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Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole -»- signifie "A SUIVRE ", le symbole V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmds d des taux de reduction diff^rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul cliche, il est filmd d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 Ml MILESTONE MOODS AND MEMORIES. i ,;■= miL A lit hi PI miLESTONE inooDs m mmmi IPocnta au^ Sonotn MV DONALD McCAIO, .^u^/.>r ofKcply to John Stuart Mill, ,„ the Sulyation of \Vonu-», '(m»\ — ^oi*cnito: PlUxNTED BV HI NTKR, liOSK .v 0)M1»ANV 1894. : t« lOiilfKiI jiiconlin^' to Act of the Tarliaiiieiit of C'anRdu, in the year one thousand fi>,'ht huiulred and ninety-four, hy Donalu McCaiu, at t':(; Dei)artinent of A,L,'riculturt'. r UK FACE. Dk All ivjulci", soini' ol' tlu' trifles Found on tlve iollowinj^ mji^vs have lain in my desk for nearly t'oi'ty years; others of tluMn for over twenty. I am not certain that I can now offer any adefjuate excuse for the folly of |)ul>lishin<^ them, hut the saddest fetdinn^, and the dark- est word wi'itten or spoken in any lanouanre, is " annihila- tion." Kven to he forj^otten amid earthly surr()undin<^s is I not a pleasant contemplation. When I slee]), T think I would prefer doin^'- so (jn )ine oentle hill, with the maples and pines waving over [me, to i*estin<; beneath the j)roude.st monument: but in any case I pray that neither wainiest friend nor worst inciiiy will do me the dishonor of ])lacin^ over me in iron, marble, or t>ra.ss, " Horn May loth, I.S:V2, died ." If this be all, not this, for mei'ev s sake. l'erha[)s it is this e^a)tism or vanity, which had haunt- ed me through all the old pioneer days, and has follow- ed me ever since, through all the changes the years Iwinc brought, which is now responsible for what, I am awaie, can bring me but little fame, and less fortune. All I VI r REPACK, luivt' ever lioped for in my most .sjin^uiiie momonts hasj ht'on, that wlien Canada has outgrown li<;r novitiate when she lias a literature of her own, and a standiii;'] anion^ tlic nations of the oaith, I mi^lit he reco^jnizeda.'- one who liad in lier then, lonj( a^o, seen some heauty ii,| Nature, some <^rnindeur in country and home, some great- ness in God, and soniethinef of heaven in tlie face of wo- man, and liad, in some sort worth remembering, recorded| his convictions. Dear reader, this is an open confession. The rest 11 leave with you. DONALD McCAK^. ' 1 CONTENTS. *♦>• — I'AUE In MiMn«»ii;ini {) rriio Tmin). 19 ^Pu Miiry 21 ['Hstiuj' Flnw'rutH on the StrcHiu 24 Pile ( )Ul Su«,'ar Caini> 20 [..t u poet :]4 |Kv(ilution :«) Another OKI Apple Tree 42 Ivitetl 40 Vly Island Home 4?) iMootIs of Burns (Toronto Caledoninn S«»ciety'8 Prize Poem) . . ol JTo i\ Plagiarist, arising out t>f incidents connected with M(M>ds of Burns r»5 iThe Age of l*rogreas 58 Ia Song for the Sad (written after the siege of Lucknow) 84 iLove in a Cottage 85 riie Happy Days of Old n2 |\\ ayfarers JMJ jSunset on Lake Manitctu 97 |waiting KK) Poo Late 101 Kjuestionings 104 [At the Close of the D«^<-^ IN mf:moriam. The .shadows leni^tlien, anil the sinking sun GiMs the fai* mountain witli a <^'oMoii crest; The Autunni clouds stretch motionless and dun, Like cold grey ocean in the tlistant West. With sixty years of life gone o'er my head, I sit and dream of all those years have seen, — Of the strange paths by which my steps were led, Up to this hour by hill and valley green, With varying aims and hopes that erst had been. The moments vanish, liouis unllagging pass. The days roll on, that measure off our lives ; Youth's pictures tarnish, and the years, alas I Leave us but little for which manhood strives, — For all the dreams whereon Ambition fed, For all the flowers Ho})e scatter'd by the way. For all the loves, forgotten, false or dead. For all the promised fruitage of our May, How little garner d at the close ot day. 10 y.\ MEMORIAM. The years l((j l>y, willi all tliey liad h> I'liii;^^, The promise, and the pleasuio, mikI tlie pain, The lonuinuf in tlie song's u-e (]i(l not sini:; The race in which we cannot run again. The liills are dim, and far we lioped to ciiml), The "atos of I lie day, — With voices of cliildhood, and mnsic and .st)n<^, Like echoes from lands faraway. And tlie glad riiij^ing laugliter of girlhood was there, And one 'monii: the others so dear 'J'hat o'er his life's record, too black for despair, Flowed the sad sacred joy of a tear ! And he held, while he listened, his crusi, half consuiiitj In his cold, shrivelled hand, growing weak, While a fdorv slione round hiai that warmed and illuini The few frozen tears on his ciieek. In the dark, silent nighr, thus his sjiirit had flown. Like the sigh of a low, {tassing breath ; — Life's bubble had burst, and another gone down In the deep, shoreless ocean of death ! In the bright waking morn, by the side of the way. On the crisp, frozen leaves shed around, The knife, and the crust, and the casket of clay, Which the tramp left behiml him, were found ! And bound round his neck, as he lay there alone, Was the image, both youthful and fair. Of a sweet, laughing girl, with a blue ribbon zone. And a single white rose in her hair. Was he loved ? Was she wed? Was she daughter or wij Or sister ? The world may not read Her story or his. They are lost with the life, — Recorded, ' A tiamp was found dead!" JV MAh'V 21 tlicre, ^(1111(1 (ieu'l Ity llie way," in the l^Iouiu ami ilio C"ld — |e boy wiioni a mother liad kissM, le son whom a father (,'ouhl proune. »ne, ,er or wi TO MARY. Mary ! the tields are green again, And flowers are blooming by the river. Life and beauty gild the plain, Young and gay and bright as ever. Spring comes with all its wonted joys, All its varied rich creation, — Its shady groves for girls and boys, (jJad with song and animation. Its ling'ring sunsets, lengthening eve, Out beyond its winter measure; Its dewy morns that rise to leave, On every blade their pearly treasure. 