyond the glowing west,
This battle lost or won,
You'll take my little son,
Train him a Shawnee brave, let him be in deer skin drest.

"When grown a warrior strong,
To feel his nation's wrong,
When he is fierce in battle, and wise in council fire,
Worthy my sword to wear,
Then with a father's care,
Let thy hand belt upon him the good sword of his sire.

"Tell him, I lived and fought
For my nation and had not
A thought but for their good on resentment for their wrong,
Nor ever wished to have
Any gift the pale-face gave
Nor learned a single word of the fatal pale-face tongue

'Tell him, he is the last
Of a race great in the past,
Before the foot of white men had stepped upon our strand
And if fate will not give
Any place where they may live
Let him die among his people and for his people's land.

'I strip this coat off here
Of a British Brigadier
It is a costly garment with gold lace grand and brave,
The Shawnee chief is best,
In shirt of deerskin drest,
Not in pale-face gift they'll find me who lay me in the grave.

"I have lost all but life
To meet in mortal strife,
To kill many, that the white squaws weep as ours have done,
To lie among the dead,
With garments bloody red,
And go to happy hunting grounds beyond the setting sun.

'This will be, Wyandot brave,
You'll give to me a grave,
In dimness of the forest, in earth my mother's breast,
Each tall tree a sentinel,
Will guard the secret well
Of where you laid Tecumthe down to his lasting rest'

After the fatal fight
The strife became a flight
They found the chief Tecumthe lying still among the slain
Never to fight again.
Ah! little recked he then
That dastard white men outraged his body to their shame.

After the headlong flight,
In the dark dead of night,
They came, from further outrage his loved remains to save
Within the forest deep
They laid him down to sleep;
And the forest guards the secret! no man knows his grave.

Our land, our pride and boast,
Spreads now from coast to coast,
Stands up a great Dominion among the ruling powers.
For us this chieftain fought,
An ally unbribed, unbought;
We guard his name and fame in this Canada of ours.

We have grown strong and bold,
Able to have and hold;
Our allies the red men are cared for with our care.
East or in the wild Nor-west,
In peace they hunt or rest;
No man their lands may covet because they're broad and fair.

CREED AND CONDUCT COMBINED AS CAUSE AND EFFECT.

The incident related in the following lines occurred thus:--At a meeting of Presbytery appointed to deal with the case of the Reverend David Macrae, of Gourock, Scotland, one of the members of the Court had stolen out to enjoy his pipe and the quiet of his own thoughts for a few minutes before engaging in the strife of debate, when he was accosted by a stranger, woefully dilapidated, who asked him with great earnestness if he would tell him where he could see Mr. Macrae, as he was most anxious to have some conversation with him. "Do you know, sir," said this poor, ruined one, "that on the doctrine of future punishment Mr. Macrae and I are in perfect accord, and I am very desirous to tender him my cordial sympathy and support. I esteem it my duty to do what I can to comfort and cheer this young and courageous minister of the Gospel, in the cruel and unjust persecution to which he is being subjected."

The Presbytery with one accord in one place,
Were met to consider and speak on the case
Of David Macrae, bent with reverend skill,
On putting him through th' ecclesiastical mill
I was there, I slipped out just the plain truth to tell,
To ha e a quate thinkin time a by mysel
On the new fangled doctrine o nae hell ava,
Which gies wrang doers comfort that is na sae sma'.
It's a gey soothm thoct aye, it pleases them weel,
Leavin hooseless an hameless the muckle black deil,
It delivers mankind frae a fear and a dread,
Sae I pondered along never lifting my head
Is it richt? is it wrang? is it truth or a lie?
We will cannily find oot the truth by and by
If it's truth or a lie that lies at the root
Should be shown when the doctrine grows up and bears fruit
Thus I daundered and pondered, on lifting my e'e
An answer to some o my thocts cam to me
There cam' doon the causey a comical chiel,
Wi an air an a gait that was unco genteel,
By the cut o' his jib an the set o his claes
He was ane o thae folk wha ha e seen better days,
He was verra lang legged hungry-lookup an lean,
His claes werna' new, nor weel hained nor clean,
Tight straps his short trews to meet shiny boots drew,
Where wee tae an' big tae alike keeked through,
His coat ance black braid-claith, was rusty enough,
It was oot at the elbows an' frayed at the cuff,
It was white at the seams, it was threadbare and thin
An' to hide a defects, buttoned up to the chin
Bruised and dinged in the crown and the brim was his hat,
But set jauntily on his few hairs for a that,
Paper collar an' cuffs showed in lieu of a shirt,
As he daintily picked his way over the dirt,
His face leaden and mottled with blossom that grows
Out of whisky, an' deep bottle-red was his nose;
His e'en bleared an' bloodshot, were watery an' dim,
Pale an' puffy the eyelids, an' red roun' the rim;
Thae e'en, that ha'e gotten a set in the head,
Wi' watchin' ower often the wine when it's red.
Eh, me, sirs! what wreck in the universe can
Be sae awsome to see as the wreck of a man!
Whatever of talents, or good looks, or gear,
What w'alth o' good chances had been this man's here;
What gifts that might make his life lofty and grand,
A blessin' to others, a power in the land.
All was gone, gifts an' graces, the greatest, the least,
Were hidden beneath the broad mark o' the beast--
Stamped on, I may say, frae the head to the feet,
All lost of the man but his pride an' conceit;
Varnished ower wi' the airs o' the shabby genteel,
He was gingerly steppin' his way to the diel.
But now he is gaun to greet me on the way
Comin' forrid as ane that has something to say.
Takin' off wi' a flourish the bit o' a hat,
He booed wi' an air maist genteel ower that;
"Excuse me, sir, stoppin' you thus on the way,
Can you bring me to where I'll see David Macrae?
He's a preacher that men of my culture must choose;
I assure you he holds and he preaches my views;
A doctrine divested of all vulgar fears,
That I've held and believed in for years upon years.
A doctrine most sensible, likely, and true,
I endorse it, sir, as, I trust, you also do?"
I answered him, gien a bit shake to my head,
As I looked at the man and considered his creed;
"You'll see Mr. Macrae, my man, there is nae doot,
If you stan' aboot here till they're a' comin' oot;
But my frien', this new doctrine, that fits ye sae fine,
May be yours verra likely, but ne'er can be mine."

