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 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
w 
 
 PRII 
 
////f 
 
 SONGS 
 
 OF A 
 
 WANDERER 
 
 BY 
 
 ■ CARROLL RYAN 
 
 OP THE 
 
 100- 
 
 PRINCE OF wales' ROYAL CANADIAN REGIMENT 
 
 * I 
 
 -ooJOjO<^ 
 
 OTTAWA: 
 PRINTED BY G. E. DESBARATS. 
 
 186T. 
 
Lieu 
 
 Entered, according to the Act of the Provincial Parliament, in the year 
 one thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven, by Careoll Ryan, in the 
 Office of the Registrar of the Province of Canada. 
 
 s 
 
 THIS "^ 
 
TO 
 
 LlEUT.-CoLOIVEL Wm. CaMPBELL 
 
 COMMANDINO THE 
 
 100- 
 
 p. W. R. C. REGIMENT 
 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HIS OBLIGED AND 
 HUMBLE SERVANT 
 
 CARROLL RYAN. 
 
/, 
 
 Ten yea: 
 a small vo 
 all the err( 
 and inexp 
 extended n 
 study as I 
 difficulties 
 ing those s 
 fruit. Poe 
 and solace 
 wandering 
 of an adv( 
 found in tl 
 the want ( 
 these poen 
 ing, they 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 H i 
 
 Ten years ago, when I was still a boy, I published 
 a small volume of poems, which contained nearly 
 all the errors incident to such productions of youth 
 and inexperience. Since then I have had more 
 extended means of observation, but not as much for 
 study as I could desire, indeed few can know all the 
 difficulties I have had to contend against in prosecut- 
 ing those studies of which this work, is in part, the 
 fruit. Poetry has ever been to me the chief charm 
 and solace of existence, in all my many and varied 
 wanderings, amid the trials, dangers, and difficulties 
 of an adventurous and unsettled life, I have ever 
 found in this faculty, a resource which has supplied 
 the want of home, friends and fortune. At the time 
 these poems were written I had no idea of publish- 
 ing, they were the natural offspring of a mind 
 
VI 11 
 
 INTROUIJCTOllY NOTi:. 
 
 lii 
 
 tlirowii much upon itself, and tlicy l)car the tingf^s 
 of the moody spirit of hours of sickness, solitude 
 and weariness. They were written merely for the 
 pleasure which their composition imparted; that 
 they contain many and grave errors I have no| 
 douht ; but to those who love the pure and beauti- 
 ful I feel they will not be untastcful; while those I 
 who have labored and suffered may, in these pages. 
 find the impress of thoughts and feelings witli 
 which that labor and suffering has perchance made| 
 them familiar. To the poetical literature of my 
 native Canada I am almost a stranger, for my 
 studies have been with other tongues and people.! 
 And here I would acknowledge the many acts of 
 kindness which I have received from those whose 
 position gave them the opportunity of aiding and 
 encouraging me in this work : First of all I must 
 mention the officer who commands the regiment in 
 which I have the honor to serve ; and I shall ever 
 retain a grateful sense of the encouragement ex- 
 tended to me by Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell while 
 I was still laboring under the almost insurmountl 
 able difficulties of my position. To Color-Sergeantl 
 S. Pamenter I am also deeply obliged for preserving! 
 many of these poems from destruction ; indeed, tol 
 his care in copying from the backs of old letterel 
 and the remains of tattered Guard Reports, I owe! 
 
INTRODUCTOHY NOTK. 
 
 IX 
 
 llui preservation of the entire poem of La Sentinella. 
 
 jTo Mr. Hopkins, the Schoolmaster of the 100th, 
 
 1 would also express my thanks for many acts of 
 
 kindness. And lastly to the many and generous 
 
 subscribers who have so well aid(.»d me in produc- 
 
 jiiig this work in its present form. To my comrades 
 
 [and friends of the " Royal Canadians," from whom 
 
 am about to part, I present this book as a memento 
 
 )f the years we have spent together in harmony and 
 
 joodfellowship. Of the poems themselves contained 
 
 in this book I can say nothing ; but if those who 
 
 read them derive from their perusal one tithe of the 
 
 )leasure I have enjoyed in their composition, I will 
 
 tecl that I have not written in vain. 
 
 G. R. 
 
 Ittawa, C. W., May 20th, 1867. 
 
Y 
 
 If thou ' 
 
 Of OIK 
 
 Whose j 
 Andd 
 
 Yet he v 
 Them 
 
 Who we 
 Thatd 
 
 raonume 
 
SONGS 
 
 OF A 
 
 WANDERER 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 " I measure 
 The world of fancies." 
 
 —Epipsychiriioti . 
 
 If thou wilt listen I will tell a tale 
 
 Of one I clearly loved in former years, 
 Whose joyous heart dark sorrow did assail 
 
 And drowned the smiles of hope in bitter tears ; 
 Yet he was one of those whose work endears 
 
 Them to the memory of after days, 
 Who wed to woe and sorrow, and the fears 
 
 That dwell with poverty, did proudly raise 
 
 monument oi thought too grand for human praise. 
 1* 
 
 1 
 
; II*" 
 
 2 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 A homeless, friendless, wanderer was he, 
 
 Lovmg and loveless, who did consecrate 
 Himself to one great purpose, and to be 
 
 The thing he sought raised him above his fate. 
 He moved among his fellows calm and great — 
 
 The tempest that had swept across his soul 
 Had made him so, but left him desolate ; 
 
 So as his hope had fixed no earthly goal, 
 He lived unmoved by things o'er which men have 
 control. 
 
 But in his softer moments, when the tide 
 
 Of memory would raise emotions strong, 
 His gushing thoughts forth from his soul would | 
 glide 
 In wild, sad numbers of unstudied song. 
 Such was my friend. Alas ! he has for long 
 
 Been laid with those whose sorrows are no more. 
 With those who have endured and conqueretl| 
 wrong ; 
 But I, upon this page, would fain restore 
 To thee and to the world the thoughts of Lionore. 
 
 He lived alone amid the gay and rude. 
 
 And reckless spirits, such as gather here, 
 But oft upon his fancy would obtrude 
 
 A scene remembered long and cherished dearj 
 His childhood's home before him would appear. 
 
 His blue-eyed sisters smiling as of old, 
 Familiar objects, all distinct and clear. 
 
 The treasures of remembrance sw'eet unrolled,! 
 Lit by the light of love which seldom men behold. 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 3 
 
 Who but an exile long condemned to roam 
 
 Can feel the pleasure that there is in this ? — 
 Who but a wanderer afar from home 
 
 Can know these moments retrospective bliss ? — 
 When such are forfeited we deeply miss 
 
 The quiet sanctuary wherein reposed 
 Affections artless as the infant's kiss ; 
 
 When this retreat forever has been closed 
 |.What heart would care to crush the ills to it opposed ? 
 
 Oh ! it is sad to roam this lovely earth 
 
 With pensive thought alone for company, 
 To gaze on scenes of beauty, peace or mirth, 
 
 And yet with them to have no sympathy; 
 To look around and find there is for thee 
 
 No home of quiet, nor a place of rest. 
 Save, should you die, where'er you chance to be, 
 
 Maternal earth would clasp you to her breast 
 In that mysterious state where purer hopes are blest. 
 
 Oh! ye on whom kind fortune's smiles are thrown, 
 
 In sweet possession of the joys of home. 
 Frown not upon the outcast who, alone. 
 
 Must thro' the mazes of the wide w^orld roam ; 
 For him beneath the skies encircling dome 
 
 There may not beat one heart with pulses kind, 
 No anxious eye that Wctits for him to come 
 
 With ready welcome — no congenial mind 
 To guide his vagrant steps so heedlessly inclined ! 
 
 So roamed the great Mieonian bard of old 
 Whose song is writ on times extended wings, 
 
4 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Thro' summer's heat and winter's chill and cold ;— 
 Earth's better sons, and greater than her kings- 
 
 And he whose praise the angel choir sings, 
 Our God and Saviour was as one of those 
 
 To whom all earthly joys were useless things, 
 Who bore alone its sorrows and its woes, 
 And died that we might gain eternity's repose I 
 
 And such a one was Lion ore 
 
 Whose heart with many wounds was sore ; 
 
 But he was calm, and stern, and proud. 
 
 And moved among the passing crowd 
 
 Like one who thought their scheming aims 
 
 As meaningless as schoolboy games. 
 
 His brow was high but bent by care. 
 
 Much suffering was written there, 
 
 And in his eye a fire burned, 
 
 Which none who looked upon but turned 
 
 To gaze again, as if they saw 
 
 A glance compelling fear and awe. 
 
 Yet he was gentle, modest, kind. 
 
 Like one who suffered much in mind, 
 
 Yet cared not to let others know 
 
 Or feel that he had suffered so. 
 
 Like to a lightning blasted tree. 
 
 Which towers storip defying still 
 With withered brow, he seemed to be 
 
 For nought might work him further ill. 
 But in the storm of grief which past 
 Across his life a deadly blast — 
 Such as on Afric's desert plain 
 
 [Come thoi 
 Glad in 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Can once be known but ne'er again, 
 His mind had lost its proper tone, 
 
 Put altered looks on men and things, 
 Thenceforth he never went alone, 
 
 But lived with strange imaginings. 
 And earth and air, and day and night 
 Presented to his raptured sight 
 Things, common minds would never dare 
 To think or dream of being there. 
 His mind was like a broken lute 
 That hangs in dreary silence mute^ 
 Until a passing zephyr's wings 
 Sweep o'er the long neglected strings, 
 Which strangest music wildly sings, 
 Then sinks in silence cold again 
 Or re-awake a wilder strain : 
 
 Till some mad tempest rushing by 
 Snaps the last trembling cord in twain 
 
 And bids the lingering spirit die I 
 
 Thus when at night a sentinel 
 
 He stood upon his lonely post. 
 Strange stories to the stars he'd tell 
 
 And speak to every passing ghost. 
 Thus often have I heard him sing 
 When he believed no living thing 
 Did on his lonely watch intrude 
 To break congenial solitude. 
 
 [Come thou w^ho art wandering over the hill 
 Glad in the mist thou hast borne from the plain, 
 
6 
 
 LA SENTINliLLA. 
 
 Beautiful art thou and dear to me still : — 
 
 Let me not call thee, sweet spirit, in vain ! 
 Didst hear not my voice when I stood by the shore?! 
 
 Didst hear not my song when I rode on the wave ?| 
 Nor heed the wild anguish my soul did outpour. 
 
 When I lay in the shade haunted gloom of the cavo- 
 I wooed thee where man never sought for a bride— j 
 
 In summer's sweet calm, in the shock of the stornij 
 Man, time, change and fortune, all, all, 1 defied — 
 
 Thy absence can all that is lovely deform. 
 Fair were the daughters of earth in my eyes 
 
 In the passionate glow of intemperate youth, 
 But long have I seen through the flimsy disguise 
 
 That covers their folly, their pride and untruth. 
 Yet still there was one, but she ne'er could be mine, 
 
 Thou lookest like her, when the sun's in the wcstj 
 Whose love would be worthy a spirit divine, 
 
 Of women the purest, the loveliest, best. 
 And now thou art all that is left me to love — 
 
 For man must love something if 'tis but a shade- 
 Say art thou a phantom ? Has heaven above 
 
 Sent thee to comfort lost spirits dismayed ? 
 Or dost thou come 
 From where the dumb 
 Unhappy spirits of the dead, 
 Must suffer still 
 For deeds of ill 
 
 Committed ere from earth they fled ? 
 Say, for thou wanderest over the sea. 
 Is there a place where a being like me 
 Gould learn everything of the past to forget, 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 And cease to remember, and cease to regret ? 
 
 jOr hast thou a boon in thy power to give 
 
 Ia heart that desires not even to live ? 
 
 jThou hast not ! and thou art as empty and vain 
 LS other strange shadows that flit through my brain- 
 rhou fleest ! well go — night, solitude, gloom, 
 ire meet for a pathway that leads to the tomb. 
 
 ^ome rouse up my heart, I remember a song 
 sang in my youth when my passions were strong, 
 'o a beautiful maid, but she lieth at rest, 
 aid the gloom of the charnel encircles her breast ; 
 aid the poisonous toad on her forehead of snow 
 Triumphs amid dissolution and woe. 
 .h, proud as thou art, oh 1 beautiful maid. 
 What wilt thou look like when silently laid 
 In the grave, where the worm its vigil will keep, 
 Lnd thou like my love with reptiles will sleep ? 
 \\\l now for the song, I will sing it again, — 
 'he wind, like the maiden, may hear it in vain — 
 ^or now I can laugh in the teeth of despair, 
 have not a hope to give birth to a care. 
 
 I. 
 
 ! lady look from out thy bower 
 
 O'er all this smiling land, 
 Where thousands own a noble's power 
 
 And answer his command. ■ 
 A hundred steeds are in his stalls ; 
 
 His ships are on the sea, 
 While wealth adorns his lordly halls — 
 
 A mighty man is he. 
 
 ^ii 
 
8 
 
 LA 8ENTINELLA. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now send thy tliought like yonder bird 
 
 Far o'er the distant wave, 
 Where'er the songs of love are heard 
 
 Among the good and brave ; 
 O'er all the world thy thonghtmay roam 
 
 Where men are true and free, 
 The battle field, the quiet home, 
 
 A welcome have for me. 
 
 III. 
 
 The noble may have wealth and pride 
 
 A high and titled name. 
 But what is all he has beside 
 
 A poet's living fame ? 
 His might is bounded by those hills. 
 
 Mine like the ocean rolls, 
 A thousand hands work when he wills, 
 
 I sway ten thousand souls. 
 
 IV. 
 
 • 
 
 A faithful heart in him may live 
 
 And all its love be thine, 
 But Oh, the poet's heart can give 
 
 A passion more divine. 
 His love will fade away with years 
 
 And die with death at last. 
 But mine will bloom thro' smiles and tears 
 
 When centuries have past. 
 
LA 8ENTINELLA. 
 
 Thus were my boyish passions shown 
 When feeling sat on reason's throne, 
 But things are changed and so am I, 
 For she is dead — I wish to die. 
 
 9 
 
 Oh earth, thou yieldest many treasures, 
 
 Many joys and many pleasures, 
 
 But thou nothing canst bestow 
 
 Equal to the mad'ning glow 
 
 01" love within a youthful breast — 
 
 Glad, unhappy, hopeless, blest, 
 
 Is the spirit fearing, daring, 
 
 Now enraptured, now despairing. 
 
 What trifles to the soul are dear, 
 
 How short the days to love appeaif. 
 
 How weary do the hours stay 
 
 When from the one beloved away. 
 
 How fearful looks the speaking eye, 
 
 Still seeking — dreading a rejjly. 
 
 And voices strange, and sweet, and low. 
 