29 TO MAn\ » I' Tliiiij^s aiv aH always tliuy li.ive liocn, Side l>y sido in beauty ran;^Mii;^', Fra;^n'ant woods and valleys j^n-een ; Mary, only we are chanLjing! »m Tis onlv we are not the same, Onlv ours the tai'ni.shed treasures. Time, that steals our youth must claim, All its dearest, sweetest treasures ! Must dim the pictures one by one, That hope or fancy held before us, And witness the enchantment <(one, That love or youth exerted o'er us. The dreams that to fruition rose. Were not so bright as fancy yic^lded; The years that i)romised us repose. Brought little rest, when time revealed it. For though the groves are still as green, And though the birds as glad are singing ; Though vales as verdant lie between The hills where flowerets still are springing : Yet Mary, where has every joy, And wish, and hope, and pleasure vanished, ? Must age life's every charm destroy ? With 3'outh must every dream be banished ! Why should they vanish, all be o'er — Our evening walks and moonlight roving ? Our idle themes, our svlvan love, And all our idle dreams of loving ? TO MARY. Why ? S|»i'm;fs I hat shoiu^ I'oi' \\> \i\\t lied ; Th(5 fhjsvL'iH tliey broU'rlit an; also witluMVil, Any silent li}»s that tremble ; Telling tales the coming years Will have tauixht her to dissemble. " Back," said Fred, " we to the hill, Where are other flowers in waitin<:r ; We may pluck them at our will, Bud and spray together mating." Phyllis, dreamy little maid, While their hands were locked together, Look'd from dewy eyes and said, "Fred, I do not wish another. "To-day wliatever songs we sing ; With whatever flowers we deck us ; Hack the coming day will bring But the faded leaves and echoes ! " 1 cast the little bud away, Heeding naught if it should leave me ; It can never more be May — Fred, it was the first you gave me ! " Life's deep tide has not the power Back a single joy to give us ; We have pluck'd our spray and flower, All but mem'ry's dream must leave us ! " I 1 •J(> rill: ()/./> SluAR L\l.\//\ THE OLD SUCAR CAMP. The old sugar cainp. There is but little in the name ; It almost harshly falls upon the ear, And yields so much the hopeless note of toil, The strife and strugi^le of the weary years, That wealth and plenty from their vantage-ground Of brighter days, and calm luxurious ease, May gaze in wonder at the simple shrine, Where poor devotion pays the vows of age. And yet, around it cling such memories As in their acting mould the lives of men, And mve a color to their after-thouohts, Tinged with the hazy radiance of that past To which each dusty wayworn pilgrim turns, When he is sated chasing life's mirage. And, disenchanted, turns him to the east, To trace the threads in memory's tangled skein, Along the strangely checker'd path which time Has led his footsteps towards — life's western goal. Here, facing round again, upon youth's morn. He counts the stages where the nights were spent ;- Where Hope sat pining, waiting for the dawn ; But learned, through cycles of the changing years, That youth had dipped his pictures in the sun Where time retains the drab, — but dims the jzoM. Yet seeks he here some centre for his thouirhts, That wander backward, held at every stage By some poor fragment in life's broken glass, 'I HE OLD SUuAK CAMP. '27 Which, liftiiiL-; sadly iij* to memory's gaze, He linds a leii.se that tixes to one spot, More of the past in stereoscopic guise. Than all the others in that broken whole. Thus gathers round a few decaying logs. That once sustained a rudely-fitting roof, The same sad longing o'er the vanished past That lifts the hands up to the yews and elms, Where age sits thinking, but where childhood play'd. For man still, ever shrinkinLj from the ''•loom, .\nd cloud;-', and darkness, round the setting sun. Turns to the latest golden olimmer thrown Back from the turrets of his air-built fanes, Which, in the happy years of long ngo, In that fair Eden whence we all have come, Rose 'neath the magic wand (jf youth and hope. Alas I Time's noiseless finger, changing all, Weaves round those shrines the drapery of decay, Till whereso'er an altar we have raised. We turn in silence from the crumbling stones, And learn where'er a human foot has trod, We never find the [)lace again the same. in that old cam[), 'tis many years, And checker'd years, since the last embers died Of the last fire that ever shall Vje lit liy hands now mould'ring in the dust of death. Bark o'er the intervening gulf of time, T stand once more whcio, f »rtv vears a^o, l)5V I nstlinf; leaves conceal'd the viri'in soil, 28 THE OLD SUGAR CAMP. And artless wikl Hovvcrs raised their modest heads, To taste tlie sweetness of approaching' spring. These are no more ; a verdant web of grass Extends thick-matted where ihe Howers had been. The underwood is gone, and forest trees Encumberinfj the soil are long since burned. All but a few 'twere sacrilerre to touch : They were the shelter from the rude North Wind Of those who, safe from all earth's bittei* blasts. Rest in the silent city of tlie dead. Around this lonely j^ile of wasting logs. In the strange stillness of the Autunui night, A iew old maples here and there keep watch, Like silent sentinels that guard a tomb ; Their fellows fallen many years ago, Sank from the wounds that ended in decay, And left them helple>^s in the northern blast. Of those now left, kind nature's healing hand Has cover'd o'er the ,scars the axe had made ; But still, as from the poison'd taint of sin, Their hearts are rotten, and some rtithless gust Must shortly lay them with their brothers low. A single butternut, where many stood, Still stands unnotic'd by the passei-by. It had its days of interest and pride, For children watch'd it through the summer months As older children watch for autumn stores In fields and orchards, which that da}^ were not. 