RETROSPECT

I sit by the fire in the gloaming,
In the depths of my easy chair,
And I ponder, as old men ponder,
Over times and things that were.

And outside is the gusty rushing,
Of the fierce November blast,
With the snow drift waltzing and whirling,
And eddying swiftly past,

It's a wild night to be abroad in,
When the ice blast and snow drift meet
To wreath round all the world of winter
A shroud and a winding sheet.

There's a dash of hail at the window,
Thick with driving snow is the air;
But I sit here in ease and comfort
In the depths of my easy chair.

I have fought my way in life's battle,
And won Fortune's fickle caress;
Won from fame just a passing notice,
And enjoy what is called success.

As I sit here in ease and comfort,
And the shadows they rise and fall,
And the dear old familiar faces
Look out from the pannelled wall.

Ah! reminders of living fondness
Gleam out in their pictured looks;
And in ranks round from floor to ceiling,
Are my life-long friends, my books.

The bright wood fire crackles and sparkles,
Leaping up with a sudden glow,
Playing hide and seek with the shadows
That flit round me to and fro.

They come and look over my shoulder,
And they vanish behind my chair;
Ah! the notice that life's November
Has sprinkled with snow my hair.

Ah! the shadows that gather round me,
That will never more depart,
That are flitting around my chamber,
That are closing around my heart!

All the shadows of undone actions,
And the shadow of deep regret,
Over many occasions wasted,
And of duties, alas! unmet.

Over words that are left unspoken,
And of woe that was left unshared,
Over high resolutions broken,
And calls that would not be heard.

And the shade of a deeper sorrow
Still hovers about my chair;
It is this, and not life's November,
Has sprinkled with snow my hair.

For my life has passed into evening,
And I sit, mid the shadows here,
Hearing still the shadowy whisper
That success may be bought too dear.

TO THE RAIN

Come forth, O rain! from thy cool, distant hall,
And lave the parched brow of the feverish earth,
The little drooping flow'rets on thee call,
Come, with thy cool touch wake them up to mirth
They will lift up glad faces to the sky,
Drinking in gladness from the warm moist air,
Now, thirsty, hot, and faint they droop and die,
Thou only canst revive these fainting fair
The grain has shrivelled, pining after thee,
And waves light-headed from a sickly stalk,
There's no green herbage on the sunburned lea,
The glaring sun through glowing skies doth walk,
Looking down hotly on sweet Allumette,
Thinking to dry it with his ardent gaze,
Each day a strip of sand left bare and wet,
Tells how she shrinks from his pursuing rays

1870

DIVIDED

We came to the dividing line,
Then he passed over and I am here,
Sad and sore is this heart of mine
That has no power to shed a tear,
For, like one who rises and walks in sleep,
I am lost in a dream--I cannot weep.

Yet he was good and fair to see
I know in my heart he loved me well,
What separated him from me,
I cannot tell, oh! I cannot tell,
For the blow came sudden, and sharp, and sore,
And I am alone now for evermore.

I thought to walk through all our time
Together, linked to a lofty aim;
With sudden wrench I'm left behind--
My heart is slain! oh, my heart is slain!
And the ghost of my heart within me cries,
Why, alas! was I made a sacrifice?

My royal eagle ordained to soar--
Breast to the storm, and eyes to the sun--
Up be thy flight! and think no more
Of one the life of whose life is done;
While I, stunned and sick with a dumb despair,
Still mourn by the grave of a hope so fair.

TO MARY.

It is not very long since first we met,
Thy path and mine lay very far apart;
We are not of one nation, dear one, yet
Thou hast awakened love within my heart.

It is a love that sorrow never tried,
And yet, like tested love, it is as true
As love that stood in dark hours by your side,
If hours were ever dark or sad to you.

Not for your beauty, though I think you fair,
Not for the kind heart or the tender word;
But for the kindredship,--because you were
One who both knew and loved my gracious Lord.

