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©Rgg ©f Q 
 
 ©pKemore. 
 
 -F 
 
 av 
 
 w. m. m. 
 
 Autho:t of VACATIOM VERSE. 
 
 •t> 
 
SONGS 
 
 OK A 
 
 SOPHOMORB. 
 
 BY 
 
 W. ML. M. 
 
 Author of VACATION VERSE. 
 
 MONTREAL : 
 
 WITNESS" PRINTING HOUSE. 
 
 1892. 
 
■pS J+TS" 
 
INDEX. 
 
 ToMcGiU ^^"g 
 
 McGill's Benefactors 5 
 
 McGill Forever #..,,... « 
 
 Farewell, McGill I g 
 
 The Boyg in the Gods g 
 
 •• The Wind is Wild on the Mountain Side" .... 10 
 
 Song to the River , H 
 
 The Change •«........ 1 J 
 
 A Voice from the Night 14 
 
 Action ill 
 
 The Living Christ ]q 
 
 Evening I« 
 
 Love . . . iH 
 
 Love Invincible |o 
 
 Love Immortal .10 
 
 Departed Days |a 
 
 The Withered Leaf in Jun 1 20 
 
 A Song-Ray 20 
 
 A Play , 31 
 
 To Napoleon . . , .91 
 
 Youthful Genius 2S 
 
 First Love St 
 
 Spring 21 
 
 Compensation . . 2S 
 
 Outremont 24 
 
 Hotel Dieu 24 
 
TO McCJII.L 
 
 McCJill, thy <,nafi*ful edifices rise 
 
 Continuous and swift upon the si«,Mit, 
 
 Like temples niagieal upreared l»y night, 
 
 Preparing eagerly to greet the eyes 
 
 Of each returning student with surprise 
 And joyfulness ; as when within the light 
 Of fair imagination, wonders hright 
 
 Of copious fantasy his mind descries. 
 
 'Tis Knowledge, the enchantress, who doth raise 
 These structures for a stronghold, castle wall 
 
 And palace court preparing for the days 
 
 When she shall hold this mighty land in thrall, 
 
 And, throned on truth, with wisdom crowned, shall hlaze 
 And reign,— revered, beloved, and served by all. 
 
 McGILL'S BENEFACTORS. 
 McDonald, Molson, Workman, and McGill, 
 
 Smith, Kedpath. and the band whose lesser aid 
 
 Has reared these halls of learning, ye have made 
 A monument more lasting than the hill 
 Whereon they rest. And ye shall blossom still ; 
 
 Your green perennial greatness ne'er shall fade ; 
 
 No clouds of baser memories shall shade, 
 No frosts of harsh ingratitude shall chill. 
 
 Let men erect fine mansions as they will, 
 
 With largess round enrich the church and state, 
 
 But lofty is the function ye fulfil, 
 Who rear, the youth to teach and educate, 
 
 These shrines of Reason and these schools of Skill, 
 Houses of God I—Let none them desecrate ! 
 
9 SOyOfi OF A SOPHOIdOHE. 
 
 McGILL FOKEVKU. 
 
 (Kmd nlnDhmero/th^ MrOiH Artn St,t,U»tH in the Athlttk Cliih Ifoim 
 on the Erfiiimj of Fthrnnry JJuU.) 
 
 Now, Iwys, Hince nil the toasts are drunk, and no one else, 
 I think, 
 
 I brin^r the wine of son<,'— my brand is safe enouj^h to 
 drink ; 
 
 And since you wisli it, boys, I'll hoist my or;<an on the 
 floor 
 
 For Old McGill, for Arts, and for the class of '94. 
 
 It's good to have a run out doors, to«,'etaway from school ; 
 It's good to have a feast like this and feel one's waistcoat 
 full ; 
 
 It's good to look around the Iward and see each other gay ; 
 It's good to have a kind of thing we don't have every day. 
 