'Mid these surroundings other forms arisf. Cold in the moonlight, flitting to and. fro, THE OLD SUGAR CAMP. 29 And shadowy l>aTi(Js, no loii,i,'er ai! (;t' cartli, Pass and repass atnonj^ tho spiictral trees, As in the busy scenes of lonj^ af,'(). Tlie waking Spring returns witli sunny morn: The sap goes coursing tlirough the niaple trees, And ready even with her willing liands To swell the scanty revenue of toil, A careful mother, with her ha]>py t)ani], Goes forth to gather up the ii(piid stores. Year after year the old camp Mies are lit, — Year after yeai the same unl)ioken Itand Prepare the liquid treasure to secure: And when, U[)on the first exciting morn, The axe awoke the echoes of the wood, The red deej', startled, stood awhile to (£aze On the intruder, and the curling smoke ; Then hasten'd to a covert more secure. And now hegan a round of husy weeks. The nightly frosts, south winds, and vernal sun Brouirht forth the forest nectar from tlie trees, To lighten labor with a promised gain. But oft there camo a day of sleety snow, When frost, succeeding, sealed the dripping founts, And the bleak grimness of a raw March anuj forth to lionor iiuiiiy a yula day ; And one stein bonnet, brown with sun and rain, And years of service, still was counted new, And safely ^niarded under lock and key Till Sabbalh niorn, when forth at duty's call The faithful wearer trudged o'er many a mile, To join the songs that are in Zion sung, And gather up the promises of rest That faith had treasured in a better clime. All this the passing years brought to an end. The days of man and womanhood at length O'ertook the toilers ; and, with new-born hopes, New scenes were sought for, and new homes were fouivi] Caught in the world's wild busy feverish strife. Beneath one roof-tree now they seldom met. All but the youngest of the band had gone — She still remained to grace the dear old home, And through the calm of uneventful years, Peace and content appear'd the destined lot. The calls of want were now no lon<'er known ; For honest toil had to fruition turned, And brought its simple harvest of repose. Yet, as the seasons, in their stately round, Brought back the tiowing to the maple trees, Thft old camp-fires rekindled once again — Glowed \vith a milder and more chasten'd liMit. The old keen busy bustle all was gone, The feverish care to make the most of time ; Tiie noisy glee of happy girls and boys That toy'd with youth, and health, and laugh'd at toil THE OLD SUGAR CAMP. 31 All tlie.su were o'o'. Yet with eadi wakiiiL;' year, As eaued swallows, feelinf; Autumn niuli, Their winj^s beat wildly 'gainst their prison bars, And strug;j;le with their fellows to be free ; So a strange longing to that household came, To catch the spirit of the vanish'd years, And catch the woodnotes of the dawning Spring From songsters tuj-ning from their distant climes. This, and a })ride upon the festal board, 'J'o place the treasure gather'd by her hand, Brought forth the mother and the daughter, still 1 jeneath the shelter of her childhood's home, That once again, when haj)py Christmas time Brought all together to that dear old home, And children's children sat upon her knee. She might bring forth the harvest of her toil. Thus, the old camp for ten successive springs liecame the miniature of former scenes. Where just a little for that little's sake, And for the sake of happy vanish'd hours, And for the sake of Christmas yet to be. Was gather'd in a thoughtful, thankful mood, 'Mid chasten'd mem'ries of departed years. But dark with sorrow rose tlu? ixatherinfj ijfloom That soon must o'er this calm contentment fall With pois«»n'd breath, the scourge of Western homes, Dread dire Consumption, with its certain close, Had found a victim. Of that happy pair, The youngest soon had found a lasting rest. A single year of painful hope and fear, 32 THE Ol.h SUGAR CAMP. And liectic cIm ck, uimI l>iiL;lit (Mikiinllcil eye, Had left tlic fatal work of Death complete. And in tliat month, and just on such a day As both had often in the past repair'd To the old camp, wliere half in woik and play, Their yearl}^ liappy lioliday was spent, Brothers and sisters to the loved ol'athers All the sad and s(denm strain ; TliOU^h tlic why and whence of heinf', Still )Ut 11'}) >i an( I ivJie nae remain Stands lie by the Caves of Silence, Where the ni(dit-winds como and iro Asking still that awful (juestion, Answerini^r winds, " We do not know Waits he still, in time-liound fetters, Gazing through Ins prison bars ; Callinrj out in helpless pleading To the cold and voiceless stars. Thus adown the cycling ages, Kneels he at some heathen thr(HH\ Hands upraisc;d to JJaal or Moloch, Reaching to the Great Unknown. But the awful // that meets him, Drifting hopeless from the shore ; Into utter, outer (hirkness, If 'tis darkness, evermore I But do not the winojs of morn in if Wait upon the darkest night ? Is tliere not a sun still shining Always on the .shores of light ? 3A EVOlJ'TrON. .Jn(l;4(j Iiiiii kindly, it' ho wiimlt'is From tho lino so })lain to thee. What to some is truth uiKjuestioticci, He may Htrani;ely fail to see. You may stain 1 wliore others left you, He has on and onward trod, Till no chart will show his boarint.^ — Js he farther, then, frotu (lod ? EVOLUTION; OR, THE NEW PHILOSOPHY OF THE UNCONDITIONED. 