One who had often met with Him alone;
One over whom His garment had been laid;
Clothed on with beauty that was not your own,
Bought with a price no other could have paid,

Divided by the ridge of time are we,
Yet we are near akin at heart my friend,
Our prayers and praises will together be
Blended and fused in one as they ascend

For I, too, heard the Well-Beloved's voice,
Calling the new life in the soul to wake,
Drawing us after Him in loving choice,
Making us love His loved ones for His sake

TO FRANCES

Dear love, life has dewy mornings,
And the shadeless blaze of noon,
Flowers, that we stop to gather,
That fade from our hands so soon

Dear love, there are meetings, partings,
We have sunshine, we have shade,
There's no continuing city
That our human hands have made

We go onward, joy and sorrow
Checkers all the path we tread,
But our Father loves His children
And with loving care they're led.

Dear love, His great wisdom chooseth
The path that we both have trod,
And through storm, and calm, and sunshine,
We rest in the hand of God

A NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS, 1870.

With noiseless footstep, like the white-robed snow,
The old year with closed record steals away;
Record of gladness, suffering, joy, and woe,
Of all that goes to make life's little day.

Here, in this bright and pleasant little town,
As everywhere, a noiseless scythe hath swept;
The bright, the green, the flow'ret all cut down,
For heart ties severed loving hearts have wept.

And some are gone we very ill can spare,
And some we gladly would have died to save,
And the young blossom of the hearth, so fair;
But all alike have passed thy gates, oh, grave!

We see so many sable signs of woe,
Each, with mute voice, _memento mori_ saith;
As if our town that erst has sparkled so
Were passing through the vale and shade of death.

But louder rumours from a far-off world
Come to our valley, where secure and free,
With the sword sheathed, the flag of battle furled,
We sit in peace beneath our emblem tree.

At peace, because the madly-wicked men
Who sought to kindle flames of border war
Have in confusion failed yet, once again,
Their braggart plans dissolved in empty air.

In the Nor' West threat'nings of strife arose,
The muttered thunders all have died away;
Unstained by blood may sleep their mantling snows;
Unmarred by civil strife their wintry day.

War clouds seemed o'er the hapless land to brood,
The warning bugle sounded far abroad;
Red River might have ran with kindred blood,
But Manitoba heard the speaking God.

Our summer skies were clouded dark and low;
'Twas not the blessed rain that bowed them down,
But smoke wreaths rolling heavy, huge, and slow,
And thick as rising from a conquered town.

And where rich crops, and wealthy orchards fair,
Spread to the sun, rustled in breeze of morn,
The fire passed through, and left them black and bare,
Rushing like Samson's foxes through the corn.

Then, like a giant roused, it onward came,
With red arm reaching to the trees on high;
Till the whole landscape in one sheet of flame,
Glowed like a furnace 'neath a brazen sky.

O'er many a hearth red, burning ruin swept,
Till people fancied 'twas a flaming world;
All labour gained, and prudent care had kept,
And precious life were in one ruin hurled.

But as the fire fast spread, 'tis sweet to know,
So loving kindness and sweet pity ran;
This wide spread wail of human want and woe,
Served to bring out the brotherhood of man.

Here, on the lovely pine-fringed Allumette,
We hear the distant echoes of the jar,
Where Galile pluck and Teuton drill have met
In the long shock of cruel murderous war.

We only read of fields heaped high with slain,
Of vineyards flooded red, but not with wine,
Of writhing heaps of groaning anguished pain,
Of wounded carted off in endless line.

We read of all the stern eyed pomp of war,
The list of wounded and the number slain,
But know not what war's desolations are,
How much one battle costs of human pain.

All the sweet homes beneath the chestnut trees
Blackened and waste, the hearth light quenched in gore;
What hecatombs of human agonies
Are laid war's demon-chariot wheels before

When a few deaths so shadow a whole place,
Let us but think of that beleaguered town
Where famine's blackness sits in every face,
War cutting thousands, want ten thousands down.

And France is one great grave, her native clay
Top dressed with human flesh and steeped in blood;
Hushed are the sounds of little ones at play,
And blackened wastes where pleasant hamlets stood.

In spots the grain will yet grow rank and strong,
Over brave hearts that conquered as they fell;
Falling, left hearts to sorrow for them long,
By the swift Rhine, or by the blue Moselle.

When will the nations learn to war no more,
Nor with red hands adore the God of peace?
O Thou, most merciful, whom we adore,
Bid this unnecessary war to cease!

And look upon our country, young and strong,
With prospects of a future great and grand;
Grant us that Right still triumph over Wrong,
That Righteousness exalt and bless the land.

That here where smiling peace and plenty reign,
Beneath the glory of unclouded skies
A Nation that shall know no honour stain
Girt by sons pure and peaceful, shall arise

O! Canada our own beloved land,
Land of free homes, and hearts uncowed by fear,
Refuge of many, be it thine to stand
Foremost among the nations each New Year!