 Deep in the heart are whispering. 
 And what they say wc scarcely know — 
 
 No poet could their murmurs sing. 
 Then Oh ! the wild entrancing bliss 
 Felt in the first confessing kiss. 
 Long years of joys we may attain, 
 But nev9r know that joy again. 
 And yet, oh earth ! 'tis not to thee 
 
 Delightful throbs like these belong, 
 Thou dark abode of misery, 
 
10 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Deceit, oppression, grief and wrong. 
 The primal ourse is on thee still, 
 Thy sweetest joys bring wildest ill. 
 
 Hush I do the mouldy dead arise? 
 
 What are those passing forms I see ? 
 How redly glare their hollow eyes ? 
 
 Why do they grin and point at me ? 
 Ah ! I have seen those looks before 
 
 In beauty, greatness, pleasure, pride, 
 You found the masquerade was o'er, 
 
 Poor ghosts, upon the day you died. 
 But go your way — I'll mock ye not. 
 
 I may ere long be such as ye, 
 And that before the sun has got 
 Above the oriental sea. 
 Adown they go 
 In shadows low 
 Among the churchyard glooms, 
 Where gleaming white 
 In dim moonlight 
 I see the marble tombs. 
 Ah ! who can tell 
 The secrets fel'. 
 Of yonder cypress shade. 
 When tolls the bell 
 A passing knell 
 The spirit is dismayed. 
 In awe w^e shrink 
 And will not think 
 Because we are afraid ! 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 One by one, as years went by, 
 I've seen the best beloved die, 
 Until one day the sunlight shone 
 Upon a man who lived alone. 
 I'd heard before of such a man 
 In some wild song, and thus it ran : 
 
 11 
 
 I. 
 
 He who vainly seeks for pleasure, 
 
 Weary of the changeless scene. 
 Broods, as o'er a hidden treasure. 
 
 On the joys that once have been. 
 See him in the noisy city 
 
 Where the slaves of Mammon groan 
 See him smile in scorn or. pity, 
 
 Wandering thro' life alone ! 
 
 IJ. 
 
 See him on the day of battle, 
 
 In the flame enveloped van. 
 Where the deadly engines rattle 
 
 Fourth the cruelty of man. 
 See him tread the field all gory, 
 
 Round him see his victims moan ; 
 See him win the wreath of glory — 
 
 But he still is all alone. 
 
12 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 III. 
 
 See him mid the gay and festive, 
 
 In the light and joyous crowd, 
 Careworn is his brow and restive 
 
 Is his glance so cold and proud. 
 See him leave with footsteps weary 
 
 Fairy forms and music's tone, 
 Sad his spirit is and dreary. 
 
 And his heart is all alone 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 His worn spirit, ever sighing 
 
 For the latest change beneath. 
 Calmly looks beyond when dying, 
 
 Seeking something new in death. 
 Laid at last in peaceful slumber. 
 
 Pain, and grief, and sorrow flown, 
 One among the countless number 
 
 Passed thro' life and died alone 1 
 
 Now sinks the moon behind the western hills, 
 And the cold wind come sweeping o'er the brine, 
 
 While from the distant convent softly thrills 
 Upon the night the weary midnight chime. 
 
 Oh, lonely hour ! to a lonely heart 
 No solitude on earth is equal thine, 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 13 
 
 i 
 
 When every stroke becomes a knell to part 
 Fund love and hope, oh, weary midnight chime I 
 
 To the glad revellers whose joyous souls 
 Chase the dim hours, 'tis a happy time. 
 
 But when to one like me it slowly tolls, 
 An awful spell is in the midnight chime. 
 
 The mother watching by the dying bed 
 Of her loved son, down stricken in his prime. 
 
 Oh 1 what a sound of terror wild and dread 
 To her sad bosom is the midnight chime. 
 
 Voice of eternity, as now you tell 
 
 The end of my lone watch, there'll come a time 
 When thou wilt call another sentinel 
 
 To be my last relief, oh, midnight chime 1 
 
 I sit alone to-night in solitude. 
 Darkness and silence, yet a multitude 
 Of dim and unembodied things 
 Hover round with noiseless wings. 
 They come and go 
 While, to and fro, 
 I hear the sentry pacing, 
 And thro' my brain 
 The antic train 
 Of fantasy is racing. 
 Those goblin forms that float around 
 
 Are things that once had being. 
 But now they share the common ground 
 
1 1 
 
 H I.A SENTINELLA. 
 
 Where you and I are fleeing. 
 Sec yonder phantom grace that sits 
 
 With downcast eyes — hands folded — 
 But round whose l)row a halo flits 
 Of loveliness half moulded. 
 It was not so, 
 Long, long ago, 
 That I beheld her grieving. 
 But well I ween 
 Such things have been 
 As shrouds of our own weaving ! 
 See that pensive shade that lingers 
 
 With eyes so sadly pleading, 
 Tracing with her phantom fingers 
 
 Secrets for my reading. 
 Is she not fair, most strangely fair ? — 
 
 I do believe when souls are pure 
 The outward form doth trulv bear 
 
 Those certain signs that well assure 
 The heart that in this mortal guise 
 A spirit dwells fit for the skies I 
 
 That fairhair'd boy who rushes past, 
 
 With those wild eyes and glances, 
 Hath found the thing he sought at last. — 
 
 Hush I what is this advances ? 
 Depart, depart I Oh, thing accurst ! 
 
 From me this lonely hour ; 
 I have withstood thee at thy worst 
 
 And still defy thy pow'r. 
 There was a time when thou couldst fright 
 
LA 8ENTINEI-LA. 
 
 15 
 
 My soul at thy desire, 
 Bui T have h^arnod how evil spurned 
 Can vanquish phantom ire I 
 
 But here is one — Oh, never more \ 
 Can earth that lovely dream restore — 
 Oh I why wert thou so dear sweet child ? 
 Or why was I so well beguiled 
 For those long years ? But yet methinks. 
 My soul at that pure fountain drinks 
 Fresh draughts of hope that yet may save 
 Something to bear beyond the grave I 
 
 Down thro' the valley of night 
 
 Swiftly those shadows are flying, 
 "While broken and dim on my sight 
 
 As things that are seen by the dying, 
 They pass unto the void abyss. — 
 Upon my brow I feel the kiss, 
 So cold and damp, of the night that dies, 
 While palely in the eastern skies 
 
 The morning star is beaming. 
 Like hope that gladly rises o'er 
 The sullen, sad, and soundless shore 
 
 Whereon I have been dreaming ! 
 
 Ha ! who is this that draweth near ? 
 Whose hurried step seems winged by fear ; 
 He looks behind as one who knows 
 The near approach of deadly foes. 
 Ah 1 now they come upon the hill— 
 
- 
 
 16 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Gigantic shapes of nameless ill — 
 
 I see their forms against the sky, 
 
 Now lost in gloom, but drawing nigh, 
 
 As swiftly down the hill they come 
 
 With mighty strides and breezy hum. 
 
 Still flies the fugitive, bedight 
 
 la gleaming armour, thro' the night ; 
 
 He nears the tower by the shore, 
 
 Where hungry billows ever roar ; 
 
 I see the sentry on the wall 
 
 Walk to and IVo, yet does not call 
 
 Nor challenge him I see approach 
 
 Where none at night may dare encroach ; 
 
 I hear him hail the sentinel, 
 
 I see him ring the tower bell, — 
 
 But deaf to shout, and bell, and blow. 
 
 The sentry saunters to and fro. 
 
 Now with the sound of rushing wind 
 
 The shadows that I saw behind 
 
 Sweep by me dim, and wild, and fleet, 
 
 And with a sound of many feet. 
 
 And words that give my heart a chill 
 
 Repeated in strange tongues " kill 1 " " kill ! " 
 
 Alone — pursued, no aid at hand. 
 
 The fugitive has sought the strand. 
 
 He stands upon a jutting rock 
 
 Above the cold and silent sea. 
 He turns awhile his foes to mock 
 
 Then rushes to eternity. 
 One wild long shriek springs to the sky 
 While far the chasing spectres fly 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Into the gloom, and night again 
 Resumes her interrupted reign. 
 
 17 
 
 Oh ! it is lonely, lonely. 
 
 Oh ! this weary |)ost is lonely, 
 
 And my fitful fancy raves. 
 With the midnight wind now grumbling 
 Thro' those halls to ruin crumbling. 
 While my weary feet are stumbling 
 
 Over graves. 
 
 I am thinking, ever thinking. 
 And my weary soul is sinking 
 
 Further down, until despair 
 With iron arms will seize it, 
 With embraces icy freeze it, 
 Perhaps then death will ease it 
 
 Of its care. 
 
 Ha ! the cloak of night is riven. 
 See, the clouds apart are driven ! — 
 
 What a host of forms are there. 
 I see them now dnscending, 
 Coming swiftly, flitting, blending, 
 Through the cone of night extending 
 
 Wild and fair. 
 
 Misty robes around them flowing, 
 Sweep the hills where they are going 
 Silently upon their way ; 
 
iMMMMtMMMMMMUMMUlMlM 
 
 sgi 
 
 18 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Stars are twinkling and gleaming 
 Thro' their tresses wildly streaming, 
 And their eyes with love are beaming — 
 Stay ! Oh, Stay ! 
 
 Stay and hear me 1 Stay and hear me ! 
 Forms of beauty now so near me — 
 
 Lovely beings of the sky. 
 Take from my soul this sadness, 
 Let me share your looks of gladness — 
 'Twill be either death or madness 
 
 To deny. 
 
 Oh, tell a weary mortal 
 
 If, beyond that golden portal, 
 
 Which is open for your flight. 
 There's reward for virtue slighted. 
 Is their peace for bosoms blighted ? 
 For wandering souls benighted 
 
 Is there light ? 
 
 The night returns — oh, hateful night. 
 
 To rob me of so fair a sight. * * * * 
 
 Among those forms that passed me o'er 
 
 Was one me thinks I saw before. 
 
 Years, years, long weary years ago 
 
 I saw her moving in the glow 
 
 Of youth, with fortune, friends, and fame. 
 
 Sweet Rose, they told me, was her name. 
 
 To her I made an offering 
 
 Of song, such as a boy would sing. 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 19 
 
 Oh, why ! Oh, why ! when joy departs 
 Does memory live to sear our hearts. 
 But for the sake of that far time 
 I'll sing again my boyish rhyme. 
 
 I. 
 
 " I saw thee mid' the great and fair, 
 
 Of all the lovely loveliest. 
 And none who looked upon thee there 
 
 But felt within thy presence blest. 
 And I could only stand afar 
 
 And in thy smiles my heart repose. 
 Or murmer, as unto a star. 
 
 The love I bore for thee, Sweet Rose. 
 
 II. 
 
 .And oft methought, what can I do 
 
 To win a smile from those dear eyes, 
 Of all who won I thought how few 
 
 Were worthy of so bright a prize ; 
 But I would do some glorious deed 
 
 That would my depth of love disclose, 
 Then thou wouldst in the effort read 
 
 The love I bore for thee. Sweet Rose. 
 
 III. 
 
 And still within my heart I hold 
 The memory of that sweet hour, 
 
 As tender hands thro' winter's cold 
 Protect the summer's fragile flow'r. 
 
20 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 It tells of golden moments gone, 
 And promise in the future shows, 
 
 So will I ever think upon 
 The love I bore for thee, Sweet Rose. 
 
 Art thou a spirit beckoning me away- 
 Through the deep cloud-rifts of tempestuous night? | 
 
 Thy brow is pale as that of moonl:^ " , fay 
 When bound with dewy gems and star-beams] 
 white ; 
 
 Thy voice is solemn, yet it is not sad 
 
 But far more pleasing than if it were glad. 
 And dost thou dwell within that ruined tower 
 
 Whose phantom dances in the wave below ? 
 
 Where the pale glances of sweet Dian throw 
 A love-lit halo on thy ivied bower. 
 
 While all surrounding things black gloom doth! 
 overpower. 
 
 Around thy old heart cling, with veiled eyes, 
 
 The slumbering spirit of the hours dead 
 While, as thy voice proclaim their knell, arise 
 
 Others in beauty like their sisters fled. 
 I come I dark spirit, with the ivy crown • 
 Beneath the shadows of thy awful frown 
 
 And wilt thou woo me from sad hearted care, 
 And life to my idealisms give ? 
 Until the torturing spirit that doth live 
 In shadowy glooms with phantoms of despair, 
 Will fly the presence of a bliss they cannot share. 
 
LA SBNTINELLA. 
 
 21 
 
 [a way ! away ! let me forget the thrall 
 
 Of wearisome existence. I behold 
 [hron'd on the summit of a mountain tall, 
 
 Beaming with sapphire, amethyst and gold, 
 lAnd robed in garments whose resplendent dye 
 iThe glory of the sunset clouds outvie, 
 
 A form well known to infant dreams before 
 iThe misery of living did abate 
 {The warm remembrance of a former state — 
 
 Perhaps on some far planetary shore 
 Which rolls in bright perfection onward evermore. 
 
 I Yon ray that bursts between the riven clouds 
 
 Like sweetest visions of remembrance, 
 I When long accumulating time enshrouds 
 
 Most cherished objects from the loving glance ; 
 j Becomes a magic mirror, wherein glide 
 Shades of the mighty who have lived and died, 
 
 And who have cast by works of subtle thought 
 The intellectual glory of their prime 
 Upon the gloom of unrecorded time. 
 
 Great souls who in successive ages wrought 
 A home for liberty and wisdom, fearing nought. 
 
 And thou sweet spirit who didst wander here 
 From thy bright home beyond the morning star, 
 
 Too pure for earth's unhallowed atmosphere 
 And too ethereal for its sinful war, 
 
 I see thee in the region where thou art 
 
 Wrapt in the fair excellence of thy heart. 
 Beaming among the virtuous and wise. 
 
22 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 To thee how heautiful and cold this earth 
 Which bore thee heedless of so great a birth — 
 
 Turn not away thy lightning lighted eyes 
 For therein I behold vast worlds of love arise. 
 
 Pr ' 
 
 For thou wert love itself personified, 
 
 Its spirit was the life that filled thy soul, 
 Pure, mild, and strong, it tyranny defied. 
 
 And spurned the bonds which narrow minds | 
 control. 
 Thy life was one long struggle for the right 
 Against rapacious, hoary, blood-stained might, 
 
 And injury and woe was thine to bear 
 Till death restored thee to thy place among 
 Those spheres whose beauty thou'st so sweetly sung, i 
 
 But now thou sittest throned in sunlight there 
 And round thv brow is twined the wreaths immor 
 
 tals wear. 
 
 * ***** 
 
 When beside the sea 1 wander 
 And with fitful fancy ponder, 
 
 Pacing too and fro. 
 Often with the spray clouds blending 
 I beholds fair forms ascending. 
 
 Bright in beauty's glow ; 
 But one there is to whom I'll sing 
 Mayhap it will her presence bring. 
 
LA «ENTINELLA. 
 
 23 
 
 I. 
 
 There is a sinrit comes to me 
 
 Each day at evening time, 
 When shadows gather on the sea 
 
 And sounds the vesper chime. 
 And sweetly on my troubled mind 
 
 It pours a soothing halm, 
 Then flies my sorrow and I find 
 
 My soul is glad and calm. 
 
 n. 
 