 It's good to feel we're students, and it's good to feel we're 
 boys ; 
 
 It's good to crack a funny joke ; it's good to make a noise ; 
 It's good to know we're imri of that— we call it Old McGill' 
 That men may come and men may go, but it goes onward 
 still— 
 
 • ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ « 
 
 Till this fair city at our feet. Mount Royal's girdling pride, 
 So dear to us, so dear to all who've crossed its freshening 
 
 tide, * 
 
 Shall cease to lead our nation's line and aid the march of 
 man, 
 
 To raise the cry of Progress and push forward in the van ; 
 
 Till radiant beauty glides no more among its glittering 
 throng, 
 
 Till lost its charm of eloquence, till hushed its voice of 
 song, 
 
SOXOS OF A SOPIIOMOliE. 7 
 
 Till nil forj^otten are the strains of Rea.lc'.s air.'ctiii^' lute, 
 Till Frechette's fadeless laurel dies and Murray's Muse is 
 mute — 
 
 Our oak in this ^'roat forest shall he the stron«,'est stem, 
 Our pride the i)ri<,'htest jewel in our country's diadem, 
 Yen, hy our shrines of lleason and hy our schools of Skill, 
 Our name shall ring thro' all the earth, the name of our 
 McCiill. 
 
 Ay, till the wrong becomes the right, till falsehood stands 
 
 for truth, 
 Till gone the hallowing grace of age, the generous heart 
 
 of youth, 
 Till love no longer warms the vein nor pity melts the eye, 
 Till righteous rulers fail to rise and patriots fear to die, 
 
 Till native truth and worth and pride, till native glory 
 falls, 
 
 Till happiness deserts our homes and honor shuns our 
 
 halls, 
 Till Canada forgets her goal, her destiny, her God, 
 Till hostile host with armed heel pours havoc on our sod, 
 
 Till baneful darkness veils the sun in time's eternal night 
 True men shall boast with worthy pride to wear the red 
 
 and white, 
 To raise our banner, gather round, and stand, as we have 
 
 stood, 
 In full and hearty fellowship and noble Ijrotherhood. 
 
 While stands Mount Koyal our McGill sliall stand, 
 And while McGill stands, Canada. Our land 
 Shall hither send her best of manhood still 
 To lift herself and lustre Old McGill. 
 
8 
 
 SONGS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 FAREWELL, McGILL ! 
 
 (Read at the Ontduathuj Dinner of the Class of ^92 hy one of it. number.) 
 
 Farewell. McGill !-farewell, time-honored shade, 
 The liaunt of wisdom and the home of worth \ 
 
 Ne'3r shall thy virtue fail, thy glory fade, 
 Ne'er shall thy sons forget their noble birth. 
 
 Farewell, McGill !— farewell, familiar halls. 
 
 Quaint class-rooms, shady pathways, campus green ? 
 
 Mong memory's pictures, those thy name recalls 
 Shall form the fairest and the sweetest scene. 
 
 Farewell, McGill !— and ye who for the soil 
 Of youihful souls, sought out the fount divine. 
 
 And drew clear knowledge through the rocks of toil. 
 And on its face made wisdom's sun to shine ! 
 
 Farewell, McGill !_tlie friends of youth, the best. 
 
 The sharers in our sorrows and our joys, 
 Whose strength has stayed, whose fellowship has blessed '- 
 
 Farewell, our fellows, brothers .'—farewell, boys ! 
 
 Farewell, McGill !— another word recalls 
 
 The mariner e'en as his sail unfurls— 
 Farewell, bright cheerers of our hearts and halls !— 
 
 Farewell, sweet student sisters !_farewell, girls ! 
 
9 
 
 SONGS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 THE BOYS IN THE GODS. 
 Of course, they were noisy and wouldn't keep still, 
 
 And oft interrupted the play 
 With a " What's the matter with Old McGill ?" 
 
 And a deafening " Hip ! hip ! hurrah !" 
 Of course, they were scarcely quite up to the mark. 
 
 But what, in good faith, was the odds ? 
 We knew they were students and out on a lark, 
 
 And we bore with the boys in the gods. ' - 
 
 And the music was . Well, I'll admit that the score 
 
 Wasn't writ for a classical ear. 
 And the words were, " We'll ^ver Get Drunk Any More " 
 
 And " The Son of a Gambolier." 
 But we listened with manly delight to each song, 
 
 And we answered with hearty applauds. 
 For their voices in unison true were and strong 
 
 As the hearts of the boys in the gods. 
 