MY BABY

He lay on my breast so sweet and fair,
I fondly fancied his home was there,
Nor thought that the eyes of merry blue,
With baby love for me laughing through,

Were pining to go from whence he came,
Leaving my arm empty and heart in pain,
Longing to spread out his wings and fly
To his native home far beyond the sky

They took him out of my arms and said
My baby so sweet and fair was dead,
My baby that was my heart's delight
The fair little body they robed in white

Flowers they placed at the head and feet
Like my baby fair, like my baby sweet,
They laid him down in a certain place,
And round him they draped soft folds of lace

Till I'd look my last at my baby white,
Before they carried him from my sight,
By the sweet dead babe, so fair to see,
They tried in kindness to comfort me

They said, he is safe from care and pain,
Safe and unspotted by sin or stain;
Before the mystery of the years
Brings heart ache or pang, or sorrow's tears.

He's safe, sweet lamb, in the Shepherd's care,
Sorrow nor suffering enters there;
But with brow of gladness, clothed in light,
He is fair as the angels in His sight.

I know what they said to me was true,
And should have fallen on my heart like dew;
For, although my grief was very sore,
My baby was safe for evermore.

I know that they spoke with kindly care,
My grief to comfort and soothe, or share;
But I gave my baby the last, last kiss,
Saying, God alone comforts grief like this.

THE FATE OF HENRY HUDSON.

I, Louis Marin, mariner, born on the Breton coast,
Must pass from earth away,
And, because wild remorse
Pursues me--is my curse,
My guilty hand this day
Will write down of the crime that haunts my death-bed like a ghost.

In sixteen hundred ten,
Bold Hudson and his men
Left London town behind with its castles, towers and fanes,
The crew were twenty-three,
Which, alas! included me
When the good ship _Discovery_ went sailing down the Thames
We were all picked men and strong,
We took willing hearts along
Yes, our hearts were bold and brave
Every eye was keen and bright,
When the wild Atlantic wave
Hid the homeland from our sight

On a voyage of discovery bound to win a high renown,
That on the line of years our names be proudly handed down
As, with merry hearts and light, we flew on before the blast,
We little dreamed this voyage was ordained to be our last
All full of reckless venture and so fearless--could we know
Hope beckoned on a path of fame to lure us into woe,
As we sailed into the frozen seas, the place of ice and snow,
We sighted the ominous Farewell Cape
And steered north through drift ice up Baffin's Strait
Oh, lonely and drear to the weary eye
Were the vast ice-fields floating slowly by
Not a blade of grass not a leaf to tell
That the summer verdure was possible
Round the pale horizon, the aching sight
Met an awful vastness of barren white,
As if earth lay beneath the chilly sky
Struck to death by Gehazi's leprosy
We sailed on, and round us on every hand,
On the darkling wave, on the desert strand,
On the rock-bound coast, on the icy cape,
The ice heaved up in wild fantastic shape;
In mountain, and mosque, and cathedral dome,
Lofty peak, and column, and minaret,
And ponderous arches in order set,
Tower and spire and pinnacle high,
Soaring up to the deep blue sky
Statues ice sculptured, frost work and fret,
That had some weird likeness to sights at home.

On and on we sailed through the waters dark,
Where the damp fog clung like a witch's veil,
And hid from the faces of watchers pale,
The dangers that crowded around our bark,
In this, the birth-place of the snow and mist.
Icebergs by the low clouds covered and kissed,
Clustered round us like ghosts to bar our way;
While the sharp sleet drove on the icy blast,
Cutting through the foam of the seething spray,
Sheathing in ice both sail and mast,
Northward still northward we sailed away.

The wild air was thick with flurrying snow;
The winds broken loose, raging, swept and swirled,
Heaping mountain drifts on hummock and floe,
Deadly that wind as the cannon's breath,
To crush out life with the blast of death.
Wreathing winding sheets round an Arctic world.
Upon that wild day, on that dreadful day!
Amid grinding noises of crash and jar,
With the winds and snow, waves and ice at war,
In their wildest fury and greatest might,
We drove with the storm into that wide bay,
That forever will keep our captain's name,
And embalm in horror his death and fame,
And around us closed in the Arctic night.
Our ship was caught in jaws of ice,
That closed on it, held it as in a vice,
Ice was around us mountains high
Its dazzling spear points pierced the sky,
In every shape of vast and wild,
Heaps upon heaps were tossed and hurled,
Mountain on mountain roughly piled,
The chaos of an icy world

It was a ghastly, beautiful sight,
The rosy flush of the Northern Light,
Lances of splendour shot through the sky
And blood-red banners were waved on high,
Creatures of light darted to and fro,
Dancing in mockery of our woe,
Unrolling with their luminous hands
Belts of glory, and quivering bands
Of heaving, pulsing, transparent green,
Throwing out light in shimmering waves,
That spread into a tremulous sea
Of wavering glowing brilliancy,
Clothing the heavens in delicate sheen,
From which darts, and arrows, and tongues of fire
Glancing in splendour higher and higher
Wove themselves into a glorious crown,
Letting bright streamers hang wavering down,
Until brilliant sea and crown of beams
Faded to mist like fairy dreams
Vanishing all away, away,
Away behind ice wall and icy caves,
Leaving us in the moonlight grey,
Pale skeletons sitting by frozen graves

We in our misery cared not,
For splendours that mocked our wretched lot,
We were locked in a place by God forgot
He did not care
For sigh or prayer,
For He never answered to help or bless,
But death and fell sickness and loathsomeness
Of disease that cometh from extreme cold,
Joined to cow the hearts of the brave and bold,
The provisions rotted within the hold,
And the worm eaten bread was foul to use.
Sufferings and agonies manifold
Gathered round the end of that fatal cruise.