 Then good and happy thoughts arise 
 
 As sinks my load of care, 
 And I behold the loving eyes 
 
 Of spirits pure and fair ; 
 Such as in former days I knew 
 
 And in a dearer land, 
 Ere sorrow o'er my spirit threw 
 
 The shadow of its hand. 
 
 III. 
 
 And oft I hear the whispering 
 
 Of voices in my ear, 
 And often do I hear them sing 
 
 A song none else may hear. 
 Still gentle spirit come to me 
 
 Each day at evening time. 
 When shadows gather on the sea 
 
 And sounds the vesper chime. 
 
24 
 
 LA 9ENTINELLA. 
 
 I first beheld her years ago 
 When by the sea, o'ercome with woe, 
 I flung me down to weep such tears 
 As seldom on this cheek appears. 
 
 And there by the sea 
 
 She came unto me, 
 A spirit with rainbow wings, 
 
 On a billow she rode 
 
 As it inward flowed 
 From the ocean of wonderful things. 
 
 The light of her glance 
 
 Did my spirit entrance 
 As I gazed in the depths of her eyes, 
 
 Where I saw the sweet gleam, 
 
 Like a child in a dream, 
 Of the glories of Paradise. 
 
 In her presence the waves 
 
 Lay stilled in their caves 
 Where they murmured so loudly before, 
 
 And she bared her white breast 
 
 To the breeze of the west 
 As she rose on its breath to the shore. 
 
 " What art thou ! " I cried, 
 When she stood by my side, 
 
 " Some beautiful demon thou art, 
 Who knowing the woe 
 Of my spirit would throw 
 
 A blacker despair in my heart." 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 25 
 
 With wearisome sighs 
 She bent her blue eves 
 • And crossed her pale hands on her breast, 
 " At a higher command 
 I have come from the land 
 Where the souls of the weary find rest. 
 
 " And when thou art torn 
 
 By sorrow and mourn 
 Oh I come to the shore of the sea, 
 
 And I will be there 
 
 To banish despair 
 And give new delight unto thee." 
 
 Since that promise was made 
 
 Thro' sunshine and shade 
 I have past, but I never despair, 
 
 For I seek the dark shore 
 
 Where the wild billows roar 
 And ever the spirit is there. 
 
 Once in my youth to ladies fair 
 
 I sang of love and chivalry. 
 And joyed to see her bright eyes there 
 
 Smile on my song approvingly. 
 And when they asked me where I learned 
 
 The strange wild songs that made them weep. 
 While tears upon my eyelids burned 
 
 I told them thus with passion deep : 
 
 This harp was all my father gave 
 To me before he found a grave 
 
26 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Upon a stranger's land. 
 " My boy/' he said, " the harp you hold 
 Was struck by many minstrels old, 
 And many heroes brave and bold 
 
 With an unfaltering hand. 
 
 Your sires, the chieftains of Idrone, 
 Familiar were with every tone 
 
 Of wassail, love, and fray. 
 Some of its strings are wrought with gold, 
 And some of silver's purest mould, 
 And some of iron, hard and cold, 
 
 And some are torn away. 
 
 If virtue high you wish to sing 
 Then fearless strike the golden string, 
 
 By that it oft was stirred ; 
 And if with love your bosom swell 
 The silver chord will answer well. 
 And strains of deeper fervour tell 
 
 Than ever maiden heard. 
 
 But if of freedom's fight your song 
 Then strike the iron loud and strong, 
 
 Thus oft 'twas heard before 
 The broken strings, once fair and bright, 
 Are like to them who fell in fight 
 When battling for a country's right, 
 
 Their blood could not restore." 
 
 The winds are singing loud 
 In joyous liberty, 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 27 
 
 And gloomy is the cloud 
 That darkens o'er the sea ; 
 
 The moon has hid her face 
 Behind a jealous veil, 
 
 That gathering apace 
 Gomes onward with the gale. 
 
 High throned upon a cliff 
 
 Which hangs above the deep, 
 With shades of night around 
 
 My lonely watch I keep. 
 The shrieking seabirds soar 
 
 Swift by me on the blast, 
 And louder comes the roar 
 
 Of billows breaking fast. 
 
 But colder than the wind 
 
 That sweeps across the sea. 
 And darker than the cloud 
 
 That now o'er shadows me ; 
 And wilder than the cliff, 
 
 And deeper than the wave, 
 More lone than the sea bird. 
 
 And sad as the grave — 
 
 Is the heart when betrayed 
 Where its love was most sure, 
 
 Where its worship was paid. 
 And its love was most pure. 
 
28 
 
 LA SUNTINELLA. 
 
 Its faith and hope are gone, 
 
 Alas 1 for ever fled — 
 It still lives darkly on 
 
 But the pulse of love is dead. 
 
 My post is by the timeworn walls 
 Which hide the gray and ancient halls, 
 Where dwell secure from worldly strife 
 Fair virgins vowed to God for life : 
 Now is their evening chaunt beginning — 
 Listen to the hymn they're singing. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hail Mary I Virgin Queen, 
 On thy aid we're calling ; 
 While through life's gloomy scene. 
 Weary tears are falling. 
 
 Harken unto our pray'r. 
 Virgin most pure and fair. 
 While flying from despair, 
 Joyfully we all sing ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh 1 for us intercede. 
 For thou hast the power ; 
 
 Now in the day of need, 
 In death's dreadful hour. 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Harkeii unto our prayer, 
 Virgin most pure and fair, 
 While flying from despair, 
 Joyfully we all sing ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Chosen of Heaven's King, 
 Unto thee we're laying ; 
 Hear I while we humbly sing. 
 Still on thee relying. 
 
 Harken unto our pray'r. 
 Virgin most pure and fair, 
 While flying from despair, 
 Joyfully we all sing I 
 
 29 
 
 The holy hymn has died away 
 
 Upon the summer air, 
 And they with peace within may stay. 
 
 And I without with care. 
 A man of war it is my doom 
 
 To march thro' blood and woe, 
 For me no tender feelings bloom 
 
 On this wide world below. 
 
 i 
 
 But once I even had a friend. 
 Death only did our friendship end ; 
 Kind was he, and true, and brave. 
 To-night I'll watch beside his grave. 
 
-'-w^ii^a 
 
 30 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 h 
 
 Come hither — hither ye dreamy shades. 
 Who gathered round the couch of my lost Mend| 
 
 And mourn with me, till night in morning fades, 
 For ye did see his panting spirit end. 
 
 That long imprisonment, which oft degrades 
 The coarser essence, but in him did blend 
 
 The Hero's courage, and the Christian's truth, 
 
 Fearless to foes, or pitiful as Ruth. 
 
 II. 
 
 The night wind whispers now, they come 1 theil 
 come ! 
 
 In all their terror and their beauty clad. 
 Gaunt frowning shadows : round the brows of somj 
 
 Are withered wreaths that once were green anij 
 glad. 
 Alluring hopes whose rosy lips are dumb, 
 
 And weary griefs, with downcast looks and sad] 
 And kindly thoughts that raised a pensive sigh. 
 For one who lived so well, compelled to die. 
 
 III. 
 
 They gather round ine o'er this nameless grave. 
 Their drooping tresses veiling their sad eyes. 
 
 And floating fftr and far above me wave, 
 Their airy pinions in the starry skies. 
 
LA SENTINELLA, 
 
 ), my lost Ivon ! if I could but saw 
 
 From out the wreck of thee and them a prize, 
 ?hat in the future of my own sad lot, 
 
 might like thee be loved, like thee forgot. 
 
 IV.. 
 
 Id ! not forgotten I on the scroll of fame 
 Is written what thy fearless arm hath done, 
 
 lut writ in blood ; — alas, the soldier's name 
 Survive th not the glory that he won ! 
 
 lis lot is to endure, and toil and shame. 
 He bears unmurmuring till all is done ; 
 
 fhen others reap the fruit of all his pain, 
 
 Lh ! well — his blood was not shed all in vain. 
 
 31 
 
 ist of an humble, but heroic line, 
 
 Heirs to the service of their native land, 
 Hio did upon the battle field resign 
 [Their lives, defending her with heart and hand. 
 
 le Star of Kmpire did upon them shine, 
 lAsccidii.g -ever at their bold command ; 
 
 it as tiiey perished after each arose 
 ison in vengeance on his father's foes. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I youth stood by his veteran sire's side, 
 [Who told the tale of battle, siege and fray, 
 
 2 
 
32 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 And whose dark cheek, would flush with conscious | 
 pride 
 
 As he recounted every glorious day ; 
 How oft by rapid stream and mountain side, 
 
 He did the hope of despotism slay, 
 Among the hills of fair vnhappy Spain, 
 Till Right and Justice were restored again. 
 
 vn. 
 
 n . 
 
 The boy accepts the heritage a A goes. 
 E'en as his fathers went f • ' npr before, 
 
 His home and friends like toys a* /ay he throws, 
 And treads a hero on a distant shore ; 
 
 And on the land where sullen Sutlej flews 
 He fights and conquers, at Mahrajauore 
 
 Triumphantly upholds his country's cause. 
 
 And by his daring his dark foeme.i awes. 
 
 vni. 
 
 And smiles he brought to many tearful ^yt^. 
 
 And peace to many homes by war :^p?ess. 
 And from the tyrant tore the mean Jitj^;' ' .e, 
 
 And with glad Liberty the bon .sman bival 
 And wheresoe'er his country's flag did rise, 
 
 There did he urge the glorioTis contest, 
 And foremost ever thro' war's mad career. 
 He passed and perished unremembered here. 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 33 
 
 IX. 
 
 lien Russia's despot sent his millions forth, 
 His mean, hereditary, voiceless slaves, 
 
 iike icy torrents loosened in the north 
 That bear destruction on their seething waves, 
 
 'hev onward came — but serfs are little worth 
 Opposed by freemen, and they sank in graves 
 '^hich he, and such as he, did make beside 
 
 'he Alma's ever memorable tide. 
 
 X. 
 
 Lgain at Inkermann he hurled them back, 
 And stood triumphant on the awful field, 
 'hen night o'er carnage hung a shadow black. 
 And headlong ranks in conflict wildly reeled, 
 
 [id scenes of horror that the soul would rack 
 With thoughts of anguish, he did firmly wield 
 
 'he sword of Justice, nor did sheath the blade 
 
 Intil the tyrant shrank aback dismayed. 
 
 XL 
 
 t 
 
 ind many voices told the soldier's praise. 
 He was most noble, valorous, and great, 
 ^hen danger threatened interested ways, 
 But when, superior to toil and fate 
 le rose and made secure their troubled days, 
 j Conveniently they could forget his state, 
 |r mock his dangers and his deadly pain, 
 [s if such things could not recur again. 
 
 2* 
 
 if 
 
 •■u 
 
 ■ E: m 
 
 4 
 
m 
 
 34 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 XII. 
 
 ! 
 
 jiK, ^1 
 
 But 0, my comrade 1 in that happy sphere, 
 Where happily thy spirit doth repose, 
 
 I would not send the sound of ought that here 
 Did crush thy soul with undeserved woes. 
 
 Sleep, sleep, in peace, companion still most dear I 
 But long as life within this bosom glows 
 
 Remembered thou shalt be. When that shall fade,| 
 
 ! let me meet' in death thy gentle shade ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Slow breaks the morning o'er the cold blue sea, 
 But thou wilt wake not with returning day ; 
 
 And vainly does my spirit call on thee. 
 For thou a^t gone from weary life away. 
 
 Ivon ! as thou art now, I fain would be. 
 For earth has got no tie to bid me stay, 
 
 ! why may I not follow thee my friend ? 
 
 I'm sick of life and would it had an end. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And like to yonder solitary star, 
 
 That fades into the day's approaching light, 
 I would that I could perish — fading far 
 
 From earth and sorrow and attendant night ; 
 It cannot be ; a galling chain doth bar 
 
 Me from ascending in so glad a flif.ht, 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 35 
 
 Ldieu, my friend ! ere long I will return 
 [o rest beside thee — not to vainly mourn. 
 
 The sun has set behind the hill, 
 The evening wind is growing chill, 
 And I, to pass away the time, 
 Will sing a half forgotten rhyme. 
 
 I. 
 
 The battle was all over, 
 
 And murky clouds of night 
 Gome quickly up to cover 
 
 The gore encrimsoned height 
 Of Inkermann, where thousands lay 
 
 In death's unwaking sleep. 
 And dogs that tore their reeking prey 
 
 Howled o'er the dismal steep. 
 
 II. 
 
 When Raymond, sorely wounded. 
 
 Laid down his throbbing head 
 To die, while night winds sounded 
 
 Their dirge above the dead. 
 He felt his life go from him 
 
 With every feeble breath. 
 His heart grow cold, his eye grow dim 
 
 Beneath the hand of Death. 
 
36 
 
 LA SfiNTlNELLA. 
 
 r 
 
 HI. 
 
 Oh ! bear, ye Vvinds, before I part 
 
 This fleeting life, he cried, 
 The latest sigh that leaves my heart 
 
 To my forsaken bride. 
 Oh ! tell her as ye pass along 
 
 By Shannon's gentle wave, 
 That Raymond perished in the throng 
 
 Of battle with the brave. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And tell her when, with foes around. 
 
 In ranks of slaughter prest, 
 Hoof-trodden on the gory ground. 
 
 Her memory he blest. 
 And oft beside the watch-light gleam, 
 
 When night dews o'er him wept. 
 He clasped her fondly in his dream, 
 
 And on her bosom slept. 
 
 V. 
 
 And tell her the last pray'r he sighed 
 
 To God's eternal throne. 
 Was for his long forsaken bride 
 
 In Erin left alone. 
 Oh I now have mercy on me God ! 
 
 With feeble voice he cried. 
 As, falling back upon the sod, 
 
 The wounded Soldier died. 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 37 
 
 When last I stood upon this post 
 In retrospective fancies lost, 
 A vision on my spirit beamed 
 And I was happy while I dreamed. 
 
 Dreary was the night and lonely, 
 While the struggling moonbeans only 
 
 Dimly broke the heavy gloom, 
 
 Murky as a cavern tomb, 
 
 Where the noxious fungii bloom : 
 And the night wind whispered sadly 
 Coming from the shore where madly 
 
 Billows broke with hollow boom ; 
 As I paced a lonely sentry, 
 Watchful, though my thoughts intently 
 
 Wandered with unwearied wing 
 Through the green and hilly wildwood,^ 
 Where I spent my happy childhood, 
 Where the voice of nature wild would 
 
 In the groves of maple sing. 
 Telling the forgotten story 
 Of departed might and glory ; 
 
 While commingling shadows bring 
 Many a shade of Huron gory 
 Who had trod that path before me 
 Where the rocks and oaks as hoary 
 
 Bend above the virgin spring. 
 And methought the moon was beam 
 Soothingly and softly beaming — 
 On me, sad and pensive dreaming. 
 