'TwAS long before our sires were born, While we their babes were sleeping; While this old world was young and warm, She tried her first house -keeping. And Nature — but the time and place, Are matter of opinion — Sat watching somewhere out in space, Where Chaos held dominion. She saw the steamin'.: waves go by. In angry, fretful brewing, And thought she'd like some fish to fry, Or set some chicken stewing. /:n)/.i'ri()\. But then the ]>riinal o;,'<^^ was not, Nor lisli nor fowl to liatch it ; BeHidcH, there wus not tl»en a pot, Nor hook nor line to catch it. So brooding o'er a little hay, Where .some sua slime had «,'athered, She waited, as we wait to-day, For creatures foul or feathered. With patient zeal she kept her place, Through many a spring and suiiiin<.'r, To greet, as herald of the race, The very first new comer. So looking down 'twixt hope find doubt, In fear the hatch was lagging, She saw two little eyes peep out, A little tail a wagging ! It was an ancient polliwog, Had drawn himself together. And got his molecules agog, From out the slime his mothei-. At tirst old Nature; felt a thrill, To see' tilt! creatun^ wri^'de, And let her happy thoughts distil, In soft maternal giggle. But when she turned the thing around, She did not feel contented ; The more she looked, the more she found, It was not what she wanted. .*»7 38 hTO/.C/VOA. Then o'er her face sped frown and pout,- With two electric Hashes, She turned the creature inside out, As hoarders turn their hashes. She cast it on an ehbin^r wave, Out o'er an angiy ocean ; Thus to life's primal genus she gave The poetry of motion. But when at length she dried her tears, She thought perliaps that may he She'd spent too many thousand years In hatching such a baby ! But soon she ceased lier angry pout. And furnished the Acarus.* And showed the biggest thing yet out, The megaleosaurus ! Then o'er the ancient brine was seen Some very fishy creatures, And scaly too, of doubtful mien, But very open features. Some protoplasm lay asleep, And some rough -hewn carmudgeons, And from the seething, souring heap, Came forth a pair of gudgeons. *In a work, Vestiges of (,'reation, supposed to have lieen written by Robert Chambers, some fifty years ago, the theory of spontaneous gtn- eration was said to lie ))roved by certain experiments carried on l)y a Mr. Crosse and afterwards by a Mr. Week.^ from whose re searches " | creature called the Ararv-^ was evolved from certain elicniical mixtures described in the work. i':\-()/.("nox. And other forms came rank and rife, Nautilic and medusic ; Each took a liarpy for a wife, And thus gave birth to music ! At first the brain was but a blob, ( A')nnections, on ngl ionic ; And from the worst and hardest, knob, Came forth the cfreat Teutonic. Then swiftly swimmini>- in the van, Per record sans errata, — Came son^ething ver}^ much like man,- Lamellabranchiata, Then round its shininix groove elate, The .i;lad old world went ringing; One little Indian on a ofate, His boomerang: a-swinofinut small and scraggy fruit, And liigli it Innig: 'twas green to boot — One end was oblate, one acute, And bard as hard could be. But Anie and I, we always found, If north or south on duty bound, The shortest, straigbtest way was round By that old apple tree ! We sought its shade one luckless day, When flowers, found l)loorning by the way, Were leagued witii folly, whisper'd "stay," Though wis loiii said " abstain." We struggled bard, we struggled long, — W''ighed first the dan^rer, last tlie wrong: But pleasure sung her sweetest song, " Wlu) heedetb future pain? " We stood with longing in our look. Till down went diiHK^r, 1)asket, book, And then the limbs we gentlv shook. With circumspection meet. Down came the bait, and if we stole, We reasoned, " Surely on the whole. The guilt was with the wicked i>ole, That brought it to our feet !" 43 Alas ! the farmer saw the loot, And broke the charm with howl ami lioot; 1 fac(Ml the d(;g, — Amo s<>iztMJ the fruit. We lonired to be at school ! 44 ANOTHl'lR OLD APPLE /'PPIC. More welcome learnini^'s thorny way, Than terrors of this judgment day, — More lurid, in a striking wa\', Than master's rod or rule ! Firnt round, the canine fell on top; ^]y -ci vcs were sore, I wished he'd stop ; An^l Amy, too, was like to drop, From fear and dog allied. Success '! 'i.y pain and conscience drown, But /iir'il <• vailed for me renown, When tit( .1 ',hat lield my braces down. Was tou ' 'T^ Amy's side. The struixjxle ended dishabille, I, pain and shame from head to lieel, All one big nerve, its function, feel, And life a solemn thing. 1 stood like Indian warrior dressed, One nether limb, abraiscd, distressed, Hung through the armhole of my vest — My pants were in the ring. Our dinners ? Well, in shoit, were not, Our hearts were sore, our laces liot. Our leputation gone to pot — That apjjle must atone Kor net results, oin- wounded pride, Oui" Imns and eggs in Ituttcr fried. All safe and wai iii the dog's inside — That apple left alone, ANOTHER OLD AP/'LE TREE. Soon Ijite alternatt) stained our lips Of ^reon oiitsidf; and snowy pips, ^I'ill fiiif^^ers brown with acid drips, Had fed us core and stem. Let Mercy weep in Eden's l>ower, If dwellers there knew more the power Of evil, in temptation's hour. Than we, then pray for them. Ame's shoes, I know, were hole.s and rips ; Dark crescents graced her finger tii)s, jBug Love's sweet bow huno; o'er her lit>s, And O ! her eyes were brown. I know to-day the fruit was sour, But ! 'twas Summer's morning hour — And you may too have felt the power Of eyelids drooping down. 45 And vou were there, and life was vounLT, Nor erred in thought, in deed, or tongue ; In stately pride and virtue strong, braver heart than mine 1 But some have prayed while you have slept, O'er sins unspoken, vows unkept, — O'er soul in travail, wailed and we})t ; Some nobler hearts tlum thine ! Go, change thy level liead for gold, Thy hollow heart for mim^s and mould ; Then bring it, pulseless, slimy, cold, A cfift to Mammon's shrine ! 