The spring kept away so late, oh so late!
Through death our numbers waxed feeble and few;
And when famine sat down among the crew,
Came both sullen anger and fiery hate,
And we hardened our hearts and cursed our fate.
Some deserted to speedily fall and freeze
Some, swollen and blue with the fell disease,
Blasphemed and called on the saints in turn
With choking utterance and livid tongue.
We cursed the captain to his face
For bringing us to this wretched case.
He sat among us gloomy and stern,
His venturous heart was with anguish wrung;
While silent and sad
Was the little lad,
His only son,
Once so full of fun
When he sailed on the cruise that had no return.

Sitting in our misery on a night,
Fresh wonders burst on our awe-struck sight;
For the stars were raining out of the sky,
In a fiery shower, falling thick and fast;
Yea, and horrible sounds were on the blast,
Of crash and jar, and shivering moan,
As of rending earth; and all nature's groan
Were sent to warn us the end was nigh.
With awe-struck gladness we looked around,
Waiting to hear the last trumpet sound.
From living death in that desolate Bay,
We had sprung to welcome the judgment day;
Although in the pit should our lot be cast,
So that this our great woe should end at last.
The bleak spring came, the ice did part;
Devils entered each sailor's heart;
No blessed thoughts sweetened our wretched lives,
Of the distant mother's, sweethearts, and wives;
Of innocent pleasures we valued most,
In the greenwood haunts of our childhood's home,
In sweet English vale, or bold Breton coast,
That we left to sail on the salt sea foam.

We launched the boat--we, the wicked crew--
Strong in the evil we meant to do,
To leave the most helpless ones behind--
The men who were loathsome, sick and blind.
We tumbled them in without sail or oar;
We forced in the captain and his son;
And when the horrible crime was done
We mocked them and told them to go ashore.
O, Mighty God of the sea and land!
Where hadst Thou hidden Thy strong right hand;
That this should happen under the sky,
And be looked at by Thy All-seeing eye
For we spread our sails to leave that spot,
Secure in that God regarded not.
As we steered the ship away, away,
From the boat that rocked on that dismal Bay,
There arose from the wretches left behind,
Helpless by famine, sick and blind,
A cry that would pierce through iron bars;
The despairing groan
Of those left alone
Passed through the ranks of the shivering stars,
To the dreadful God on His holy throne.
When out of that accursed Bay,
Southward, homeward we sailed away.
We had favouring winds, we hurried fast,
Had our sails been of the hurricane's blast,
Our guilt so surrounded and hemmed us in
That we could not sail away from our sin;
For all nature knew that we had done
The awfullest deed beneath the sun
Our burning eyes were forbid to weep,
We lost the rest of the blessed sleep;
For scared by dreams and terrified
By visions, leaving us weary-eyed,
We knew that the tempter's work was done,
We had staked our souls and the fiend had won.

I stood one night at the wheel alone:
Stars in millions were in the sky,
Every star an accusing eye;
I heard again that horrible groan
Of horror, of helpless terror and pain,
I had hoped to nevermore hear again--
The cry of those we had left alone.

The sky was changed, an angry glare
Lit up the billows, and through the air
Flaming swords flashed in invisible hands,
Ready to execute God's commands.
The solemn light of the pale moon's glance
Glowed with the wrath of His countenance.
At the far horizon shadowy things
Shod with the lightning, with fiery wings,
Were darting with messages to and fro,
I saw them flitting on, noiseless, swift,
Through the holy vail of luminous mist,
Where God was apportioning our woe.
I knew the time had come when He meant
To mete out to us our punishment.
An awful voice from the maintop fell:
"Where is the captain and sick of the crew?"
It filled my brain with the pains of hell;
The cold sweat started like drops of dew.
My hair stood up--for, over the side,
On the rolling swell of the heaving tide,
Gliding along on the crest of a wave,
I saw, in the moonlight's shimmering track,
Our messmates, the feeble, sick and blind,
That leagues away we had left behind;
To the vessel groping their blind way back
Coming again to join the crew;
Led by the captain looking as brave,
As full of command, as he used to do

The wave heaved up to the bulwark's side,
And one after one they stepped on board.
Dead men, with eyes that opened wide
With the stare of blindness--gracious Lord!
One of them groped his way abaft,
And laid his swollen hand on the wheel.
His hand that in death was clammy and damp;
His blind eyes stared at the binnacle lamp,
As if the dead hand had nerves of steel,
He altered the ship's course in spite of me
Who could only stare at him and gasp,
For I was in the nightmare's grasp.
Fiends in the air around me laughed;
But the dead man worked on all silently,
Nor noticed the ecstacy of my fears;
Yet he was a man I had known for years.
A messmate at sea, a comrade on shore,
And in jolly carouse, in wassail roar.
My holiday time with him I spent
When I was of life-blood innocent;
But he never looked or spoke to me,
But steered away from the open sea.
Towards the shore beyond the desolate strait,
Where suffering and crime had been so great.