 And the bald-headed gent with the rim of gray hair, 
 
 Who ought to know better, you'll say. 
 Sank listlessly back with a, sigh in his chair 
 
 And pronounced himself sick of the play. 
 He declared that the opera singing was cracked. 
 
 That the orchestra fellows were frauds, 
 And he growled from beginning to end of the act 
 
 For a song from the boys in the gods. 
 
 They have started once more : they are singing of love. 
 
 The lady looks up with a blush. 
 With her fan folded shut in her lithe-fitting glove 
 
 And her snowy arm still, on the plush. 
 
10 
 
 SONGS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 She listens until they have finished, and then 
 
 With approval unconsciously nods ; 
 And that night in her dreams she heard over ao-ain 
 
 The song of the boys in the gods. 
 
 « THE WIND IS WILD ON THE MOUNTAIN SIDE." 
 " Come, Fellow, come, let us join in their song, 
 Their hearts are so joyous, their voices so strong ; 
 With the swell of the chorus the air seems to reel, 
 And the corridors ring and re-echo the peal." 
 
 " But the wind is wild on the mountain side, 
 And it howls in the roads where the storm- wraiths ride : 
 Join thou the song while the heart-strings are right, 
 But my spirit will sport with the storm to-night." 
 
 " Come, Fellow, come, let your comrades be gay. 
 But the toil of the night is the fame of the day. 
 And potent the passions of youth to assuage 
 Are the song of the poet, the speech of the sage." 
 
 " But the wind is wild on the mountain side. 
 And it howls in the roads where the storm-wraiths ride : 
 Stare thou at thy book by the dim lamplight. 
 But mij spirit will sport with the storm to-night." 
 
 " Come, Fellow, come to the feast we have spread, 
 The viands are fragrant, the goblet is red ; 
 Hark, hark the loud laughter that leaps from the hall. 
 Haste, haste to the banquet, be glad with us all." 
 " But the wind is wild on the mountain side. 
 And it howls in the roads where the storm- wraiths ride : 
 Drain thou the wine-cup while youth is alight, 
 But my spirit will sport with the storm to-night." 
 
SONOS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 11 
 
 " Come, Fellow, come, let us see them once more, 
 The yellow-haired sisters, our sweethearts of yore : 
 Oh ! the smile and the tear and the touch and the kiss ! 
 We will weep and embrace them till weary with bliss." 
 
 " But the wind is wild on the mountain side. 
 And it howls in the roads where the storm-wraiths ride : 
 Meet thou the maiden ere love's early blight, 
 But my spirit will sport with the storm to-night." 
 
 SONG TO THE lilVEE 
 
 (From an Unpublished Play.) 
 
 The sun is warm and bright : 
 
 The sky is blue and fair ; 
 And the boat is fanned by the breezes light ; 
 
 And all that I love is there. 
 
 Yes, all that I love is there — 
 
 Out, out on the waves so free ; 
 With no thought but our mutual love to share. 
 
 As free as the waves are we. 
 
 Merrily sings the keel 
 
 As it cleaves the quivering tide. 
 And the shy waves playfully steal 
 
 And laughingly kiss the side. 
 
 And the zephyr makes sport with her hair, 
 And the sunlight smiles on their glee : 
 
 (0 my Love, but thy face was fair ! 
 And my love was fair to thee.) 
 
12 
 
 SONGS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 And my eyes drink deep of thine ; 
 
 Like the waves of the fervid stream, 
 Greedily lapping the sparkling wine 
 
 Of the sunlight's reddening beam. 
 
 My rapturous passion they lave, 
 As liquid with love they expand, 
 
 Lighting the amethyst gems of the wave 
 As they drop from thy glistening hand. 
 
 River, of rivers the king ! 
 
 Stream, of my country the pride ! 
 Is royalty not in the spring 
 
 That yields thine imperial tide ? 
 