4»; rARTElK Who cares thv ))roth(3r goes unfed ? In sbaiiK.' thy sister luin<^'s Ihi- IuukI ? If tliou art clothed, and wanned, and led, With purple, oil, and wine ! The years depart, their ghosts abide. Like shadows dancino- on the tide. Which waves soon carrv far and v/ide, As leaves of that old ti'ce ! 0, Amy, child, do you still know, This bitter sweet of loni: ajjo ? Or lies the little maiden low, That brijigs those dreatiis to me ? PARTED. All night a wave iiad travelleti o'er the main, And in the morning kiss'd the sunlit shore ; The broken wateis baekwanl roll'd again, To meet or mingle in that wave no more. Through all the cvclinij- a.^'cs yet to be, 'The sever'd atoms o'er the waters ride ; Nor shall they gather e'en on utiborn sea, ^JNeath newlit sun, to mingle with its tide. Nor shall they meet again in morning dew. Nor mists that build the palaces of eloud : Nor painted bow, with all its golden hue, Borne on the bosom of its own dark shroud. PARTED. 47 A lily spread iis pL-tals to the sun, Another morn tho lily was not tiicio ; Its pure life's lesson and its lal)or done, Its soul far Houtini^ on the trend.ling air! Its irathered beautv from the earth and skv, Its warm, sweet perfume, like a maiden's breath. Had met and mingled, vani,-.h'd like a sigli, And pass'd foiever to the reaUns of death. At morn a rose hun*^ deck'd with silver irem, At noon 'twas wither'd, of its (rraee bereft : At eve the fras-'rance lin<^er'd round the stem, Another morn, its place alone was left ! lily fair ! queen of your bright domain, Where poets dream, and youth and beauty meet ; i low quickly gather'd back to death again ! How rudely scatterd all that made you sweet ! bright, sweet rose ! on virgin's bosom worn, F'air emblem of our life's short joy and pnin ; Thy glory fled, why must thy lingering thorn. Like love's dead dreaui and buried hopes remain ? Of all the vanished niglits, must that too, fade? So glad with moon and stai', and summer air ; • And breath of flowers, and nungling light and shade, For lovers sent, two lovers who were there. They sang their hynni of Eden in the grove, They watched the mooid^eams trend >ling through the lenves ; H ■jf 48 IWRTEI). They drcaiiiM theii- dream, their Ha<], sweet dream f-i love ; 'I'liey L^atlieiM only irieni'ry-Iaden slieaves. Two hearts awoke to love's wild pulse of joy, That yet must learn what pain such hearts can Ijear When sire must weep above his slee[)ing boy, And mother lay to rest a dau_<^diter fair. They stood beside two lonely little graves, Without a stone, they knew who slei)t below ; Thev cared so little for what marble saves, But could they only lift the veil and know, — That in that heaven of pearly gate and street, Of pure white robes and saintly s[)irits, there. They too, should yet behold, and kiss, and meet Those warm .young lips, bright eyes, and golden hair They kept this solemn sabbath ot the soul, In silent worship, with their hearts bereft ; Then turned them sadly towards life's western goal With Oh ! so little worth the livinc: left. They wander'd outward to the shoreless main. Love's dream, their youth, and summer's glory lied: With hearts still lingering o'er the sad refrain, Of music dying. Hope, the minstrel, dead ! A pilifrim rested bv a ruin'd tower, Weary he waited in the twilight grey ; All he had loved since youth till this dark hour, The hungry grave had swallow'd as its prey. .1/1' />/.A\/> J 10 ME. Amr the dark darinj]: strucfnrle of war's wild commotion Divide him by death from his dear Island Home I Where love's waking joys early taught him to ponder On visions of greatness seen beaming afar, uVnd hopefully led him, e'en erring, to wander And gather a name 'mid the glories of war. .■)(» J/r ISLAXD llOML Y(;t sini; not to ww, of licli sh'eains fioni vour mountains Of your v.'illcy-i (jl'liaiiioiids or [irarl-ijildud foaiu, For dearoi' to nic are tlio rilis from tlie fountains Tliat flow 'moiiy the liills of my own Island Home ! 'Mong the hills of my home, the land of my fathers, The hirthplace of heroes, untrodden by slave, vVhore Liljerty gems for its coronet gathers, Mong names of tlie mighty, from rolls of the brave; Wliere the rude minstrel's song in its wild rustic numbers| Though to ])alo pedant lore and to science unknown. Awakes in each bosom the soldier that shnuhers — The glory to guard of his dear Island Home I Of the land where the ashes of patriots sleeping, Lie pillarless, left on the fields where they fell, Yet safe rest the names from Oblivion in keeping, That sacred to freedom in memory dwell I And kindle a warm and und^dng devotion In the breasts of her children wherever they roam. Till " the green vales of Scotland " means one with emotioij To eacii wandering son of that dear Island Home ! Where still from her valleys to laelody rising, Sounds far up the mountain the bard's melting strain Where fearless her children, oppression despising. The terror of tyrants unchanging remain. Then sing not to me of rich streams from your fountain^ Of your valleys of diamonds or pearl-gilded foam, When dearer to me are the rills from the mountains That flow thi'ouirh the vales of mv own Island Home fk MOODS OF lU hWS. 51 MOODS or lUMJNS. ,()n1o Calciloiiiaii Society'^ Silser Meilal I'ri/.o I'oom. Awiudod .Jan., lss:».) Wkj.co.mi; fiiio Stratli, and ^dcn, an' touii. Vviw. far an' near, frac Init ;in' lia'; I'm unco' fain as time hrinijs roini' Thisnicht a^ain.to meet ye a', Assembled here at mem'rv's ca', To lirinLT tlie l)V-i;ane days to min', And gather fiae the farawa' The sao, sweet notes o' Auld lanLT ?