Dead hands pulled the ropes and trimmed the sails,
But no cheery cries the night wind hails.
They worked the ship like men who slept
But steadily, oh so steadily!
They took in sail, the watch they kept,
And groped about blindly, silently.
Fore and aft on the waves swarmed fiendish things,
Vile creatures that seemed to be heads with wings.
Like a shoal of porpoises millions strong,
Alive with motion that could not rest,
Twisting out ropes from the breaker's crest,
From the fleecy foam of the yeasty spray,
With hands that appeared and vanished away;
Chattering, they towed the ship along;
And we, the living, stood looking on,
Until that horrible night was gone.

When the grey of dawn came in the sky,
With a scream and a cheer the fiends vanished;
Over the side filing silently
Went our messmates, the corpses swollen and dead,
Gliding over the waves with the vanishing night
Till the low clouds covered them up from our sight.

We, like men who have got respite from pain,
Put about the ship toward home again,
The sails swelled out with a favouring wind;
The coast of horrors we left behind.
And cheerily sailed in the blessed light;
But the ghosts of the crew came back at night.
Whatever distance we gained by day.
They steered us back in the moonlight grey.

How it came to pass I can never tell,
But I thought of God in the jaws of hell--
Through my despair came the thought that He
Was a helper in extremity
For the first time in my wandering years,
My burning eyes felt the bliss of tears
Like refreshing dew on soul and sense
Fell the softening grace of penitence
The Grace Divine that maketh whole,
Stole into the darkness of my soul

Sad thoughts were rising into prayer,
By the wheel on the night air chill and raw
The ghost of my messmate stood by me,
And looked in my face with eyes that saw
The blue lips said "Be awake, and aware,
The enchanted ship will touch the shore,
Fly then from us, and you will be free,
Your penance of suffering will be o'er
But the rest, for the deed that they have done
Shall sail on without rest beneath the sun."

I made my escape when we reached the shore,
And I saw the ship and the crew no more
Alone I laid myself down to die,
No human aid, as I thought, was nigh
I longed for death, I was not afraid
I was found by roving hunter bands,
Brought back to life by merciful hands,
The hands of a dark skinned Indian maid.
She nursed me with skill and tenderness,
And recovered me from loathsomeness
But the day has come and the hours draw nigh,
When I, Louis Marin, must surely die
I write down my crime, that soon or late
The world may know Captain Hudson's fate

I write of our crime and our sufferings,
Of vengeance that follows, remorse that stings
Messmates remember though crime is done,
In the lonest spot beneath the sun,
Where footstep of man has never trod,
It's under the eye of an avenging God.
He comes near, a Swift Witness, with intent
That they who sow crime shall reap punishment.

FORSAKEN.

Beside the open window she is lying,
Through which comes softly in the balmy air,
And fans her wasted cheek; but slowly dying,
She seeth not that autumn's finger fair
Tinges the golden landscape everywhere.

She seeth not the glory of the maples,
That in their crimson robes surround her home;
Nor the rich red of the ripe clustering apples
In the old orchard, where can never come
Her flying feet to stoop and gather some.

That is her home where in life's young May morning,
She careless sung the joyful hours away;
A happy-hearted child, to whom no warning
Came of the future shipwreck by the way,
Or of the worshipped idol turned to clay.

The place has passed to strangers; unregretting,
She looks upon the home, no longer hers,
Of all the happy past she's unforgetting;
But deeper anguish now her bosom stirs,
The sorrow that can find no comforters.

Father and mother lie beneath the grasses,
That lonely wave within the churchyard gloom;
And the sad wind is wailing as it passes
Asking the dead to hasten and make room,
For her that's slowly sinking to the tomb

Seeing as if she saw not, one sore longing
Is she awake to, as she lieth here,
Dead to regretful thoughts that round are thronging,
All too absorbed to shed repenting tear,
Or look into the future drawing near

She hath lost all the keen desire of living,
The power to grieve over a vanished name,
She thinks one thought, poor child, her heart forgiving
All of her wrongs, all of her suffered shame,
And has no power left with which to blame

Never again shall hope with her awaken,
For all hope buried in one small grave lies,
But her heart longs that he who has forsaken
Should look once more with kindness in her eyes
And take her poor forgiveness ere she dies

So in a calm that hopes for no assistance,
With longings that are lost in empty air
Her dying eyes are fixed upon the distance,
Lest he should come upon her unaware,
"He cometh not," she whispers in despair.

KEEPING TRYST

Who is the maid with silken hair
By clear Maine Water roaming?
For the fairy Queen is not so fair
As she in the lonely gloaming

It is sweet Mysie of Bellee,
John Millar's lovely daughter;
She is waiting where the old elm tree
Droops over the sweet Maine Water.

"The trysting time has come and past,
The day is fast declining;
Oh my true love, are you coming fast,
For the star of love is shining?"

"The moon is bright, the ford is safe,
The market folks crossed over;
Oh, come to me, it is wearing late,
And I wait for thee, my lover.