 Thy ripples I oft have caress'd ; 
 
 By thy side I have couched in the fern ; 
 And I thought from the throb of thy breast 
 
 That thou loved'st me well in return. 
 
 And I know that thou loved'st me well ; 
 
 But thy love is the love of a maid : 
 On the sand thou art tossing the shell. 
 
 On thy bosom the blossom is swayed. 
 
 And my boat is brought back to the shore 
 To the tune of thy wantoning flow. 
 
 While thou boldest the keys of the door 
 Th&t leads to the Lethe below. 
 
SONGS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 THE CHANGE. 
 
 My boat is rotting on the shore, 
 My sword rusts in tlie hall, 
 
 The steed that oft De Lorri bore 
 Now stiffens in the stall. 
 
 The timid deer within my park 
 Start not at the hunter's horn, 
 
 The wild goose, careless as the lark 
 That carols in the morn. 
 
 13 
 
 No more within my gay chateau 
 
 With worth and beauty bright, 
 The wheeling dance's dulcet flow 
 
 Leads on the circling night, 
 
 — And wherefore should De Lorri grieve, 
 
 And wherefore nothing heed 
 To launch his boat upon the wave 
 
 Or mount his shining steed ? 
 
 Wherefore within his gay chateau 
 
 Is mirth no longer heard ? 
 Wherefore undaunted bounds the roe, 
 
 And dips the airy bird ? 
 
 — " Wherefore" ? — The grief and pain are his ; 
 
 It is enough for thee 
 To know that such Ue Lorri is 
 
 And such will ever be. 
 
14 
 
 SONOS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 A VOICE FEOM THE NIGHT. 
 The mallet is heavy, the iron is dull, 
 
 And my wrist is tied with a tyrannous ache. 
 Pale Demon of Want, is my cup not full, 
 
 Thy hellish thirst to slake ? 
 
 Clink ! clink ! I hammer and carve ; 
 
 And the tools seem at work in my echoing brain, 
 bleep ! while my wife and my little ones starve, 
 
 And moan with the hunger pain ? 
 
 Clink ! clink ! And it seems to say,— 
 " Will another winter drift in overhead, 
 
 While you work all night and work all day 
 To get them clothing and bread ?" 
 
 Clink ! clink ! I am falling asleep ! 
 
 God, give me strength for a few hours more ' 
 Scrape ! scrape ! Will I manage to keep 
 
 The wolf away from the door ? 
 
 Clink ! clink ! Tardy and slow 
 The rich man's epitaph sinks in the stone. 
 
 A widow's tears in the winter's snow 
 Will easier write my own. 
 
SONOS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 16 
 
 ACTION. 
 
 Let me crowd my days with action, let me breutlie the 
 breath of strife, 
 
 Let me feel my bosom heaving witli the dorious lust of 
 life. 
 
 Not to-night your couch must fold you deep in sleep's 
 Lethean wave, 
 
 Long and still will be your resting in the silence of the 
 grave. 
 
 " Foolish thus to wreck your manhood !" I can hear the 
 sluggard sigh. 
 
 Manhood! 'Tis not such when squandered idly as the 
 moments Hy. 
 
 Better be the panting war-steed, in his one exultant neigh, 
 Than the lifeless raven, croaking through the centuries' 
 decay. 
 
 Who would sleep with fruits of Wisdom dropping ripe upon 
 the ground ? 
 
 Who can sleep while storms are raging ? while his brother 
 lieth bound ? 
 
 Who would sleep when 'tis such pleasure to be arming for 
 the strife. 
 
 And to feel the bosom heaving with the glorious lust of 
 life ? 
 
16 SONOS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 THE LIVING CHRIST. 
 
 Judgment of Pilate, 
 
 Jews that revile at 
 The hanging g(3d-hero, the soul may defy : 
 
 Bust to Death's portal, 
 
 Truth is immortal, 
 The good it is deathless, and Christ cannot die. 
 