 Of the loving, young, and fair, 
 
 
 ♦■ .n 
 
 
I 
 
 V 
 
 Pi 
 
 38 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Who my ardent thoughts did share 
 
 The last sweet time that I was there. 
 When my Minnie like a blossom 
 Hung her head upon my bosom 
 
 In the shade of that old mountain, 
 
 Close beside the sparkling fountain ; 
 Ere I left her side to wander, 
 And my best affections squander, 
 
 Seeking peace and finding sorrow ! 
 Oh ! those years so long and \v'eary. 
 Passing by so slow and dreary ! 
 
 When will dawn the happy morrow 
 When 1 may lie down to sleep. 
 Never more to wake and weep. 
 Or my lonely watch to keep ? 
 But the waters still were springing, 
 And the whip-poor-will was singing — 
 
 Singing sadly to its mate — 
 When methought from out the lofty 
 Trees, the shade of Minnie softly 
 
 Game and close beside me sate. 
 She was robed in holy grace 
 And her sweet angelic face 
 Had lost every earthly trace ; 
 And her eyes so melancholy 
 Beamed w^ith a light more holy. 
 Sweetly did her smile console me 
 
 As I felt but cannot tell. 
 Long I gazed with throbbing heart. 
 Fearful that she would depart 
 
 And dissolve the happy spell ; 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 When, upon my senses stealing, 
 Game an echo softly pealing, 
 
 From another sentinel, 
 Waking me to life and feeling 
 
 With the watchword « All is well. » 
 
 39 
 
 ''elrome, Night ! in thy shadows and glooms 
 I may cast oir the mask I have worn thro' the day, 
 ind far thro' the mist where the dark mountain 
 
 looms 
 With footsteps unnoted with thought T can stray, 
 
 'oidd it be that the spirit which lives in my breast 
 Ever panting for beauty, and flowing with song, 
 ''as given to curse with a ceaseless unrest 
 The heart which has cherished it fondly and 
 long? 
 
 )h ! would that T might, as I lose in this gloom 
 Every trace of the misery seen in the day, 
 
 i'orget all the world and the past in the tomb. 
 Which seems but a passage from sorrow away. 
 
 Perhaps this dust which I heedlessly tread 
 Was a heart bowed with sorrow akin to my own, 
 
 )r dimpled in smiles for which lovers have bled, 
 Or proud in the eye of a hero has shone. 
 
 pey are gone, and to-morrow will rise and depart, 
 And I, too, will perish and pass from the scene, 
 
40 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 And others will tread on this quiveiing heart, 
 And know not, or reck not what it might have been' 
 
 From those who survive I would ask not a sigh, 
 Nor a tear which the eye of affection might slied,| 
 
 As I'm lost in the gloom of this night I would die 
 As I lived, unbelovedand forgotten when dead ! 
 
 VA 
 
 I roll ] 
 
 Ui)oi 
 And ki 
 
 Who 
 I wouli 
 
 Hour 
 Nor m] 
 
 Forf 
 
 But yesterday I saw a ragged wight 
 
 Looking so happy and so free from care, 
 He sunned himself with such a huge delight, 
 
 And laughed so loud he made the people stare. 
 I envied the poor wretch his frolic glee. 
 
 And watch'd him long to note a hidden pain, 
 But not a lurking trouble could I see, 
 
 Misery in him seemed cast in vain. 
 I wondered at the fellow laughing out 
 
 At his own vagrant fancies loud and long, 
 I asked him why he was so glad, a shout 
 
 He gave, and answered me with this wild song| 
 
 Oh ! I am glad because I have 
 
 No wife, no friends, no home, 
 The winds than me are not more free. 
 
 Where'er I wish to roam. 
 My home is on the wide, wide world, 
 
 Where'er I chance to be, 
 When the sun goes down, o'er waste or town, 
 
 'Tis all the same to me. 
 
 For the 
 
 Thef 
 But nat 
 
 Then 
 I have I 
 
 While 
 And ey 
 
 Look 
 
 I love tl; 
 
 And s 
 I have n 
 
 And s 
 When A 
 
 Thatc 
 And lifts 
 
 Andh 
 
 i greet h 
 And h 
 
 Where s 
 Till he 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 I roll me in my ragged cloak 
 
 Upon my mother earth, 
 And kind I ween that mother's been 
 
 Who cradled me since birth. 
 I would not teach my thoughts to cling 
 
 Round any single place, 
 Nor my heart twine a secret shrine 
 
 For fairest maiden's face ; 
 
 For the brightest scene will alter. 
 
 The fairest face grow old, 
 But nature true, is ever new, 
 
 The more we her behold ! 
 I have no friend, nor care for one 
 
 While winds and waves are free, 
 And eyes of love, in skies above, 
 
 Look smilingly on me. 
 
 I love the jolly rolling world, 
 
 And smile at every thing, 
 I have no wealth but life and health. 
 
 And so I laugh and sing I 
 When Aurora parts the misty veil 
 
 That curtains her golden bed, 
 And lifts her charms from Tithon's arms, 
 
 And her locks o'er the waters s^ )*i fd : 
 
 41 
 
 1 greet her with a joyful song. 
 
 And haste o'er dewy hills, 
 Where skylarks wing their flight and sing, 
 
 Till heaven with melody thrills. 
 
42 
 
 LA aENTINELLA. 
 
 I 11 
 
 At noonday f,'laro I Ho ni(^ down 
 
 In 11 grove wliore th«; stroanilots glide, 
 
 And my sleep tiH)nis with glorions dreams, 
 No mortal dreamed hesulo. 
 
 Lord of that land of drc^ams am T 
 
 Where no vile form ijitrudes, — 
 Spirits of air and light are there 
 
 In conntless multitndes ! 
 Aerial strains of melody. 
 
 They sing my couch around, 
 In my soul they pour the hidden lore 
 
 Of mysteries ijrofound. 
 
 When the evening breeze is whispering 
 
 Like sighs of a lovelorn aid. 
 And the weary car of PL. .s far 
 
 Has sunk in w^estern shade ; 
 By the pensive light of Hesperus 
 
 I wait the rising moon. 
 And winds of night, in gusty flight, 
 
 Ghaunt an unearthly tune. 
 
 Ghosts of the past arise around, 
 
 Wild are the tales they tell. 
 Some darkly glare, and some are fair, 
 
 Beautiful, terrible 1 
 
 Thro' the far vista of departed years, 
 A blotted record written down in tears, 
 I gaze, and many gentle forms arise, 
 
lA SENTINEM.A. 
 
 4i 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 And pass bofon; mo witli avnrtod oyes, 
 And oft among tli(;m linj^ors ono most fair, 
 Sweet child of beai.ty with tho golden hair. 
 I strive to speak, 
 
 My lips are dnmh, 
 My soul is weak, 
 My heart is numb. 
 Arise my soul ! what debars 
 Thy flight with her unto the stars ? 
 They are so calm, so bright, so still, 
 They cannot be abodes of ill. 
 Is there no spell in human lore. 
 That can a dream of love restore ? 
 Is sad i ess 
 The madness 
 That clings to my brain ? 
 Am I dreaming 
 Or seeming 
 Or living in vain ? 
 I hear not, 
 I fear not 
 What others may dread, 
 For lonely, 
 I only 
 May speak with the dead. 
 
 Down the streets where life is loud, 
 Thro' the ever shifting crowd. 
 
 Grinning, 
 
 Spinning, 
 
 Sinning ; 
 
-"i.iffl'iiiMwmi 
 
 44 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Rushing, 
 Crushing, 
 Pushing, 
 Lilie a hoard of devils 
 Loose upon their revels. 
 Men I see and women toiling. 
 Mind, and soul, and body soiling. 
 How speedy 
 And greedy 
 They seek for their prey, 
 
 0, God ! how the needy 
 Must weep by the way. 
 But let them go, I will not look 
 Upon the page of such a book. 
 
 Go, go, to hovels low. 
 
 Where hopeless sorrow pines, 
 See, see, the misery 
 
 That all around you whines. 
 Fear, fear the Judgment near. 
 
 Luxury, silk and gold ; 
 Now, now, upon thy brow 
 
 Lieth a finger cold. 
 Vain, vain, hunger and pain 
 
 Lieth down by your door ; 
 Drive, drive, the thing's alive. 
 
 What right has it to be poor ? 
 Time, time, on its march sublime, 
 
 Stealeth away your breath ; 
 Down, down, where spectres frown, 
 
 Deep in the vale of death. 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 There, there, shall pride despair, 
 
 K. lowing its days are told ; 
 Try, try, if you can buy 
 
 Your terrible Judge with gold I 
 
 ****** 
 
 45 
 
 Lonely I sat in a grove, 
 
 Bright flowers were blooming around me, 
 Odors like breathings of love. 
 
 And dreamy thoughts pensively bound me. 
 Fair forms were passing me near. 
 
 In youth, hope, and loveliness, smiling, 
 Hearts living, and loving, and dear, 
 
 My sorrowful fancy beguiling. 
 Music, the voice of the soul, 
 
 Down the long valley was stealing ; 
 Sounds that did echo and roll. 
 
 Then whisper with exquisite feeling ; 
 Lovers were breathing their vows, 
 
 Hearts loving and loved overflowing, 
 Hope shed a light on their brows 
 
 The gifts of the future bestowing ; 
 But I was alone — alone, 
 
 A friendless, unfortunate stranger, 
 Wandering, silent, unknown, 
 
 In pathways of sorrow and danger. 
 Voices still whispering low. 
 
 In musical murmurs came nearer. 
 Making the thought of my woe 
 
 Heavier, darker, and drearer. 
 Down went the sun in the sea, 
 
46 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 While longer the shadows were growing, 
 A spirit of peace unto me 
 
 Was far in the orient glowing. 
 Weeping, I thought of the day, 
 
 Ere my spirit was thus o'erladen, 
 Over the ocean away 
 
 In the home of a blue-eyed maiden ; 
 I knew she was ther « rest 
 
 Where I might behold her, oh, never ! 
 Dead — oh ! if dead it were best 
 
 Than living and loving to sever ; 
 I thought of the time when I, 
 
 Weary and broken-hearted, 
 Bade her a last good-bye 
 
 The sorrowful day we parted. 
 I lingered long with restless feet 
 Near where we were wont to meet ; 
 As passion ever in me sprung 
 'Twas thus our last farewell I sung : 
 
 Oh ! turn those dear eyes, ere forever we part. 
 That the memory long may remain in my heart. 
 
 And fondly 111 ponder 
 
 On it while I wander, 
 My Mary dear, good-bye ! 
 
 Oh ! let not those tears, in this moment of woe. 
 For one so unworthy thy love, overflow ; 
 Forgive and forget me 
 And cease to regret me. 
 My Mary dear, good-bye ! 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 47 
 
 Hard is the fate that compels me to roam 
 
 So far from thy side, and so far from my home, 
 
 But sorrow shall never, 
 
 Our fond hearts dissever, 
 My Mary dear, good-bye ! 
 
 Oh ! come to my breast for it yet is thy place, 
 Remember that Ihis is our parting embrace ; 
 In joy or in pain love, 
 Well meet ne'er again love. 
 My Mary dear, good-bye. 
 
 Cold is thy hand ar d thy cheek is as pale 
 [As the lily that bov^eth its head to the gale, 
 
 But oh ! let to-morrow 
 
 Not rise on thy sorrow, 
 My Mary dear, good-bye. 
 
 kit should you remember the wanderer lone 
 ]e it as a dream of a thing that has gone, 
 
 Nor let thy bright spirit 
 
 Its sadness inherit, 
 My Mary dear, good-bye. 
 
 kit if there should be, as our teachers have said, 
 land where affection revives in the dead, 
 ! there I will meet thee. 
 And gladly will greet thee, 
 And never say good-bye. 
 
48 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 i i 
 
 A weary sentinel 
 
 I stood alone by the sea 
 Listening to tales the waters ter, 
 Which seemed, as ever they rose and fell, 
 Like human hearts to painfully swell 
 With the weight of their misery. 
 O Sea ! I cried, how cruel thou art, 
 For thou hast devoured a mighty part 
 Of the living and laboring human heart ; 
 And then the sea laughed loud with glee, 
 As it sank away from the shore. 
 When it backward came, it laughed the same, 
 For high on its crest it bore 
 A form floating dark. 
 And silent, and stark, 
 And cast it my feet before. 
 Thro' wreaths of mist 
 
 A light was shed, 
 And moonbeams kist 
 The brow of the dead. 
 , 'Twas a beautiful maid 
 That before me was laid, 
 So wan and so wildly fair, 
 
 Like one who when led 
 To the bridal bed 
 Was killed by a mad despair. 
 The oozy weeds with her tangled hair 
 Floated around her shoulders bare ; 
 And phosphorescent lamps did gleam 
 Aroimd her head with ghastly beam ; 
 A costly robe did her bosom enfold 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 Gleaming with jewels, and gems, and gold, 
 Like the votive shrine of a relic old. 
 I took her hand, it was icy cold. 
 
 And sought to lift her from the sea ; 
 But the waves with angry voice uproUed 
 
 And swept the maiden far from me. 
 And methought the waters of the sea 
 
 Said with a hollow and threatening tone, 
 As she passed thro' night and mystery, 
 
 " The dead of the Sea are its own ! " 
 
 ****** 
 
 49 
 
 To the red field the soldier sped 
 
 Who sang the songs 1 tell ; 
 He there remains among the dead. 
 
 And this was how he fell : 
 Oh ! hallowed he the hero's dust 
 Till God shall come to judge the just. 
 
 'Tis the dead hour of night and calmly the sky 
 Looks down on the mount and the ocean ; 
 
 |But there's one weary form that bends with a sigh 
 O'er the waters in troubled emotion. 
 
 I 
 
 [And he gazes afar on a flickering light 
 That shines on the dark rolling billow, 
 
 |Bat his spirit has flown, thro' the realms of night. 
 To watch by his Mary's pillow. 
 
 II 
 
 And he thinks that he gazes upon her at rest. 
 Whom once he deemed his, and his only ; 
 
50 
 
 LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 That he sees the white shroud and 'he cross on hen 
 breast, 
 And his soul is unhappy and lonely. 
 
 Then he thinks that he hears from the murmurinc 
 deep, 
 
 A voice in sweet melody saying : 
 " Oh ! where art thou gone, while lonely I weep ? 
 
 Too long — oh ! too long thou art staying." 
 
 He stretched forth his arms as the vision arose, 
 She seemed to be pensively weeping ; 
 
 When he heard the loud noises of gathering foes— | 
 The sentinel soldier was sleeping. 
 
 He awoke and beheld, in front of his post. 
 
 The warrior legions advancing ; 
 And, over the head of the dark moving host. 
 
 The bayonets in starlight were glancing. 
 
 Then loudly his voice broke the stillness of night- 
 
 A watchcry of danger and warning. 
 Then flashed the iifle luridly bright, 
 
 Wilh a voice of defiance and scorning. 
 
 Then a thousand wild echoes rang out on the air, 
 Like an avalanche wildly descending. 
 
 But nobly and grandly he perishes there. 
 The post of his honor defending. 
 