"I fear me there will be a storm,
The clouds, with murky fingers,
Are muffling the stars o'er far Galgorm,
Where my own true lover lingers."

She turned her from the trysting tree,
So sadly home returning,
Saying "He has broken tryst with me,
And his ship sails in the morning."

She took three steps from that sad place,
Where doubt of him had found her;
And he stood before her face to face,
And he drew his arm around her.

"I thought, without one last farewell,
We had for ever parted;
And I could not of the anguish tell
That had left me broken hearted.

"My love I'm going far away;
Whatever may betide us,
Our loving hearts are one for aye,
Though the roaring seas divide us."

He broke a ring between them two;
He made a vow to bind him
To death, and beyond it to be true
To her he had left behind him.

Years passed, the maiden secretly
Watched on with anxious wonder,
For some love message; but treachery
Kept the two fond hearts asunder.

She lived in hope that he would write,
And some love token send her;
Her step grew feeble, her face grew white,
And her eyes got unearthly splendour.

And lovers they besieged her sore;
For love that she had given
To one who would come to her no more;
So she faded into heaven.

They made her grave where robins sing;
Trees whisper requiems daily;
They laid her down with her broken ring;
In her grave at Kirk ma Rielly.

Word went out of the maiden's death,
Who for true love departed;
It found him who mourned her broken faith,
And mourned her as false, falsehearted.

He turned as cold as cold, cold clay,
And fell struck down with sorrow;
"I know how my dear love died to-day,
I will die for her to-morrow.

"My love is dead so sweet and fair,
Blighted and broken hearted,
I'll keep my tryst, and together dead,
We'll rest who were falsely parted.

"Gold that my darling could not save,
That made my love derided,
Shall carry me home and dig my grave,
We'll not be in death divided."

They made his grave on Erin's breast,
Where the birds sing requiems daily;
And laid him beside his love to rest,
In the grave-yard of Kirk ma Bielly.

EDGAR

I have not wept for Edgar, as a mother
Weeps for the tender lamb she lays to rest;
And yet it cannot be that any other
Baby like him shall lie upon my breast;
For he was with us but a passing guest,
A birdling that belonged not to the nest.

Looking upon his large dark eyes so tender,
Filled with the solemn light of Paradise,
I knew that word would soon come to surrender,
My babe, not mine, but native to the skies;
As the sweet lark that ever upward flies,
He would be taken from my longing eyes.

For from the first he looked to be earth-weary,
And clung to me with no desire to play;
He never laughed and crowed with spirit cheery
Like my earth babies; but from day to day
Seemed ever yearning for the far-away,
And well I knew he could not with me stay

The angels whispered things I knew not of,
My babe had visions of a far-off land,
I knew it, that he yearned for higher love,
And reached to touch another unseen hand,
That drew him from my little household band,
They wailed for him of whom they were so fond

And when he closed his eyes and fell asleep,
Loosening his baby grasp away from mine,
Turning from me that had no power to keep,
The glory of a placidness divine
Beamed on his face, I took it for a sign,
And bowed my head to say, Thy will is mine.

I weep for him in silence of the night,
I see him where the holy angels are,
His radiant eyes have lost their mournful light
And beam with happy glory like a star,
I weep with mournful joy to think that, where
The Master is, my little babe is there.

GONE

Mournfully, mournfully
All around me are crying,
For my dark-eyed baby boy
Is dying, dying

Tenderly, tenderly
To him I am clinging,
But he slips from my fond arms,
Death bells are ringing

Joyfully, joyfully
Angels are receiving
My babe--by the empty cot
I must sit grieving.

WHAT WENT YE OUT FOR TO SEE?

On Jordan's banks gathered an eager crowd,
The Royal city poured its dwellers out;
The vintage was untouched in Ephraim;
No fisher's boat from Magdala put out.

Up from Engedi's fountain, down the slope
Of terraced Olivet, an eager throng,
Filled with one purpose, one absorbing hope,
Unto the Jordan take their way along.

The priestly robe, the saintly Pharisee,
The publican, the sinner, all were there,
The doubting, sneering, questioning Sadducee,
Just risen from his seat, the scorner's chair.

All carried there the consciousness of sin;
A wish for some one having power to save;
Ready to do some great thing peace to win;
So came they to the ford by Jordan's wave.

What did they see? not one in purple vest,
Who lives deliciously, abides by choice
In palaces, and he in hair doth drest,
And leathern girdled is--Is what? a voice.

In poor array, the greatest prophet stood
Beside the waters where the banks are green.
"Art thou the looked-for one? Will Jordan's flood
Touched by thy hand have power to make us clean?"

"The Jordan will not wash your guilt and shame;
Sin must be washed away in sinless blood."
And looking upon Jesus as he came,
He said to them, "Behold the Lamb of God."

THE IROQUOIS SIDE OF THE STORY.

I, an Iroquois brave,
Speak from my forest grave,
Where by Utawa's wave
I sleep in glory.
Listen, pale faces, then,
Let years roll back again,
While of Iroquois men
I tell the story,

We were the foremost race,
That roamed the forest space;
None stood before our face,
Rousing our fierce wrath;
By Stadacona's steep,
Where Santee's waters sleep,
Prairie broad, valley deep,
Have been our war path.