 Jesus is living, 
 
 Christ is still living, 
 Christ is an influence, Christ is a life :— 
 
 Love is far better 
 
 Than tyrant and fetter ; 
 Peace, it is sweeter than jarring and strife. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 Let us wait for the shades of the evening, 
 
 When the lights of the Westland passT 
 When they steal with their beams o'er the hills and streams 
 
 And the blades of the golden grass. 
 
 Let us wait for the shades of the evening, 
 
 When the song of the birds is low. 
 As they list to the notes from the secret throats 
 
 Of the music fountain's flow. 
 
 Let us wait for the shades of the evening, 
 
 When the world and its cravings cease'. 
 And the odors arise to the roseate skies 
 
 Of the frankincense of peace. 
 
 Let us wait for the shades of the evening, 
 
 When the visions come down from above 
 And robe the earth in a raptured birth 
 
 With their lingering looks of love. 
 
 wn:*T1M'WX«««iAi 
 
SONOS OF A SOPHOMOHE. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 * Sound me some note in the souls of men 
 
 That only the Insoul lieurs, 
 Some secret of God and the Universe, 
 Some chord from the song of the spheres. 
 
 Let it teach me a song that will circle the earth 
 
 Like a tiash of electric Hame, 
 Tliat will tell all things to the minds of men 
 
 Of the mysteries wlience it came— 
 
 A song that will surge on the hearts of men 
 And Self 'neath its melody smother, 
 
 A song that will open the eyes of each 
 To see by his side a brother— 
 
 A song that will exile the murd'rer of Strife 
 And imprison the monster of Mammon, 
 
 That will exorcise the spectre of Fear 
 And frighten the wolf of Famine— 
 
 A song that will silence the pulsing of pain 
 
 And soothe the sigh of sorrow, 
 A song that will bury the wrong of the past 
 
 And brighten the mask of tlie morrow 
 
 A song men shall sing and sing over again, 
 Entranced with its truth and beauty ; 
 
 For it maketh desire the motive of life 
 And a hollow word of duty.' 
 
 And the snow-flakes rustled down into the street, 
 
 And the passengers shuffled along. 
 And a voice by my side whispered, ' Love me aright, 
 
 And thy life shall be such a song.' 
 
 17 
 
18 
 
 SONGS OF A SOPirOMORE. 
 
 • \ 
 
 LOVE INVINCIBLE. 
 They may tear iny hand from thy soft, soft hand, 
 
 My lip from thy fair, fair cheek, 
 They may rudely threaten me where I stand, 
 
 They may curse me when I speak ; 
 They may bolt and bar, they may guard thee well. 
 
 The blood-hound may sleep in thy hall, 
 But, nor man, nor beast, nor heaven, nor hell. 
 Can hold true love in thrall. 
 
 They may carry thee over the wide, wide sea 
 
 To a far and foreign shore ; 
 But my heart, my Love, will follow thee 
 
 In spite of the ocean's roar. 
 Let her pile her peaked bastions high'r 
 
 And whiten her watery wall ; 
 Nor earth, nor sea, nor storm, nor fire. 
 
 Can hold true love in thrall. 
 
 They may sap thy life with our severed vows. 
 
 Or a love thou canst not share 
 
 His wife, the mistress of his house. 
 
 The mother of his heir. 
 They may bury thee deep in that distant clime 
 
 With strangers to bear thy pall ; 
 But, nor death, nor life, nor place, nor time 
 
 Can hold true love in thrall. 
 
 iS^^nAr-iv .^'M»f:-i«.;i'''' 
 
 ^S?^^-7OTT-."TTI3::jK?T r^-.vr im 
 
SOXOS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 19 
 
 11. 
 
 LOVE IMMOKTAL 
 
 And can it last — the blissful past ? 
 
 Will the future the tale of the past re-tell ? 
 For the fates are cruel, and love is the fuel 
 
 With which they keep burning the fire of hell, 
 If mortals the evergreen fell. 
 
 They will tempt us with cold, the affection withhold, 
 Yea, the love which gives warmth to the life ; 
 
 And in spite of our care, in the blank of despair, 
 They will prompt us to handle the knife. 
 With eternal calamity rife. 
 