LA SENTINELLA. 
 
 51 
 
 Now he rises himself, as the shadows of death 
 O'er his senses are gradually stealing, 
 
 And whispers away his last difficult breath, 
 While a voice on his spirit is pealing : 
 
 " Oh ! where art thou gone while lonely I w^ep ? 
 
 Too long, oh ! too long thou art staying ! " 
 And the warrior sentinel wakes from his sleep 
 
 In a land where there is no betraying. 
 
 
52 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 I 
 
 " My native land ! if thy unworthy child. 
 
 Amid thy mountains and thy forests wide, 
 Doth lift his voice, upon the happy wild, 
 
 To feebly sing the legends of thy pride ; 
 Oh listen ! for with thy young name allied 
 
 Is all of beautiful, grand, great and brave : — 
 Here mighty heroes conquered, lived, and died ; 
 
 For thee the haughty Huron found a grave, 
 And torrents rolled along with gore encrimsoned 
 wave. 
 
 IL 
 
 Thou hast no long array of stately kings. 
 No glowing harp of ancient minstrelsy. 
 
 But dark oblivion o'er thy hist'ry flings 
 The gloom and silence of antiquity ; 
 
 But thou art young and great in liberty. 
 No tyrant foot has ever trod thy dales ; — 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 58 
 
 Then will I proudly dedicate to thee 
 My lowly lay. The infant muse avails 
 The gift of Heav'n to sing thy proud, heroic tales. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then will I make beneath thy maple bowers, ( i ) 
 
 A rustic lute, and tune it to thy name, 
 And wreathe each glowing chord around with 
 flowers. 
 
 Thy minstrel's emblem of thy happy fame ; 
 As warrior bard of old, with fond acclaim. 
 
 Sang to his ladye the sweet song of praise, 
 With voice as fervent I will do the same. 
 
 To thee, my mistress, I address my lays. 
 For thou art beautiful in all thy wildest ways. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oft have I trod thy mountains and thy woods, 
 
 Communing with the spirits of the past. 
 And strayed along thy wildly rapid floods. 
 
 Where leaping torrents in fierce rage were cast. 
 And, as the cataract rushed downward fast, 
 I looked into the deep abyss and thought ; 
 While daringly my spirit thro' the vast 
 And voiceless void, strange secrets madly 
 sought. 
 For I did thirst to know what time hath never 
 taught. 
 
54 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 V. 
 
 nii 
 
 And by the strand of broad Ontario, 
 
 Upon the cUlT where Lela loved to stray, 
 I sit and listen to the water's flow 
 
 In pensive dreamin^^ of a by gone day — 
 A happy time — but gone, alas ! for aye. 
 
 But still the scene of former joy awakes 
 Deep feelings, till my soul is borne away 
 
 On golden wings, o'er mountains, woods, and 
 lakes. 
 Till on my raptured gaze a vision grandly breaks ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 'Twas eve beside St. Lawrence' rapid stream. 
 
 The twilight shades were closing into night, 
 The sleepy owl gave his uncouth scream 
 
 To hail the season of his dark delight, 
 When to the river came a lonely wight (2) 
 
 Sad, worn, and weary, with his fruitless toil, 
 For all that day he urged his eager flight 
 
 To gain a welcome on a kindly soil, 
 But labyrinthine woods did all his efforts foil. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And sinking down beneath a withered oak, 
 
 Whose leafless branches to the winds complain, 
 Disordered visions on his fancy broke, 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 55 
 
 The ofTspring of excitement and of pain ; 
 Nor could his mind for long a thought retain, 
 And lurking fears denied the balm of sleep. 
 So did he watch the weary hours wane, 
 While on his brow the dews of midnight weep. 
 And sounds of strange portent came thro' the forest 
 
 deep. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The autumnal moon, from out the flying clouds. 
 
 Would now and then appear with ghostly hue, 
 Soon lost again amid the fleecy shrouds ; — 
 
 The giant shadows of the forest threw 
 Wild forms that came and sped before his view ; 
 
 From out the woods came many a dismal groan. 
 Whisked by the winds, dry leaves around him flew, 
 
 And eddying by, with deep sepulchral tone. 
 The river rolled beside the paleface sad and lone. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " When will I leave," he cried, " this dismal land. 
 
 Where savage men and frightful monsters roam ? 
 When will I on mv native countrv stand, 
 
 And see my father and my childhood's home ? 
 ! will I ne'er, beneath the humble dome. 
 
 Join in my brother's and my sister's glee ? 
 Oh ! will the hour never, never come, 
 
 When dearest, Lenore, I can fly to thee. 
 And end long years of woe in love and liberty ?" 
 
56 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 ! ♦ 
 
 X. 
 
 The hollow winds with mocking voice replied, 
 
 The moon looked on him with a dull, cold stare, 
 He gazed upon the dreary scene and sighed. 
 " Oh ! would," he cried, " that I had perished 
 where 
 Brave Braddock fell, in battle's scathing glare, (3) 
 
 Nor thus dishonored in the forest cower. 
 Starting at shadows, which my own despair 
 Conjures, as phantoms of my captor's power. 
 Whose hateful camp I fled at midnight's silent 
 hour !" 
 
 XI. 
 
 While thus he murmui'ing lay before him rose 
 
 A giant form bedecked in war's array. 
 He knew the plume and mantle were a foe's, 
 
 He saw it lift the tomahawk to slay ; 
 One moment did his fainting spirit stay 
 
 To breath its latest pray'r, " Thy will be done." 
 Then did the Indian check his aim and say : 
 
 "No — Rasseloonee, w. it t].e rising sun. 
 But only until morn th, of life s'all run !" 
 
 Xll. 
 
 He sternly bade the paleface to arise. 
 But still he stirred not, then he thought him 
 dead. 
 
THE FALL OF OUEHEC. 
 
 57 
 
 Ho knelt beside him, closed his glazing eyes, 
 
 Then raised him in his nervous arms and sped 
 Along a path that by the river led • 
 
 Unto the Indian's secret camping place. 
 Unconcionsly, back to the place he fled, 
 The mighty (;hi(^ftain bore the weak paleface, 
 Wh(3re sqnaws attend to cure him for the Gauntlet 
 race. ( 4 ) 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The morning came, a dull and cloudy morn, 
 
 And gloomy mists hung on the atmosphere, 
 The lonely captive, weary and forlorn, 
 
 Lay on the earth all wretched, sad and drear ; 
 Within the wigwam stood his captor near. 
 
 King of his tribe, a chief of might and state, 
 Of giant form, proud, haughty and austere. 
 
 Who viewed his captive with grim joy elate, 
 I His darkly flashing eyes seemed fires lit by hate. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 To stakes prepared the captive youth was bound, 
 
 The brand was lighted, and the faggots piled, 
 And ruthless savages stood waiting round 
 
 The hopeless Paleface on them calmly smiled. 
 When the proud Chieftain of the northern wild, 
 
 Wahmosatah, unto his people said : 
 « I will that Rasseloonee be mv child, 
 
 For long I've mourned my son, Hiola, dead, 
 
58 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 He's young, and good, and brave, with him I'll 
 share my bread ! » 
 
 XV. 
 
 The chief unbound and took him to his tent, 
 
 And washed his wounds, and gave him rich 
 attire, 
 And food and d^ink, and bade him, kindly meant, 
 
 To look upon him as his chief and sire. 
 For he had saved him from a death by fire. 
 
 And so he travelled to the distant west. 
 And learned their language, as their laws require, 
 
 Assumed their habits, in their manner drest. 
 And, named Hiola, lived much honored and carest. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Three long bright summers passed, the fourth 
 had come. 
 And vernal blossoms crowned the sylvan scene. 
 The wildbird's melody, the insects' hum. 
 
 Rose 'neath the shadow of their native green 
 Where the lone Paleface had a captive been, 
 He trod the war-path with them, chased the 
 deer. 
 Had all their pleasures and their sorrow seen ; 
 But now he knew another strife was near — 
 War with his countrymen, with those to him most 
 dear. 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 59 
 
 XVII. 
 
 « 
 
 Ononthio, he heard the chieftain say, (6) 
 
 Had sent to tell them peace was at an end, 
 And, to Quebec, he soon must haste away, 
 
 To aid his brother and liis trusty friend 
 Where glory's won there must his tribe contend. 
 
 For they were tired of a peaceful life, 
 And longed to hear their warwhoop cries ascend, 
 
 Aniind the raging of the battle strife. 
 Lnd sing the song of war, and draw the idle knife. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Next morn five hundred warriors arose, 
 
 Drest in their warpaint, sang their battle song. 
 Then took the path to where St. Lawrence flows. 
 
 In proud array, formidable and strong ; . 
 And Rasseloonee went with them along, 
 
 No more a captive but a hunter tried. 
 But feeling bitterly the coming wrong, 
 
 For well he knew, that, by St. Lawrence tide, 
 lis countrymen were ranged, in all their ancient 
 pride. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 In sight of high Quebec's beleaguered wall. 
 
 Where Montmorency's headlong waters pour, 
 The Indians made their camp, li.^rd by the fall, 
 
60 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 As night was shading the embattled shore. 
 The watchfires blazed along the lines before, 
 
 Reflected in the river calm and still, 
 From hill to hill the lights extended o'er, 
 From post to post, with voices loud and shrill. 
 The guarding sentinels the watchward cries fulfil. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Loudly the bugles sang the Reveille^ 
 
 As rosy morn from out her eastern bed 
 Far over vale and mount, and restless sea. 
 
 The gentle beaming of her beauty shed. 
 The chieftain his adopted hunter led 
 
 To where the mount o'erlooked the lovely land; 
 A splendid scene before their view was spread, 
 
 Far to the right the fortress, sternly grand. 
 Frowned in defiance proud on the invading band. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Below, the river lay serenely bright. 
 
 The British fleet was anchored on its breast 
 Close to the Isle of Orleans, where the white 
 
 Aligned tents show the invaders rest. 
 Among the trees in vernal beauties drest. 
 
 From either camp arose a busy sound. 
 Preparing for the coming dread contest. 
 
 And martial music oft would rise around, 
 "Where soon conflicting foes would tread the gory| 
 ground. 
 
THE FALL OF QUEnEC. 
 
 61 
 
 XXIT. 
 
 The chieftain viewed the scene with wistful eye, 
 While his proud soul was racked by thoughts 
 of woe ; 
 His heart was lifted by a painful sigh, 
 He pointed to the tented isle below ; 
 And, with a trembling voice, said : « Paleface 
 know 
 I had an only son but he was slain 
 hi battle with thy nation long ago ; 
 I've taken vengeance, but it all was vain 
 |My son ! my son Hiola ! ne'er will live again I » 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The warrior bowed his plumed head to hide 
 
 A tear that coursed adown his swarthy cheek — 
 A father's love had triumphed o'er his pride 
 
 And, for an instant, that stern heart was weak ; 
 Then, turning to the Paleface, thus did speak : 
 
 « Art thou. Paleface, thy father's only son, 
 And dost thou think he lives for thee to seek ? » 
 
 (( My chief I am my father's only one, 
 Liid fondly do I hope his race of life not run 1 » 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The trees around them were in sprincrtide bloom, 
 " I The mighty scene looked grand and wildly fair. 
 
62 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 The south'rn zephyrs, laden with perfume, 
 Stirred the sof b calmness of the dreamy air. 
 
 The Orient assumed a golden glare, 
 Then o'er the mountains came the god of day, 
 
 And robed in beauty crags and boulders bare ; 
 And from the thicket came the wild bird's lav, 
 To greet with joyous song the life bestowing ray. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The chief looked on the Paleface long with sadness,} 
 As o'er him seemed to hang a cloud of gloom, 
 « Rejoice I » he said, « Let thy heart fill willil 
 gladness 
 At the beauty of the scene, to me its bloom 
 Is but as flowers cast upon a tomb — 
 
 To me it is a desert ! Thou art free ! 
 Go to thy people, see thy father soon, 
 That his heart may rejoice when he will see 
 The sun at morning rise, and springtime's bloomimj 
 tree ! » 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ! sweet affection ! thou of heav'nly birth ! 
 
 Whose holy realm is the human heart ; 
 Thy smile can light the darkest path on earth, 
 
 And to the lowest lot a joy impart ; 
 And soothe the spirit writhing 'neath the smart j 
 
 Of blighted hope, or more corroding sorrow, 
 Doth smooth the wrinkled brow with kindly artJ 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBKG. 
 
 63 
 
 And strive, untiring, some new hope to borrow, 
 fho' Death were pointing to Eternity to-morrow ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Blest with thy care, "how happy were my days, 
 
 And bright, and cloudless, in my mountain 
 home, 
 Where, happily, I learned thy gentle ways, 
 
 Ere stormy passions forced me from its dome 
 Upon the world, with altered heart, to roam, 
 
 And, by a hard experience, attain 
 I That evil knowledge, which will ever come 
 
 To those who walk with men upon the plain 
 broad equality, for glory, place or gain ! 
 
 XXVIll. 
 
 |a waif upon this mighty world I've been, 
 Us sympathies and sorrows I have felt, 
 ind mixed in many a wild and stirring scene, 
 In camps and cities with strange men I've 
 
 dwelt. 
 
 )n far off lands in brotherhood I've knelt 
 With strangers, and, at other times, I've known 
 'he hardest heart with gentle feeling melt, 
 For there is something, mayhap but a tone, 
 lich thrills with sympathy, e'en spirits most 
 alone ! 
 
64 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And thou, dear Ivon, wert beside then, 
 
 To share the dreamings of thy waywar 
 friend, — 
 So long we're parted, we may meet again, 
 
 When, haply, we may Friendship's hand extendi 
 And, once again, our hopes and pleasures blend" 
 
 In blest communion, as in days of yore, 
 And, to the future we have pictured, lend 
 
 Those hues of happiness, which erst before 
 We fondly drew from nature's unexhausted store 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Thou wert, — but art thou still my friend ? I dec 
 
 Sometimes that I'm forgotten, and my heart 
 Quails in my bosom, then the gushing stream 
 
 Of treasured recollections soothe the smart, 
 And to my soul their healing balms impart, 
 
 Which, if the world hath taught thee to forg^i 
 Yet never can from my sad soul depart, 
 
 But live, if but as spectres of regret, 
 Which, phantom-like, mind's pleasures gloomi] 
 beset ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And thou unto the wanderer wert ever 
 Present in lone thought, my only friend 
 
 I Long yea 
 
 !And m 
 How mar 
 I Appear 
 I And now. 
 I It is a I 
 I And call 
 In intei 
 passed eac 
 
 Since all 
 
 In my 
 
 With hea 
 
 For, in 
 
 Then he, 
 
 All hap 
 
 Awaken ei 
 
 And de 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 65 
 
 Save the Eternal, for thou hast never 
 Caused one sad pang in bitterness to blend 
 
 With Friendship's hallowed joys, but oft did lend 
 A cheering smile to still my bosom's strife, 
 
 Which oft in conflict rose as if to rend 
 My very heart asunder, and my life 
 
 ''ithout thee were a maze with naught but sorrow 
 rife ! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Long years have passed away since first we met, 
 
 And many changes we have known since then, 
 llovv many memories, to wake regret. 
 