>Nne. Ye've come in honor o' our hard, Tlie pleuLjhman o' the banks o' Ayr, Wha sani^ love's joys and worth's reward, Amid Ids heritage o' care ; 'Mid a' the dool he had to l>ear, His heart still warmed at nituro's ca'; Wee covvrin mouse an' wounded liai'e, lie was a brithfr to us a'. Wha cares what spot ye ca' yom- hame, Frae north to south o'er Scotland fair ; Ye're loyal brither Scots the same, Your passport this, we ask nae mair. So l)id ye welcome a' to share. In homage to the " soul of sono- '' Wha left in trust to Scotland's cai'o. The lame that must to Time belonir. :)2 MOODS OF IWRNS. Ye're maybe tVae the source o' Dee, Fnio l>()nnie Doori oi- Annandale, Frae Balloclunyie or I .I'aii^ielea, — Frae Yarrow's holms or Lanark vale ; Or maybe ye're frae Grief or Ciail, Frae Aberdeen, or theie awn'; Still kitli or kintra's no tlie hale, Ye ken "A man's a man for a' ". Or ablins ye're frae Carrick side, Frae dank loch Goil or Locher fell, Frae Frith o' Foith or Strath o' ( -lyde, Or frae Gleniffer's dewy dell. If south the Tweed ye've chanced to dwell, Or in the isle o' Tara's ha'. Just keep that slily to yoursel; Ye'U maybe, be a man for a'. Ye're maybe frae the heathery hills, Frae bauld Brae Mar, or Ben ]\Iacdhu ; Sons of the moorlands, locks an' rills, AHifjhIand welcome waits for vou. An' ofin ye're manly, leal an' true, Although our Bard has irn-en awa\ He's left ye lasses fair to loe, Nae matter how your lot may fa'. In his bright roll ye canna want, Ye've Chloris, Maggie, Jean an' May ; An' gin your beef or brose be scant, Ye'll aye at least a haggis hae ; MOO PS OF BC/yWS, 53 Then why to gruesome care gie way, Gin hock or port ye canna prie ; Ve aye can make ae happy day, While ye line still the harley broe. Ye're maybe but a pleughman lad, That whistles lightly owre the lea ; Then tak' your bonnet an' your plaid, Your Nannie's at tlie trystin' tree; An' she is fair an' voung an' free, An' leal to vou through o^ood and ill , By Lugar's sti'eam she waits for ye, Man! you're a monarch, come what will ! But mayl)e ye are auld an' grey. An' doon the brae ye hirple slow ; But mill' ye man ye've had your day • Come biiTi John Anderson my Joe, Your spouse sits at the ingle lowe, An' she is croose and canty still, Wi' blessings on your frosty pow ; llaith John, ye hae na fared sae ill ! If death's siiell wintry blast's blown owre, Love's youth its plighted joys to kill, Your Mary's only gaen before, Yon ling'ring star's abooii ye still. An' roun' Montgommery's castle hill. The flowers o' faith an' hope still liloom, Life's purest joys I'ime caiina fill, — Tis ])ut the dust that seeks the tomb. 54 MOODS or /yd/A\\'6. Aniaii.n the iiiools Death wi-aps our cares, But tlirough that gate we a' luauu gae, The Cotter's hope, the Patriot's i)rayers, Remain to cheer us hy tlie way. But not alone life's o^loannn' urev, For light to giM, we bless our Bard, But Patriot tire, for manhood's day, Oui' foes to meet, our ri^jhts to c^uard ! Then let invasion draw her blade ; She'll find us strike as well as draw, — They're nae a' dead, the Light Brigade ! Ha'e up an' at them Forty Twa ; An' Coldstream Guards u]) an' awa'! — Char<'e Enniskillen an' Scots Grev 1 An' gather Cameron men an' a', Ho up ! an' rally Scots wha hao ! Brave Saxon brithren, while ye boast, O' England's glory, England's gains ; Oh reed ye ever a' it cost. In Celtic fire and Doric brains ! When Scotia pays 'mid strife and pains, The victor's death to honor due ; Then 'mid her tartans' crimson stains, Gives o'er the dear won prize to you. Dear Scotia ! frae this western shore, We look to thee across tlie sea, With faith the stronger, love the more, Because our Bard has sunii* in thee. KriSTIAi TO A PLAulARlST. \Vc know the u^lory yet to V)e, Must iar.> EPISTLE TO A PLAGIARIST. F. Welleslit Porter, — Finn or Frank, Or Fred, or Theophrastus Such ; Pm wae to think 3'our silly prank, Sliould pu' a l)ar ; For who can judge of vice adorned in rutHes, Tyrants in chains, or beauty hid in muffles, Some masquers lavish hot, impassioned kisses, On wither'd hags for sentimental misses ; ipeople of \\w place l>y the ears. After a time tliey were tiiscovered to ! be thorough scoundrels, who over their hot brandy, laughed at the gullahility of their victims ; ran jewchy and other bills, which they never paid ; while one of tlu ui, some time afterwards, was reported to be the hero of a notorious case of lietrayal and desertion, which took I place in one of our Northern Counties. *The famous Taiile Silver escapade, which took place a few years hvgo, and came to light while the princip;il in the affair was posing as |an Evangelist in Toronto, is a case in point. tForty years ago it was thought to be very unclerical to wear a full Ibeard or mustache. 60 TH?: ACE 01' PROGRESS. Some take an heiress witli her |L,njl(l in barter, And spend their future fencinf^ with a tartar. -And to be mistress of the grounds atid cottage, Some take the nursiiinf of a churi in dotMLre. What of it all ? The money's liers of course, Romances sometimes tiiiisli with divurce, 'Neath whose kind sway Misogynists luay bear To take a trip on Matrimony's car. And if they find the iourney lono^ or rouo-h. Take a mild exit at some switching oft'; And when their troubles have ixone out of mind, lienew the pleasure if they feel inclined. O happN' age, when every theme is bright. And every prospect jiromises delight; If little sins should terminate in sorrow, The great escape, and need not fear to-morrow. Rejoice all ye who flourish pregnant purses, Ye hold a passport from the two worlds' curses; Well pleaseil with this, to lose the other loath, And wisely grasping all ye can of both. If now and then a stra<'entleman and scholar, His tastes era veil more and moi-e the nnirhtv dollar. 