 But the spirit of Love will our trouble remove 
 
 If we wait for his star in the gloom ; 
 And we'll kill not the tree that was given to be 
 
 Our shelter on down to the tomb. 
 But preserve it in vigour and bloom. 
 
 DEPAllTED DAYS. 
 
 The woods are bleak and the skies are blue, 
 And the birds fly off and their songs are few. 
 And I'm sitting alone with nothing to do, 
 
 But to think of the days departed, — 
 To think of the days when the love was new, 
 To think of the days when I lived for you, 
 But now they have gone and bade us adieu, 
 
 And left Tie broken-hearted. 
 
90 
 
 SOXOS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 THE WITHEnEI) LEAF IX JUNK 
 
 It cannot Ik^ ; it is not nearly 
 Midanninier yet, my eye deceives : 
 
 I^ut, yes, it is; I see it cleiiiiy— 
 A bit of red among the leaves. 
 
 'Tis so with youtli : her dearest pleasures 
 Her fragrant boughs like green leaves deck • 
 
 But yet among the gi-een she treasures, 
 V* ith equal care, some withered speck. 
 
 A SONG-RAY. 
 With a rich harvest of the sun 
 
 All the long hill is bright ; 
 The skiey Adirondt.ci ^ Mues 
 
 Are dipt in goJilen jighi. 
 
 How spiritlike the little clouds ! 
 
 The sunlight how divine ! 
 The Soul of Beauty is abroad, 
 
 And mingles into mine. 
 
soxas or a sophomohe. 
 
 ck ; 
 
 21 
 
 A PLAY. 
 
 'Tvvas Jacqut's, an old muHician, poor, bereaved 
 Of all those couimoii bl- ssings which iiupau 
 Comfort to life, and hiivinnr Imt his art 
 
 And instrument, to which he fondly cleaved 
 
 And o'er it wept and clung when he believed 
 To lose it, nuikin*,' thus the tear-droj» stan 
 To stern men's eyes, and movin^,' more my heart 
 
 Than scenes which Shakespeare's mightiest self iceiveA 
 
 And oft in reverie has U en renewed 
 
 The touching vision, til I thought it should 
 
 Be held by me worthy to dc indued 
 
 With wreath of song,— what gave me more of g( jd. 
 
 Of human sympathy, and fortitude 
 
 Of high resolve, than twenty sermons could. 
 
 TO NAPOLEON. 
 All hail, Napoleon I Hail, tn nendous name ! 
 
 Star-fronting ruin in the nij. ht of time ! 
 
 A century hath taunted The with crime, 
 History's page is blackened wit i thy shame. 
 A host reviled who never knew the flame 
 
 Which Thee consumed, who (juenched it in the slime 
 
 Of nerveless indolence, though loth to climb, 
 Whom time, result, or recompense could tame. 
 
 But I extol Thee, I will cry thee " hail !" 
 
 For thou did'st trust thv«p]f ♦ * * ivUo<. y^e.... ^.^ 
 Stoops not to resolution's charmed rod ? 
 How little can the powers of earth prevail 
 
 When matched with him whose purpose is his creed. 
 Deeds his sole vows, Desire his only god ! 
 
f ( 
 
 22 
 
 SONGS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 YOUTHFUL GENIUS. 
 The world is all before him : earth expands 
 
 Her splendid harvest fields before his face 
 
 And opes her mines of gold. See !— pow'r and place, 
 Renown and fame have stooped to his commands, 
 The souls of men are plastic in his hands, 
 
 And Love and Beauty covet his embrace. 
 
 He leaps into the future ; time and space 
 Have vanished, and a King of earth he stands. 
 
 Draw not aside the veil that has been spun 
 And blazoned by his worth ere life began ; 
 
 Still let him gaze until his race is run. 
 Still be the Hero, still the more than man, 
 
 Still count the mighty deeds that may be done, 
 And glory in the godlike thought, * I can.' 
 
 FIEST LOVE. 
 