 Appear distinctly to the mind again ! 
 And now, amid strange scenes and stranger men. 
 
 It is a pleasure to remembei"- thee. 
 And call to mind the bygone hours, when. 
 
 In interchange of thought and feeling, we 
 *assed each succeeding day in calm tranquility. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Since all the world, save thou, are false to me. 
 
 In my faint lay, perhaps it is the last, 
 With heartfelt pleasure I remember thee, 
 
 For, in a few short years, all will have x)ast. 
 Then he, the wanderer, who vainly cast 
 
 All happiness away, will be no more 
 Awakened by the trumpet's shrilly blast, 
 
 And death descends upon his heart's fond core- 
 nit thou the Soldier- bard's last legacy restore ? 
 
66 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Wilt thou from dull oblivion snatch his name, 
 
 When the mysterious source of life has fled, 
 And give to those he loved and lost, his fame, 
 
 For only will he be remembered dead. 
 Then the sweet light which sympathy shall sherl 
 
 Upon the page will be more sweet, more dea:| 
 Than Victory's shout, amid the battle red, 
 
 Upon his dying half unconscious ear, 
 Which tells his cause is won, tho' death werej 
 stalking near ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Hark ! what somid now breaks tlie summer still | 
 ness ! 
 What sullen boom is echoed by the hills — 
 Portentous sounds that come with mellowe^l 
 shrillness ? 
 At the harsh warning gentle nature stills, 
 And now the shore the marshaled army fills, 
 Whose arms glance brightly in the noonday| 
 sun ; — 
 Heroic ardor thro' each bosom thrills ; 
 Then loudly thunders the besieging gun, (6) 
 Till, on the trodden beach, the smoke clouds gatliL:| 
 dun. 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 67 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Across the gentle stream are swiftly flung 
 
 The hissing balls upon their deadly course ; 
 Soon as the trumpet the loud signal sung, 
 
 And stern commanders gave with voices hoarse 
 Conflicting mandates to the belted force ; 
 Then flashed the claymores of the Fraser 
 clan, ( 7 ) 
 Like some wild torrent from its mountain source, 
 And master Lovet saw each Scottish man 
 |n pride of plaid and plumu, rush forth to take the 
 van. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Here let us pause to look upon a form (8) 
 
 Whose manly vigor, joined with youthful grace, 
 Stands foremost in war's devastating storm, 
 
 A hero's ardor glowing in his face. 
 Where anxious hope, and stern resolve now trace 
 
 The varied feelings of his noble mind : 
 He upward points unto that mighty place 
 
 Where soon, alas! his bounding heart will fmd 
 [n early doom, and leave a stainless name behind ! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 ^Now, from the ships that on the river ride, 
 The deep mouthed cannon join tumultuous 
 roar. 
 
68 
 
 THE FALL OF OUEBEC. 
 
 And from their sidos ropiilsn the startled tide, 
 And hurl destruction on the leaj^Miered shore. 
 
 Where clouds of smoke han*^*' dark and dimly o"i 
 Oft parted hy the fire of the foe, — 
 
 Now the invaders to their barges pour, 
 And 'cross the interv(Miing waters row. 
 While, over and around, the deadly missiles glo 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Swiftly the barges dash athwart the stream, (9j 
 But ere the first had reached the battle straiicj 
 Red bolts of llarne around them Hash and gleair. 
 As leaping forth they struggle hand to hand, 
 And, breast to breast, contest the gory land. 
 The invaders wildly rush upon their foes, 
 Who movelessly the furious onslaught stand, 
 Tho' oft repulsed, like waves, they sank an:| 
 rose. 
 And, stained with hostile gore, St. Lawrence darkly| 
 flows. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Madly they rush upon the reeking shore, 
 From whence the tide of flame nnceasing poui';| 
 
 And noble hearts sink down for evermore, 
 While the red conflict unabating roars. 
 
 From out the wave the drowning wretch implorej 
 For aid that comes not, and a dark, dull clou(l| 
 
 Hangs gloomily on the embattled shores. 
 
THE FALL OF (jUEBEC. 
 
 (j\) 
 
 And round the carnage wraps a noisome shroud 
 •rom whence the clash of strife arises fierce and loud. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Now the invaders, over heaps of slain, 
 
 Possess the beach, and, with unyielding might 
 Press on, the dear bought success to retain. 
 
 And, thro' increasing havoc, urge the light 
 Upwards and onwards till they scale the height; 
 
 Full manv a home that dav was desolate, 
 And many an eye, once beaming with the light 
 
 Of kindly love, was fixed in stony hate, 
 [ow terrible success bought at p price so great I 
 
 XLIL 
 
 Ah ! many a gentle bosom mourned that day 
 
 For him who was its solace and its pride ; 
 And tearful eyes, and aching hearts did pray 
 
 For manv a nameless one who fell and died 
 Upon that death encumbered river side. 
 
 Proud youth, with aspirations high lor glory, 
 And self-reliant manhood that defied 
 
 Life's numerous ills, and the veteran hoary, 
 llike were levelled by the hand of havoc gory. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 clouilBThe gleaming bayonets meet in deadly strife 
 And tomahawk and claymore clash on high, 
 
70 
 
 THE FALL OF yt'EIJEf:. 
 
 While hideous noises dismally are rife, 
 
 The shrieking hup:lo and the wild war cry- 
 While angry focnien grapple as they die. 
 
 But all their daunth»ss valor was in vain, (10| 
 Again repulsed, retiring, they 11 y. 
 And cleave the stream, their l)arges to regain, 
 While long triumphant cheers arise with prouj 
 acclaim. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 The sun has set in gloom, and all is o'er — 
 The sated fiend has sunk his gory head, 
 As night's hlack shadow falls upon the shore 
 Where thousands had, that morning, fought aD;| 
 bled, 
 And livid, rot in hecatombs of dead. 
 
 The watchful sentry, on his beat alone. 
 
 Turns, with a shudder, from the place of dreac| 
 
 From wdience he hears tlie harsh and sick'niu; 
 
 tone. 
 
 Of gorging wolves that strip the lacerated bone. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 When bright Aurora, from the orient, 
 In rosy beauty, smiled on vale and hill, 
 
 On Orleans isle was seen nor guard, nor tent, i 
 But all around was undisturbed and still ; 
 
 There no loud trumpet gave its warning shrill, 
 But wild birds carol where invaders lay ; 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 71 
 
 And sproadin*jf sails the morning' zopliyrs fill. 
 WollV, with his army, (^ro llio dawn of day, 
 L'pou tlio soullfrii sh()n\ had nian^hod for miles 
 awav. 
 
 And, when tht; shades of night fell dark and deep 
 
 Upon Canadian woods, no clamor brolve 
 The silence that enwrapt the monntain sleep, 
 
 When the invaders from their slumber woke ; 
 And stealthily, beneath the gloomy cloak 
 
 Of night, the host embarks npon the stream. 
 While mulTled oars, with long and steady stroke, 
 Urge them along to where the watchlights 
 gleam, 
 'ar thro' the ambient gloom with red, directing 
 beam. 
 
 XLvir. 
 
 Along, beneath the woody shore, they move 
 
 hi silent darkness, on the ontward tide. 
 The gloomy cedars on the clifls above 
 
 Cast their deep shadows o'er them as they glide. 
 Now, as their oars the sleeping waves divide. 
 
 The sentrv's voice breaks on the silent night, 
 Awaking echoes from the mountain side ; 
 
 In low reply, the foremost answer right, 
 bd, passing on their way, pursue their rapid flight. 
 
72 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEIJEG. 
 
 XLVTTT. 
 
 Soon on tho shore tlio marsli'ilrd squndronsstniKl, 
 
 And lii.uli al)()ve them looms the fortress proii; 
 In awful siliMice, llnvat'uing, stern, and grand; 
 
 Around its bat'ries hung tlie grayisli cloud 
 Of morning. Then the trnmpet sonnded loud, 
 
 From guard to guard, along the leagnred \va!!' 
 While the invaders up the monntain crowd, 
 
 And form their ranks to their commander's call, 
 Presenting there a front that nothing could appal. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Filled was the city then with strange alarms, 
 
 Where wild anxiety and noise abound, 
 While hurriedly was heard the call to arms, 
 
 And lo 1 artillery with startling sound 
 Game from the ramparts of the city round. 
 
 On Ab'ram's plains did hostile banners wave, 
 Where wheeling columns shook the battle groniiili 
 
 And to the field rushed forth the anxious bravf 
 To perish on its sod, their glorious post to save. 
 
 L 
 
 «♦" 
 
 All was confusion in the city then. 
 
 When the dull mists of morning rolled away,. 
 And the quick tramp of armed and warlike meii| 
 
 Was heai'd advancing to the battle fray, 
 
THK TAI-L OF Ol'^'^KC 
 
 7;{ 
 
 To slake thoir all upon that fatal day. 
 
 Tiio serried ranks with thundrM'iiig step advance, 
 In all the i^orLreousness oi" war's array, 
 Thoir nodding plumes and bright appointments 
 glance 
 |A thousand dazzling rays froi;; l)ayonct, sword, and 
 lance. 
 
 LI. 
 
 The drums beat to tlie cliarge, and with a cheer 
 
 Of eagerness for victory, they cry — 
 As on a smnmer's day, when skies are clear. 
 
 Two dark opposing clouds appear on high, 
 And bolts of lightnhig red rush wildly by, 
 
 With forked tongues, athwart the interspace ; 
 Thus drew the armies to each otluu' nigh, 
 
 Wide sheets of lire wrapping either face, 
 AVliich soon the lovelv scene with miserv debase. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Old W.aLmosatah, in the pride of years. 
 
 And mad for vengeance, rushed unto the field ; 
 He calls upon Hiola, as he rears 
 
 Ilis dauntless crest, that knows not how to yield : 
 As at each blow another foeman reeled, 
 
 He'd shake his crimson club aloft, and rush 
 To where the strife more terribly revealed. 
 
 By constant charge, the battle's wildest crush, 
 Vith madness in his eye, that beamed with ardor's 
 flusli. 
 
/4 
 
 THE FALL OF OUEBEC. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 His was the valor of a savage soul 
 
 That knew no merely and feared not to die, 
 Unheeding what the future might unroll 
 
 Of that dark vale wherein his fathers lie. 
 Around he saw two HTant races vie 
 
 For sovereignty o'er wilds that owned him cliie' 
 Still did he fight, nor pause to question why,— 
 
 Revenge he sought to ease his bitter grief, 
 And battle's dread alarms to him were a relief. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Little he recked for whom the fight was won— 
 
 A minion where his sires reigned as kings- 
 He felt dishonored — an unworthy son 
 
 To claim a source from such heroic springs. 
 Stript of his rights — deserted by the things 
 
 Which e'en the savage learns to love and prize: 
 As if he courted death, he madly flings 
 
 Himself upon the foeman he defies ; 
 For what men fear or shun he knew but to despise! 
 
 LV. 
 
 A strange wild people, they have passed away, 
 Like their native forests, from this lovely laiii:| 
 
 Nor left a trace of their extensive sway ; 
 No monument of bold barbaric hand 
 
THK I ALL OF QUEBEC. 75 
 
 Raised to pcrpetiia-te a stern command. 
 
 "Tis lost — all save the tale of what they were, 
 Proud, ind(!pondent, fearless, free and grand, 
 
 They lorded o'er the forest, and confer 
 [On it a fearful gloom that coldest bosoms stir. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 la Yonth Fve listened by the hunter's knee 
 
 With tearful eyes and bosom all a-glow 
 To tales of border war aad cruelty, 
 
 Of long captivity thro' years of woe, 
 The lurking vengeance of a cruel foe. 
 
 Who spared not smiling youth nor helpless age, 
 The fortitude that never would forego 
 
 The independence of its heritage, 
 [With virtue stern and high, and wild heroic rage. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Such they were once, but now how sadly changed 
 
 The might and power of the Indian race 
 Since when, with natural liberty they ranored 
 
 The boundless forest, ere the mean paleface 
 Game with vile treachery, and cunning base 
 
 To blot their glory and usurp their right. 
 Pollute their waters, and their lands disgrace, 
 
 And in return give spiritual light 
 [For all they robbed them of, in covetous despite. 
 

 THE FALL OF QUEnEC. 
 
 LVIIl. 
 
 Dark clouds hang gloomy o'er the trodden plain 
 
 Where the dread conflict unahating roars, 
 The verdant sod receives a darker stain 
 
 From riven l)reasts whose vital pulse outpours,| 
 In vain for aid. the wounded wretch implores, 
 
 The bloody hand withheld the boon of death. 
 Now far, now near, the demon tempest lowrs, 
 
 Then o'er him whirls the fiery, scorching breath, ] 
 And by conflicting ranks, he's trod unseen beneath. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Now Wolfe beholds his daring ranks repelled, 
 But, in their front, he leads them on anew, 
 Their swerveless line, unyieldingly they held, 
 
 Tumultuously the foe upon them flew ; 
 While to withstand the thundering onslaught, 
 
 drew 
 Invading ranks across their headlong way ; 
 Thev meet — the awful shock thrills through ami| 
 
 through 
 
 The pressing mass, they struggle, reel and sway,! 
 While many a heap of slain is piled amid the fray 
 
 l.X. 
 
 See yonder phmie that dances o'er the fray 
 And where the fight is thickest there it Hows] 
 
THE FALL OF QUEDEC. 
 
 77 
 
 Around it see the dripping sabres play — 
 The war increases wheresoe'er it goes. 
 It is Montcalm, whose warlike ardor grows 
 More desperate, as his ranks are backwc^rds 
 driven. 
 As danger sprung his valor did oppose 
 
 To it a force whose energy was given 
 Into the cause for which his countrvmen had striven 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Onward he came, most eager to engage, 
 
 And backwards drive the strange invading host, 
 And, sword to sword, decide his valiant rage 
 
 Or die defending his unconquered post. 
 Still battle's tide rolled on till he almost 
 
 Had gained his object, and full oft he led 
 Those to the charge, wdio, doubting, might have 
 lost; 
 
 While the wild carnage of the battle spread, 
 Upon the reeking plain, more terrible and red. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 The sun shone brightly on the forest land. 
 But that plain saw^ it not; — the purple cloud 
 
 Of carnage Avrapt the scene, with jealous hand, 
 Where men wd.iose legacy was hate unbowed 
 
 Fought desperately for yonder fortress proud ; 
 Upon whose walls did anxious bosom's beat 
 
 III wild anxiety, as strife grew loud — 
 
i8 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 They thought of loved ones tliey might never] 
 meet, 
 Or pictured the dread chanre of tei-rible defeat. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 More fierce and wild the strife increases now, 
 
 For desperation nerves each soldier's bn^asl; 
 And the warm blood encrimsons many a brow 
 
 Fixed in a dying frown of hate unblest. 
 On I on to death ! the trumpet's shrill behest 
 
 Claims the last sacrifice that vou can make !- 
 Defeat ! captivity ! — no, it were best 
 
 Fall where ye are, for home and honor's sake 
 ThaPi those proud v/alls before a conqueror should 
 shake ! 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 In vain ! in vain onslaught and charge succeed, 
 
 Rank after rank in terrible array 
 Sweeps o'er the plain with unabated speed — 
 
 No valor could withstand that awful day. 
 
 u 
 
 Borne down to earth old Wahmosatah lay 
 
 Yielding his life through many an open wound, 
 Oft torn by iron heels amid the fray, 
 His failing senses caught each fearful sound 
 While vainly he essayed to rise from ofl' the grouiiil. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Though felled to earth liis once unbending form 
 That oft Iraversc'l the wild with lordly treafl 
 
 And me I 
 With 
 
 And oft : 
 To \vr( 
 
 Now gro 
 
 His SOI 
 
 "Writhed w 
 
 Tims Edv 
 
 Had j)a 
 But yet a 
 
 Wiiile 
 do raised 
 
 And hv 
 The parti I 
 
 Unto a 
 While as he 
 c 
 
 '"Tistime 
 
 His land 
 '') ! never 
 
 Unto thf 
 A tyrant's 
 
 Lev'ling 
 Which ch; 
 
 W^andcr 
 Folfwing the 
 
THE FALL OF QTIEnEC. 
 