61 His hei'itiige but yielded scanty sesters, Ti' cultivate ,\[onte Carlo or a mistress ; Vv't was he styled a fascinating fellow, Willi poverty his hell, his heaven duello. Like many other men, or miids, or books, Tlie world knew nofchintj: of lum, save his looks, AihI thoso { Take first a face not Saxon wholly, And eyes like Spanish maids', half melancholy ; 62 rilE Aiili OF PROGRESS. Dark eyebiows arclieil, and a nose (.'iicassian, Teeth almost pesiily, whiskers ahiiost Russian. All this had touched tlie i'.tir, who never spoke, So many liearts were wounded, some were broke. Don, her'dless of tlie misehiet" he niii^ht make, Moved heedless (jn, nor loved for mercy's sake ; Till some assumed he must be sour or c<»ld, And others fancied he was getting old. Alas ! that fact unmasks the best disguise, Don, all the while, was waiting for a prize. So caught, at last, the fortuneduinter's fever, Then passed the iceberg from his mood forever. He left his home, 'twas said for recreation. But wiser heads believed 'twas specuhition. He sailed from Cincinnati in a ship 'J'hat peddled niggers !• r/<(h.Ri-:ss. r,;; On love's briijlit chessboard lio knew all the moves, Of lead or follow, as the fair one proves Self-willed or docile, prone to watch the hook, Or yield uiiwoood, unwon, to smile or look. Don knew each art tliat could .luiu.so or plase, And played each part with subtle grace and ease. He held love's coin, and multiplied its mairic, Used all the ar^Miments in Cupid's logic; He knew tliat Inez was a worthy prize, So used the silent laoi^'uage of his eyes, Which, added to the sweetness of his tongue, Seemed fatal ordnance 'gainst a heart so young. But when that fortress stood Vjy all unshaken, Don felt impatience in his breast awaken, So told his amorata the next day. That on the morrow he must go away ; Business was pressing, then sans fuss or fisiian, " Inez," said he, " I hope you are a Christian." This startled Inez, and his friends would, too, For all believed Don Pedro was a Jew, But when in love, whatever saints say of it, The fair may worship Allah or his prophet. But to our tale. Don Pedro could not go, The prize was worthy, but the work was slow. All subterfuge and idle play must stop, Straight to the point, " Sweet Inez, may t hope." Sweet Inez saw what he would be about. And, half in pity, helped the fellow out, Vet eoolly watching foi- some nobler game, Denied, if ever she had felt a tiame. f ti 04 77/A" ./(//-; Ol' r ROC R hiss. Thin waR tho deatli-blow of Don Podro's bliss, " Love's (Ircani is o'er, and brinies it only this," He said, and laid liis hand upon his heart. " Inez farewell," said, too, with |)iincelv art; And lastly said, when turninir to the river, " Oh, cruel fair, I'lii desolate forever." And so he seemed, for evenin^^ found the Don Howling his disappointment to the moon Beside the Mississi})pi, where he strayed, Wrapt in dark purpose of a Lethal shade. But yet 'tis hard to die without a name, Unloved, forf^otten, melancholy, tame, ^Y hope forsaken, woman e'en unkind. He })Oured his sorrows on the waves and wind, And prayed the stars for pity. So began Don Pedro's dark soliloquy on man. " Thou silvery moon, thou mild attendant star. Whose beams, commingling, travel from afar To light and cheer this busy scene of man — This maze of being without end or plan, For what is man ? W^hat, even in his prime ? A bubble floating on the sea of time, Who, in life's morn, 'mid Hope's bright visions sings, Nor heeds what sorrow from to-morrow springs. But laughs and weeps with every change lie sees. Like hour-lived insects floatino- on the breeze. " Oh, Jupiter, of stern and awful brow, Before whom all the other godlings bow ; Whose throne is highest on Olympus' mount, Ye nymphs that level at Castalia's fount, Thou wilier'*! '>oy, wliose shaft has ])ici-co AicadiMn I'an, Who war and woop nnd dnncc juui sini;" for ninn, Wliy must he Hn*' to discontent ami pain, Why horn to act hut Death's dark scene aj^aiii ? Why cursed with endh;ss hjOidnLf to ho i^reat, jint still the playthinL; of uidx-niliuw- Fate;' And last, Whv Fortune 'jjainst all hi'dier rules Withholds her favors to bestow on fools ? " l t'» think the fogiu i.icu was o'ei', Tiiathiciul tat faces must be seen no more ; 'Twas not liannonious, 'twould ineon^ruous seem, iViiiong lank sliadows of a Pliaraoli's (hv;nn, sorrowed tliat their honest work was done, 'or now the a;^^e of reason had be^^'un. )ut what ! alas ! O must 1 live to see race neglected, so beloved by me ? [iVorse than nei^lected, driven from the stai^a>, likI doomed to bear contumelv with aij'ti. [t shall not be, for still Arcadian Pan Is still a god, and still he cares for man ; lieu see my cot on yonder mountain iflow. i!)Ove the I'abble of the vale below, ^Vhere sun and shade in ])leasinL;' daluance play, iiid streamlets murnnn- to the closinuf day ; pehold my vineyard on its shaggy brow, lIiiI goats that labor in my wooden j)l()w. peliold my wine-press after Noali's motlel. Wine to insjiire, but not contuse the noddle. lit'liold my docks, m}' little mountain ni:nM, lie guardian angel of the peaceful shade, lu'liold mv wealth, mv couch of fraiiTant moss, My home, my all, my ottoman of grass ; ^ly liow unerring, to procure you game — Hi'^se, with my energies, your virtues claim. I'lien come, dear fogies let us dwell together, ^\llat though despised, if dear to one another. ^'oniM lingering i-elics of a by-gone age, LV)!ne to my cottage — 1 will be your page. 00 70 THE ACK OF rRO(}Ri:ss. Pleased will I listen to yoni- midnight song, Of deeds acconiplislied when your hearts were young And gaze npproving at your rising joys, As memory wakes the scenes when ye were boys ; Or fancy paints again your happy lot, 'Mid rustic innocence to-day forgot ; Till once again ye tread youth's sacred groves, Bright with the visions of your vanished loves. Or watch awlnle, awakened thought pursue, Some darker theme to autumn's sombre hue ; Till, 'mid your dreams, involuntary start Tear« o'er some sad bereavement of the heart. O come ! dear fogies in a strano-er's land, Among a race ve cannot under.