 The spell is broke ; the youthful fancy's gone ; 
 
 Life's morning mist hath lifted, and the sun 
 
 Shines clearly forth at length. Earth hath begun 
 To look more real in the truthful dawn. 
 By broader landscapes, ampler hill and lawn, 
 
 Homeward I ride. The early chase is done. 
 
 Yet who shall say, tho' seems there nothing won. 
 What vigorous strength therefrom hath not been drawn ? 
 
 Our youthful passion is a great forge-fire 
 Wherein the soul is tempered. Uncontrolled, 
 
 The steel is hard and brittle, soon to tire 
 And shatter into fragments. Faint and cold. 
 
 Pliant and soft. But strongly reaching high'r, 
 A brand of might, fit for its sheath of gold. 
 
 1 
 
 ^■-■^ - -.1, -f\.-:. , 
 
SONGS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 23 
 
 place, 
 
 SPKING. 
 
 'Tis sweet for one in city pent, forlorn, 
 And weary with the whirl of human things, 
 To view the smokeless sky, the bubbling springs, 
 
 The lawn which blooming Howerlets adorn. 
 
 And meadow, greening with the shooting corn. 
 To breathe the sweet air where the gray-bird sings 
 'Tis like the bliss renewed betrothal brings. 
 
 Or trembling joyance of a wedding morn. 
 
 'Tis sweet, the early ramble in the wood, 
 Or down the road in careless light-eyed rove, 
 
 The afternoon in gentle solitude. 
 
 With favorite book within the listening grove. 
 
 And Eve ! — sweet maid in meditative mood. 
 With mystic, twilight looks of speechless love. 
 
 jgun 
 
 irawn ? 
 
 1 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 I rose, and idly sauntered to the pane. 
 
 And on the March-bleak mountain bent my look ; 
 
 And standing there a sad review I took 
 Of what the day had done me — * What the gain 
 To Wisdom's treasury?' 'What holds hath Knowledge ta'en?' 
 
 I thought upon the lightly-handled book. 
 
 The erring thought, and felt a stern rebuke : 
 * Alas ! Alas ! the day hath been in vain !' 
 
 But as I gazed upon the upper blue. 
 With many a twining jasper ridge up-ploughed, 
 
 Sudden, up-soaring, swung upon my view 
 A molten, rolling, sunset-laden cloud : 
 
 My spirit stood and caught its glorious hue — 
 * Not lost the day !' it, leaping, cried aloud. 
 
! I 
 
 t 
 
 ! 
 
 j 
 
 24 
 
 SOXOS OF A SOPHOMORE. 
 
 OUTIiEMONT. 
 
 Far stretched the landscape, fair, without a flaw 
 iJown to one silver sheet, some stream or cloJd 
 
 llirough glamorous mists; midway, an engine ploughed 
 
 Acros. the scene with silent-throbbin- awe 
 
 I stood and gazed, absorbed in wliat fsaw 
 Till sweet-breathed Evening waked, the pensive-browed 
 And creepnig from the City, spread her shroud 
 
 Uver the sunlit slopes of Outremont. 
 
 Soon the mild Indian Sunmier will be past 
 November's mists soon flee December's snows • 
 
 The trees may perish and the winter's blast 
 Wreck the tall windmills ; these weak eyes may close • 
 
 But ever will that scene continue fast ' 
 
 Fixed in my soul where richer still it grows. 
 
 HOTEL DIEU. 
 
 What an expanse of radiance floods the view 
 Irom where upon the lieaven's rim it foams 
 In panting clouds of light, to where the homes 
 
 Ut wearied housewives claim their little due ' 
 
 But gaze we where it rests its hallowinc. hue ' 
 Upon yon sainted cross,-once-sovran Rome's 
 Unburied sceptre,-the dun-rusted domes, 
 
 And time-emblazoned walls of Hotel Dieu, 
 
 Within whose antique cloisters contrite nuns 
 In silent sweet tranquility attend 
 The injured and diseased,-youth, beauty, shuns 
 
 Ihe kiss of lover and the clasp of friend 
 For His dear sake. But they too feel this sun's 
 Soft splendour ; and to them it lights the end