 70 
 
 And mot the winter and the battle storm 
 With brawny front, erect and Jianirlily liead ; 
 
 And oft in many a fiehl of lioi-ror hl(Ml 
 To wreak revenpn, or jnstire to nttain, 
 
 Now grovelI(Ml in th(; ^ore himself had shed. 
 Tlis soul, that never wonld snbmit to pain, 
 Writhed wildly in the coils of its frail mortal chain. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Thus Edward fonnd him when the tide of war 
 
 Had passed and left him on the field to die, 
 Bnt vet as h)nd and Avildlv rajxed afar. 
 
 Wliile deathly films dimmed his hnrnin^^ eye, 
 lie raised the chieftain's head with many a sigfi 
 
 And breatln^d his native accents in his ear — 
 The parting spirit paused, to make reply 
 
 Unto a voice that long to it was dear, 
 While as he spoke his glance beamed soft and calmly 
 clear. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 '• "lis time for Wahmosatah to be dead. 
 
 His land is confjiiered and his pt^ople slaves, 
 ! never will he lead, as once he led, 
 
 Unto the battle his unflinching braves ! — 
 A tyrant's foot now presses on their graves 
 
 Lev'ling them to earth, wliile the last poor few, 
 ^^ hich chance, unmerciful, for sorrow saves, 
 
 W^ander afar from where their childhood grew, 
 roUwing the setting sun to lands hostile and new ? 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 " Long lost lliola calls me to his side ! — 
 
 I coiiio I I como ! " ho murmiircd Taint and low, 
 Then, falling hack, on Edward's bosom died, 
 
 While from his failing glance departed slow 
 The conscions fervor of life's latest glow. 
 
 Then softly Edward laid him on the earth, 
 While tears of sorrow o'er his corse did flow ;— 
 
 " If ever man possessed a heart of worth 
 It heat within that breast, tho' sprung of savage 
 birth!" 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 'Tis such as thou, ! much lamented chief, 
 Who shame the annals of a Christian land ! 
 
 Thine was the hero's rage, tbe patriot's grief, 
 Who firm to truth and nature learned to stand. 
 
 « 
 
 Thy native woods than thee were not more grand 
 In natural majesty, and conscious might ; — 
 
 The greater work of an Almighty hand — 
 A soul directed by internal light — 
 A man by virtue blest, and free from polished blight 
 
 LXX. . - 
 
 For the proud memory of one like thee 
 
 We might forget a line of bloody kmgs. 
 And mankind for it would more happy be, 
 
THE FALL OF OL'KnEC 
 
 SI 
 
 Despite tli(3 ill lliat to our being clings. 
 ! for the day when Love will bind the wings 
 
 Of Time with flowers ! and the righteous law 
 Of Truth will regulate all mortal things ; — 
 
 And usages, like icy mountains, lliaw 
 Before the genial sun which gifted seers foresaw ! 
 
 ^Yith mighty vigor, and with dauntless front, 
 
 For one last charge, the shattered ranks com- 
 bine ; 
 Breasts that had borne the battle's fiercest brunt, 
 
 Rolling destruction from their awful line ! 
 The British Soldiers, tliey who do resign 
 
 Peace, and security, and joys of home, 
 With all the hopes that round our being twine. 
 
 Bringing sweet Liberty where'er they come, — 
 Creating happiness, tho' hapless they must roam ! 
 
 LXXIL 
 
 The star of western empire brightly shone. 
 
 Anon, it seemed to pale amid the smoke 
 Of battle towards heaven hugely thrown, 
 
 Then thro' the clouds in glorious promise broke, 
 Nerving the arm to give the deadly stroke. 
 
 Or light with hope the dying hero's eye, 
 Just ere his soul to purer scenes awoke ; — 
 
 Then crashing volleys hurtle wildly by, 
 jAs ranks rush fast on ranks to conquer or to die I 
 
82 
 
 THE FALL OK UIJKMEC. 
 
 Lxxiir. 
 
 With cliooriug voice Wolfe to his army calls, 
 
 Leading to victory w^ith Losom proud, 
 But as they press along he droops — he Tails. 
 
 As if one spirit swayed that mighty crowd 
 They pause — then one wild shri(d^ appaling, loud 
 
 Rang on the turbulent and frighted air ; 
 Such mad menace that awful sound avowed, 
 
 With desperation, e'en beyond despair. 
 Which told how much mankind for one like liii; 
 will dare ! 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Forward they press, their bayonets brightly 
 gleaming, 
 In serried ranks, with resolution strong, 
 In every eye heroic valor beaming — 
 A mighty billow thundering along. 
 Upon the ground, surrounded by a throng 
 
 Of weeping followers, the leader lay ; 
 The Indian ceased to chaunt his battle song. 
 Forgetting as he gazed the frenzied fray. 
 Then, kneeling, kindly strove the crimson tide to 
 stay. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 But vain was all their art, the hand of death 
 Upon its victim prematurely came. 
 
THE FALL OK OliKHEC. 
 
 83 
 
 As victory crowned l\im with a fadeless wreath, 
 And glory p:av(3 him an undying fame. 
 
 Whom honor jirais(»s few will darn to ])lame, 
 But Ik; was worthy of its high(>st praise, 
 
 For h(» did feel the hero's nohle flame 
 Urging his soul to soar heyond its days, 
 Yet shine, consisLeut still, in glory's daz'ling blaze. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Across the plain the tide of liattle rolled. 
 
 Far from that mourning and sad-hearted group. 
 And murky clouds the clashing armies fold 
 
 In dismal shadows, that far spreading stoop 
 Above the fated city. Now a troop, 
 
 Hot from the bloody fray, would outward pass, 
 While on the wind would come the wild war- 
 whoop 
 
 With mingled noises from the swaying mass ; 
 But still the battle raged fierce as it ever was. 
 
 LXXVIL 
 
 The fiend of carnage gloated o'er the plain, 
 
 Where mangled atoms mock the warrior's toil. 
 The Itlackened visage of accusing slain 
 
 Encumbered horribly the fruitful soil, 
 But this is Glory and Ambition's spoil. 
 
 Caused by harsh tyranny and thoughts accurst : 
 But now the ponderous bulk of clouds recoil, 
 
 And shattered squadrons on the vision burst 
 Along the battle field in conflict wide dispersed. 
 
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84 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 The hardy Scots, by master Lovet led, 
 
 Upon their enemy resistless pour. 
 And the bright claymore springs aloft all red 
 
 And hot with many a fearless bosom's gore, 
 That awful charge all fell or fled before, 
 
 While high arose a wild tumultuous shout, 
 As to the city gates the vanquished pour 
 
 In headlong haste — defeated, put to rout, 
 While universal grief the city spread about ! 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 O'er the young leader of invading swords 
 The hand of death was quick and coldly 
 stealing, 
 But oft his anxious eye would wander towards 
 
 The distant plain, with conflict madly reeling; 
 And when the trumpet, loud and shrilly pealing, 
 
 Told of the rally or the charge, he'd sigh 
 And murmur faintly, with impotent feeling. 
 But when he heard it said, " They fly ! Thev 
 fly ! " 
 " Thank Heaven ! " he cried " 'tis done now happy 
 I can die ! " 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 And so he fell in manhood's early prime, 
 Brave, generous, and worthy to command, 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 85 
 
 A spirit fitted for a better time, 
 A purer region, and a brighter land ! 
 
 May there be ever men like him to stand. 
 In (lays of danger, for the cause of right. 
 
 With fearless bosom, and with ready hand. 
 
 The purple tyrant in his pride to smite. 
 
 Till from its odious load earth's liberated quite. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 The shout of victory o'er the ocean flew. 
 
 Triumphant joy thro' all Britannia spread, 
 A nation gloried, but there were a few 
 
 Who mourned in silence for the hero dead. 
 A widowed mother tears of sorrow shed. 
 
 And one he long had hoped to call his bride, 
 O'er blighted love, with inward anguish bled ; 
 
 And long it was ere weeping eyes were dried, 
 Por Fame's a poor reward for what his fate denied. 
 
 LXXXIL 
 
 Much did he wish for sweet domestic peace. 
 
 For gentle joys which cling around a home, 
 But custom never will its slaves release. 
 
 So was he doomed unhappily to roam. 
 Until, beyond the dreary ocean's foam, 
 
 He, for his country, yielded up his life. 
 Death the hero conqueror o'ercome 
 
 In that proud moment when victorious strife 
 Released a lovely land from war that long was rife. 
 
86 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 Lxxxiri. 
 
 
 Peace to the shade of him who perished so, 
 
 A victim to the cause for which he fought ; 
 But while Quebec will stand — St. Lawrence flow, 
 
 His memory will never be forgot. 
 While we who like him, but in lowlier lot, 
 
 May meet with death upon some future field, 
 Unknown our name, save for another blot 
 
 Upon the brazen, gore-encumbered shield 
 Which flaunts one mighty name, and leaves all 
 others veiled. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 But little reck if such a fate be ours, 
 
 Contented if by death we purchase peace ; 
 We are the slaves of those important pow'rs 
 
 Who take a care our sorrows never cease ; 
 xVnd when that hour brings a quick release. 
 
 Who deal in death may well know how to die. 
 We fall uncared, nor by that fall increase 
 
 Even a tear in fond aftection^s eye, 
 Nor cause one loving breast to heave a painful sigh! 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Behold around this humble board the friends 
 
 And partners of a lowly soldier's fate, 
 Whose kindness to the present hour lends 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 87 
 
 What little pleasure is allowed our state. 
 Here we can laugh and sing, and toast and prate ; — 
 
 A small community of honest hearts 
 Can be as happy, and can feel as great 
 As those to whom a hoard of wealth imparts 
 Much pride, and little sense, produced by tortured 
 arts ! 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Comrades we are in danger and in joy, 
 
 Conventionalities we do despise, 
 AUke we have small future hope to buoy 
 
 Us o'er life's ocean, when its storms arise ; 
 Whate'er the present gives us, or denies, 
 
 We take indifferent, or with a smile. 
 We use no sophistry, need no disguise, 
 
 The ever new to-morrow can beguile 
 Us with a hope as good as any other wile I 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 As I remember once, when Erin's coast 
 
 Loomed high and threat'ning on our murky lee, 
 I saw a ship, with mast and helm lost. 
 
 Drive to destruction o'er the stormy sea. 
 Upon her deck, in hopeless agony, 
 
 Some wept, some pray'd, some cursed, but all 
 in vain. 
 And some faced death in drunken revelry, 
 
 Quaffing the eager cup to numb the pain 
 Of dying on that shore they longed so much to gain. 
 
88 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 v\ 
 
 But when they looked before them on the rock 
 
 Frowning precipitous, and cold, and bare. 
 Their reason staggered at the frightful shock — 
 
 Sunk in the lethargy of dull despair. 
 So is it in this life, when woe and care 
 
 Have left us little more but to endure, 
 We reckless grow, unheeding when or where 
 
 The strife may end, if that we can secure 
 A little present joy, although, perhaps, impure I 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 To home again the warworn soldier turned — 
 
 A weary wanderer for many years — 
 And oft, with fond anxiety, he yearned 
 
 To clasp unto his breast and still the fears 
 Of those loved ones, who watch thro' gath'ring 
 tears. 
 
 For his returning footsteps, to disclose 
 That blest reunion which so much endears. 
 
 To homely hearts, the absent one who goes 
 Thro' war's vicissitudes, and deep, and many woes ! 
 
 XC. 
 
 'Twas eve when Edward stood upon a hill 
 
 Which overlooked the valley of his birth, 
 fhen oh ! what joy did thro' his bosom thrill ! 
 
THE FALL OF QCEBEC. 
 
 89 
 
 His long exile that moment well was worth. 
 He had beheld upon this lovely earth 
 
 Many a scene of beauty far more fair, 
 But they weren't hallowed by those ties whose 
 dearth 
 Makes e'en the brightest scene a desert bare, — 
 Sweet Home ! with all the bonds of love, and 
 kindred there ! 
 
 XGI. 
 
 With throbbing heart, and fond, and tearful gaze 
 
 He traced each spot, familiar long ago, 
 When, in the happiness of youthful days, 
 
 He sported oft, nor knew a thought of woe. 
 Still did the meadow streamlet smiling flow 
 
 Hard by his father's vineclad cottage door ; — 
 The village cliui cli, half hid in trees below, 
 
 The path a-field, which, oftentimes before, 
 [He trod with hasty step to meet his love Lenore. 
 
 XGII. 
 
 roeslB ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ clasp unto his manly breast 
 His aged sire and his mother dear, 
 And loving hearts to his were closely prest. 
 Which separation rendered doubly near ; 
 And now, relieved from every jealous fear. 
 His Lenore flies to meet his glad embrace, 
 ill '. I ^" ^^^ ^^^6 ^y^s affection's joyful tear 
 
90 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 On seeing once again that loving face, 
 Which, in her virgin heart, long held the dearest 
 place. 
 
 XGIII. 
 
 And they were happy, if there may be anght 
 
 Of happiness for hearts tljat loved so long 
 And faithfully as theirs. O ! there is naught 
 
 On earth more beautiful than love so strong, 
 Which could outlast accumulated wrong, 
 
 And separation, time, and changes sore, 
 "With all the evils that we live among. 
 
 Remaining still untainted, as before 
 They, in a selfish world, had gained a deeper lore I 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Here ends my song — and I am worn and sad — 
 
 Chill silence falls upon the failing string. 
 Its last vibrations cannot well be glad, 
 
 And themes of joy befit me not to sing. 
 The wand is broken that did sweetly fling 
 
 A spell, as of enchantment, on my way. 
 Bright children of my soul ! the dear offspring 
 
 Of many a weary night and lonely day ; 
 Farewell ! ye are but dreams, and can no longer stay I 
 
 XGV. 
 