-tand. Believe me almost sharei- in vour tears, And glad to comfort your declining years. No need to tell how much I leel like you, My little maid feels all your soi-rows too. Come, we shall watch around your dying bed, And smooth your pillow, and atljust 3'our head : And as the spirit leaves each honest breast, Will lay a fogie with his sires at rest; Raise o'er his grave a monumental stone. To be remembered, if by v^ r'one ! 'Twas thus we cared for, thus a fogie died ; We closed his eyes, and laid his faults aside ; Heard all his hopes, and witnessed all his jiain, And knew we would not see his like again 1 (.)h ! brother, have vou ever seen the tears Which mem'ry wrings from out the shroud of years i THE AuK OF /'R()i;RESS. Or li(.-anl tlic notes tliat vibrato o'er the strinLTs, W'lieii second cliildliood to tiist cliildliooJ sinjjjs ? They come so far o'er vanished time and space ; Pass in such flashes o'ei* the aged face, I You feel the world, where each lias but his day, lias just one Spring, one single month of May ; We rule to-day, to-morrow yield our place, — Wo all are fogies, to the comino- race ! '(j)iiie bright improvement on the ear of Time ! " So sunji the bard, and we improve the rhyme, I'lnjoy the blessings his petition sought. And more than love or mei'cy would hive brought. IVngression's tide has to a deluge rose, And from earth's bosom swept her di'eamy foes. ilui'led priests and bigots to a comn^on grave, And buried tvrants 'neath Oblivion's wave ! Hail bi'ight improvement 1 let the nations sing. And some fair tribute to thine altar bring ; Yes, let us sing, 'tis the progressive mood To bow to everything not unde?stood ; To live at ease, as always dreamers do ; If others dream, let us lie dreaming too ; (-'hange as they change, their systems all approve ; 'Slay what they hate, and worship what ihey love ; Hail every Jehu who ascends the car. Believe each Ignus Fatuus is a star ; Declare this light is brighter than the ))ast. And yield divinest honors to the last ; Find each possessing some magician spell, And wait on tiptoe for a miracle ! 71 72 THE A(:E ()/■' PROCh'ESS. Nor wait we long-^ nor over wait in vain, Ten thousand rise our wondering gaze to gain. To-day 'tis (iall, and unto Gail we cleave, To-morrow (Jail and Spurzeini, too, we leave; To-day we follow at the lieels of Combe, Or after Fowler or O'Lerey roam ! Forever seeking what is strange and new, Another name will make the same thing do. ' Pis all jirogression, yet 'tis passing strange, That half our progress is hut love of change : That words alone, if they be obsolete, On placards ])osted ([uaintly I'ound the street, Tinged with some glaring color; green or blue, No matter what, if white Ite not the hue; Will draw toiiother sinm^r, saint, and saire, With all the wisdom of our boasted aw, To list in awe, in silent reverie. To spirit rap})ing and phrenology; ])isclose what nature would have done for man, Had priestly something not opposed the plan ; h\)v now his native impulses are thwarted By Education, and by creeds distorted ; Since still poor l)lindt'd, wonder-lovnng man, Must W(nship sometluiig wliich he cannot scan, And hide the beams of Nature's liofht beneath A bigot's cowl, the sepulchi-e of tiuth, Where Supei'stition rears her gloomy fane. And countless, nameless, endless follies reign ! " Oh woman ! in our hour of eas(i or pain," Won't now apply ; sweet poet, try again — THE AGE OE P ROC R ESS. When pain and anguish gather round the brow. I Revised edition, thus it readeth now ; Oh lawless spirits, hither sent to tease ! Betimes to Hatter, spoil our hours of ease; To make us dream a while of distant joy, Then with a whisper all that bliss destroy. Free from the rigid laws of right and wrong, lln thought, in deed, in feeling and in tongue; JFree to encompass with delusive art, (Their latest victim, and ensnare the heart ; And breathe on him their love and smiles together, trhen leave their trusting dupe and seize another ! {^ncli were the rights to them by Nature left, j\rh()ugh now by bigots of those rights bereft; ^ es, ])lundered foully of what Nature gave, And made of man the drudge, the du})e, the slave ; ]>oomed to forego the lights once all their own, ^nd love and woi"ship but with one alijne.* Some 1 NOr Ie{ ' U' unv Ceiesti; 'Should Ihxil ill And tc Tin-: A(:e oi- i'R()uri:ss. If licrc lies truth or li taat 76 /y//i AUE 01' PROGRESS. Ah ! when our sires wo ild lono-ingly look throii^'h The veil that liid the death-land from their view, Their fruitless efforts ended in despair, And all their wishes in this hopeless prayer : " Tell us ye dead, in pity let us see, What 'tis ye are, and we must shortly l»o ; But 'tis no matter, what the <,a'ave conceals, An hour not distant to us all reveals." Dear Jonathan, how much to thee we owe, *' Debts long uncancelled on thy ledger show ; Our endless catalogue of heavy bills, For love-tales, anodynes, and [)atent pills ; — For wise discoveries, whicli your forests yield. And healin!• ymith, to fall upon your bright effusions, And tind liope revel even in delusions : While the mistaken sutferer (h'eams he sees A l»rio-hter morn in promises like these: Ihi ! lead atHieted ! anew wondrous hook. As medical adviser, or a cook ; The pocket Esculapius for man; Or, every one his own physician. The Guide to Marriap^e ; gentlemen, take heed, Think not of matrimony till you read ! Vliich of the ills and woes of married life ' inne from vour ionoi-ance about a wife ! A hook for ladies, sneeiallv desi<''ned, Wherein the nursery duties are defined hi a fauiiliar, interesting style, With colored illustrations in profile. 78 THE ACE OF /'A'OfrA'ESS. And WDudt'Uts, sliowiriL;' to the latusl date, New swaddlitijr bands adopt(Ml by tlio gftiat, Meant to improve tlie Hguie, liealth and stature, And all accoidini,' to the laws of Nature. () ! stupid ai^v, In uliicli our fathers fh^urished, Kow could they thrive Mniid such