Eries by inland seas,
Mountain bred Cherokees,
Of us, Hodenosaunees,
With fear grew frantic;
Feared us who made their home,
Under the pinetrees lone,
Where the winds lash to foam,
The wild Atlantic.

Tribute from east and west,
Of what we loved the best,
Wampum belt, necklace drest
Gladly they grant us.
White men can wisely tell,
How we fought, how we fell;
None could our glory quell,
No tribe could daunt us.

Eagles for swiftness we,
Panthers for subtlety,
Wise when in counsel free,
We took our stations.
Where was the tribe so brave,
Whose war craft could them save
From being conquered, slave
Of the Six Nations!

Wah! we all heard the news,
Of the winged war canoes,
Swift as the wild sea mews,
Objects of wonder;
Spreading their white wings wide,
Breasting the mighty tide,
Black lips from out their side,
Spoke lofty thunder.

Upward their way they steer,
Swifter than swimming deer,
Furled they their white wings near
Green Hochelaga.
We heard their name and fame,
Sweeping like forest flame,
To our great lodge it came,
In fair Onondaga.

Shy on their native strand,
The mild Algonquins stand
And gave the heart's right hand
To the white stranger.
With speech and gesture fair,
Gave a free welcome there,
Proud they to spare and share,
Fearing no danger.

Pale face and red man met,
Smoked they the Calumet,
And the peace feast was set
For the pale faces;
All of sweet wild wood cheer,
Fish from the river clear.
Haunch of the antlered deer,
Feast the two races.

If peace and trust were slain,
Whose the loss? Whose the blame?
Let the white scribes explain,
Our foes be our judges.
They sat down as conquerors,
Took the land, took the furs,
Let the braves starve like curs
Outside their lodges.

Vanished the hunter strong,
Stilled was the husking song;
No corn fields stretched along
In green Hochelaga.
Like to the forest flame,
Devouring the white man came;
Soon spread their evil fame
To far Onondaga.

Should we be pale face prey,
Fade like the mist away?
Fiercely we turned to bay
Not like the others.
The mild Algonquin race,
Melted before their face,
Leaving a roomy place
For their white brothers.

But we from sea to lake
Had made the wide earth shake,
And braves like women quake
As they were drunken.
We give our hunting grounds!
Give up our burial mounds!
Whimper like beaten hounds
Like the Algonquin!

We of the forest free,
Born into liberty,
We, lords of all we see
In our own valleys.
Their chief across the waves,
Asked for Iroquois braves,
To be the chained slaves,
Of his war galleys?

Should we the mighty, then,
We, the Iroquois men,
Smoke the peace pipe with them
With these marauders!
No! we, the feared in strife,
Hunted the precious life,
With the red scalping knife,
Through all our borders.

If the fierce war-whoop rung,
In the Iroquois tongue,
And the red warriors sprung
On the pale faces;
Let, then, the guilt accursed,
Fall heaviest and worst,
On who raised the hatchet first
Of the two races.

In the sweet moon of leaves,
When birds the soft nest weaves,
And the free water heaves
Beneath the blue heavens.
Upwards the white braves go,
Vowed to meet us foe to foe,
Landed at the wild Long Sault,
In the calm spring even.

Danlac, their biggest brave,
Gathered a band to save,
The rest from a bloody grave,
From our revenges.
Not for their own land they
Fought as they did that day;
But to take ours away
And to have vengeance.

We vowed, in warrior pride,
To rise, a rushing tide,
And sweep the country wide,
With a death riddance.
To burn their palisades,
And to the forest glades,
In change for Indian maids,
Bear their white maidens.

In painted plumed array,
Hot, panting for the fray,
Our paddles beat the spray
Of the wild water.
Shot through the rapids white,
The war cry of our might,
Rose as we flashed in sight,
Eager for slaughter

Then scouting watchers run,
Then loud alarm of drum,
Shouts of, "The foe! they come,"
Rung through the forest.
Then we, three hundred strong,
Burning with sense of wrong,
Raised our loud battle song,
Sounding the onset.

From the old fort there broke,
Volleying flame and smoke,
And the loud echoes woke
With pale face thunder.
And shot in torrents fell,
As if the hottest hell,
Of which the black robes tell;
Opened in wonder,

Woe to the white race, woe!
Wild we dashed at the foe,
Showering blow on blow
On their defences
We with our bosoms bare,
Surged up against their lair;
They in a brave despair,
Behind their fences,

Belched out a fiery hail
Like leaves in autumn pale,
Fell we before that gale
In the death heaping.
Till the young grass grew red
With the blood blanket spread,
Under Iroquois dead,
In glory sleeping.

Sank down the big round sun,
And the red fight was done,
To be again begun
In the grey dawning;
Remained there but twenty two,
With whom we had to do,
Of that devoted few
For whom death was yawning.

Charged we at the fort again,
Axes crashed through heart and brain,
Heaps on heaps fell our slain
The red price paying.
We fell as leaves before the gale,
But of the faces pale,
None lived to tell the tale
Of that grim slaying.