 The echo dies along the caverned side 
 Of hoary Calpe ; and my soul is dark — 
 
THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 91 
 
 ■H 
 
 'Tis gone ! — and nothing save the restless tide, 
 
 Bearing along full many a gallant bark, 
 Breaks on the silence, surging where you mark 
 
 The wavevvorn base of this high citadel. 
 Still brooding o'er its shadow, where the shark 
 Watches for prey, where hideous monsters 
 dwell 
 Far in the hidden deeps of many an azure celi. 
 
 XGVI. 
 
 I like not war — I hate the circumstance 
 
 And gaudy meanness of its pomp and state, 
 And pity fools who hang upon the chance 
 
 Of tyrannous caprice to prove their fate. 
 I sang of battles but to show that great 
 
 And noble souls are slaves to destinv. 
 Wars only such as Italy of late 
 
 Waged with her tyrants, who were forced to flee, 
 Lre holy, and the cause of God is Liberty. 
 
 .XGVIl. 
 
 Still do I linger — gentle Muse farewell ! 
 
 Thou wert the Soldier's best and sweetest 
 friend ! 
 Oft hast thou raised him to the pinnacle 
 
 Of happiness, and round him did extend 
 A world of beauty, varied, without end ; 
 
 hi these he revelled, but they leave him now, 
 And moaner things o'er him may frowning bend, 
 
92 
 
 THE FALL OF OlJEnEC. 
 
 But these he doth despise too much to bow 
 Before them, and he'll meet their frowns with 
 dauntless brow ! 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Once I did hope for fame amid the throng, 
 
 And even now methinks when I am dead, 
 Some tender heart may listen to my song, 
 
 And for my grief a tear of pity shed ; 
 But while I live, I would not have it said. 
 
 The Soldier-bard did sue for pity's tear, — 
 No I let me die, as I have lived and bled. 
 
 With none I love, or who have loved me near. 
 Upon a path whose very loneliness is dear ! 
 
 m 
 
 XGIX. 
 
 But now a darkness seems to fall upon 
 
 The once bright pictures of my ardent mind, 
 As hope is fair until forever gone ; 
 
 As this day's sun has gradually declined. 
 Nor in the gloom that follows close behind. 
 
 Left one sweet ray of all its glorious light, 
 The scenes of long departed joy to find ; 
 
 So do I feel my soul descend in night. 
 Leaving no memory behind to cheer its flight I 
 
 G. 
 
 Then down into the gulf my soul, nor turn 
 A thought upon the sunshine that has fled, 
 
THK FALL OK QUEBEC. 
 
 Cease to remember, to regret, to yearn 
 For joys departed, and for beauties dead 1 
 
 Can outward darkness on my pathway shed, 
 A blackness deeper tlian enshrouds my breast ? 
 
 Night I thou art welcome to my weary head. 
 Ere long the sun will sink into the west. 
 But never rise for me, in dissolution blest I 
 
04 
 
 THE LAMENT OF AllMANU. 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 " Some might lament that I were cold, 
 As I, when thiit sweet day is gone, 
 
 Which my lust heart, too soon ftrown old, 
 Insults with this untimely moan ; — " 
 
 »♦**** 
 " ♦ * I live to show 
 
 How much men bear, and die not." 
 
 I. 
 
 Beneath the shade of Calpe's triple height, 
 
 While the slow sun dechned behind the hills 
 Of lovely Andelusia, where the might 
 
 Of Love so often and so wildly thrills, 
 There is a spot, where solitude instils 
 
 A sweet and dreamy joy into the soul, 
 Where Nature dresi in rugged grandeur fills 
 
 The eye with charms that soften and console, 
 Where lofty mountains frown and blue waves | 
 darkly roll. 
 
 And, tho' i 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 95 
 
 11. 
 
 There, leaning 'gainst a rock in pensive mood, 
 
 Watching the waves with unobservant glance, 
 A lonely wanderer and stranger stood, 
 
 Who long had travelled o'er the wide expanse 
 Of this fair desecrated earth, perchance 
 
 Enjoyed its pleasures and endured it.< woes ; 
 If so, he had survived the pleasing tram o 
 
 Which early life o'er trouble sweo*ly throws. 
 When hope, unchilled by time, diviuu and brightly 
 glows. 
 
 m. 
 
 His lute, the sole companion of his way, 
 
 Now lay unheeded on the waveworn shore ; 
 In youth he learned its simple notes to play, 
 
 And often since, when strong emotion tore 
 His heart, he'd seize the instrument and pour 
 
 The fervor of his feelings on the string, 
 As if by that he quiet could restore 
 
 Unto his mind, that strange affected thing, 
 )r even for a while a ray of pleasure bring. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Time was when gentle hearts for Armand cared, 
 
 But they were now the shadows of a dream, 
 And, tho' his sympathy with all he shared, 
 
 4 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 There were some moments when it would 
 beseem 
 He shunned the crowded mart where people 
 teem : 
 In sooth he little liked the busy throng, 
 But on the shore or by the mountain stream, 
 He loved to wander, as when he was young, 
 And take his lute, as now his pensive lay he sung. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Gome to my aid, thou, ever happy. Muse !— 
 
 All that I know to love are left iDehind. — 
 As on a former day thou can'st infuse 
 
 A new delight upon my wearied mind : 
 Now thou art all that's left to me, entwined 
 
 With everything that's pure in memory. 
 In thee new worlds and sateless joys I fmd. 
 
 Thy ever sweet and soothing melody 
 Wafts my enraptured soul to heav'n along withl 
 thee ! 
 
 VL 
 
 " For I have sought the many fancied ways 
 By which 't was said I might o'ercome my grief] 
 
 Still brooding sorrow on my spirit preys, 
 And wildest changes bring me no relief. 
 
 For, since it has become the first and chief 
 Bright object of my life to love, I roam 
 
 About this joyless earth, for years are brief, 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 97 
 
 And soon the day to end it all will come : — 
 Then will the outcast find rest, quiet, and a home I 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Here will I stay my footsteps, where, alone, 
 
 Sad Ruin broods within her ivied shrine, 
 Where Beauty, once, and manly valour, shone. 
 
 Ere turned to dust by all consuming time ; 
 Who saw their youth, their glory, and their prime, 
 
 And then their age come creeping on apace, 
 Till every record of their former crime 
 
 And virtue his deep furrows did efface, 
 And naught was left to tell of their departed race. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Here Solitude sweet contemplation woos 
 
 To search the hidden avenue^ of thought. 
 Where burns the light of Reason to infuse 
 
 A deeper fervor for the lore she taught. 
 Ah ! well I ween, such lore not often sought 
 
 By those on whom dame Fortune kindly smiles 
 Until Prosperity continued, wrought 
 
 Around their hearts her cold and selfish toils, 
 [Which every better thought and purer impulse foils. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Poverty ! how many a noble heart 
 
 Hast thou not blighted with accursed want, 
 And forced to suffer 'neath the constant smart 
 4* 
 
98 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 Of many a bitter, undeserved taunt ? 
 From mean-souled men, whose power was the 
 vaunt 
 Of a superiority that makes 
 The meanest and the the vilest dare to daunt 
 The wise and virtuous ; till hope forsakes 
 The long enduring heart that all neglected breaks? 
 
 X. 
 
 " Is that a spectre in that dark recess ? — 
 
 The sanctuary where beauty veiled her charms, 
 Or, mayhap, yielded to the fond caress 
 
 Of Love's encircling and enraptured arms. 
 Perhaps unwonted footstep here alarms 
 
 The spirit of the ruin, who has held 
 Her mould'ring reign, secure from ruder harms, 
 
 Where erst liigh pride, and pomp, and glory 
 swelled. 
 But now are all decayed in venerable eld. 
 
 XL 
 
 " How different these sad ruins and old mountains i 
 From the wild beauties of my western home,-] 
 
 The woody valleys, and the virgin fountains, 
 Where did my unreflecting childhood roam,— 
 
 Where lofty forests spread a leafy dome, 
 'Neath which I wandered with the birds and | 
 flowers. 
 
 Nor dreamed of lands beyolid the ocean's foam, 
 
 '^airwasi 
 The sea 
 ^0 jealous 
 Cast on tl 
 "Oh! what 
 I cried en 
 ! Silt soon th( 
 As over h; 
 f 11 wrecked ( 
 sore 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 99 
 
 Where scorching suns would sap my manly 
 powers. 
 And life would waste away its unrecorded hours ! 
 
 xn. 
 
 " And there I traced the glowing dreams of 
 youth — 
 
 Unfounded phantasies of no avail — 
 And which did perish, when the harsher truth 
 
 Of after years o'er dreamings did prevail. 
 And when I heard some high heroic tale 
 
 Of lofty virtue, how I longed to be 
 Of man's estate that I might wrong assail, 
 
 And by such deeds of noble chivalry 
 ^in honorable fame and glorious degree. 
 
 and 
 
 am, 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Fair was the morning when I launched my bark, 
 
 The sea was smiling like a child asleep, 
 No jealous cloud a shadow dull and dark 
 
 Cast on the bosom of the treacherous deep. 
 "Oh ! what a happy course my sail will keep," 
 
 I cried enraptured, " to the happy shore ! " 
 But soon the sky grew black, the waves 'gan icap, 
 
 As over hidden rocks and shoals they tore, 
 [ill wrecked on barren reefs, they left me sad and 
 sore. 
 
too 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ^' And now I wander on that dismal strand, 
 
 Gazing upon that wide dividing sea, 
 Weeping sad tears upon the thirsty sand. 
 
 Sighing to winds that mock my misery. 
 While many a bark flies past right gallantly, 
 
 Avoiding rocks where I was cast away, 
 With sunlit prow and white sail spreading free; 
 
 While lonely here my heedless footsteps stray 
 O'er mossgrown rocks, and wrecks fast yielding to 
 decay. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Myself a wreck among them I behold, 
 But yet methinks from their remains I might 
 
 A ghostly pile erect aloft, to mould 
 For future mariners a warning sight ; 
 
 When, in the gloom of life's tempestuous nighl 
 They see the beacon by the lost upreared. 
 
 The dreary pile will urge their timely flight. 
 Thus may much unavailing grief be spared, 
 And less hereafter will partake the fate we shared] 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Bear, gentle winds, across this summer sea 
 A wandering minstrel's low and pensive song,! 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARM AND. 
 
 101 
 
 And eke the vow, which he entrusts to ye 
 For her he loves, upon your wings along ; 
 
 Say that his heart still beats with love as strong, 
 And turns to her as pilgrim to his shrine, 
 
 Whose thoughts are far from those he is among, 
 And so shall it beat until it shall recline 
 In death, and its last pulse in love and truth resign. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Say how upon a distant shore he weeps 
 
 When few would deem the stern dark stranger 
 weak. 
 How when his weary midnight watch he keeps, 
 
 Her name with sorrow he is heard to speak ; 
 And oft the mirthful throng he leaves to seek 
 
 Some solitary spot to dream of her, 
 Or hide the tear that started to his cheek 
 
 When some too potent, secret spell would stir 
 The memory in his heart of happy things that were. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " But thou art gone Ileen 1 — the best beloved 
 
 Of all this bosom held most fair and pure ! — 
 Was thy young heart so soon by sorrow moved ? 
 
 Or didst thou dread life's trouble to endure 
 That thou shouldst fly so early to secure 
 
 A home within a cloister's sad retreat, 
 i And for long life thy heart in gloom imure ? 
 
 Oh ! such a fate for one like thee's unmeet, 
 lou art too young and fair, too beautiful and sweet I 
 
102 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 XX. 
 
 ii 
 
 "01 did love thee ! and do love the still 
 
 With all the deep, fond fervor of my heart, 
 And hope would strive not vainly to instil 
 
 A pleasing balm to soothe affliction's smart, 
 And for aw^hile a borrowed joy impart, 
 
 To bid me hope some future day might bring 
 The fond reality, and not depart. 
 
 As did my dreams with slumber's dewy wing 
 Which over present woe a golden cloud would fliiid 
 
 XX 
 
 T 
 
 " But fare thee well I since thou hast made lb 
 choice— 
 
 And my ideal paintings are a void. 
 I never more I'll lift my feeble voice, 
 
 To sing enraptured of a bliss enjoyed 
 Ere cruel malice every hope destroyed, 
 
 And tore asunder hearts so formed to beat 
 In love's communion, with a pulse uncloyed, 
 
 And, in themselves, find happiness complete, 
 Untouched by outer ills and free from all deceit. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " So did they go the happy, young, and gay, 
 
 Who sported once around the parent knee ;- 
 Like things imagined, they have passed away 
 
 Down? 
 
 th 
 
 , %inmo 
 
 \0( sorrow's 
 
 From wh 
 
 ^^e wing, t 
 
 Js wrencl] 
 
 ^mid its na 
 
 f "Twill ris( 
 
 '^htbeyoi 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 103 
 
 irl, 
 
 iring 
 
 wing 
 Id flm&l 
 
 lade m 
 
 Which fading memory can scarcely see. 
 Bright Ella ! — ^joyous Mina ! — where are ye ? 
 
 Death has not yet enwrapt ye in the mould, 
 Then why no answer will ye give to me ? 
 
 Is't thus religion turns each feeling cold, 
 |0r do your breasts no more the love of sisters hold ? 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " God ! when Thy pure faith on earth was sent, 
 
 That we a life of love and truth might lead, 
 Was such as this thy holiest intent, 
 
 Or has not man departed from thy creed ? 
 Now must the heart's most pure affections bleed. 
 
 And each fond tie that binds the soul must sever, 
 Since dull fanatics sowed the cursed seed, 
 
 Which raised dark sorrow in our midst forever. 
 
 woe which to destroy each bosom should 
 endeavour. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 )eat ■"Down! down presumptous thought, the grief 
 lyed, I that wrings 
 
 mlete.B ^^Y inmost soul hath need of little more 
 [eceit. mp^ sorrow's frost to close the gushing springs 
 
 From which did once the tide of loving pour ! 
 The wing, that oft hath proudly dared to soar. 
 Is wrenched, but not yet broken, and again, 
 ,j^y — Lmid its native skies, as oft before, 
 Luee ;-■ Twill rise defiant where no hand can rein 
 iway i^i?^t beyond the reach of mortal pride or pain. 
 
104 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Still have I hoped that time would hring a change, 
 
 When I might prove thee all the love I feel ; 
 But years have rolled more widely to estrange, 
 
 And on affection set the burning seal 
 Of blighted hope. How potent is the zeal 
 
 Of enmity ! that tireless will seek 
 To give a wound no after art can heal, 
 
 And sink in sorrow one so pure and weak, 
 And on the innocent a heartless vengeance wreak. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Yet tho' thou art from this fond bosom torn, 
 
 All, all the pleasure that it feels or knows 
 Is centred in thee, and to think and mourn 
 
 O'er thee a sweet, sad happiness bestows ; 
 For recollection a brigh't picture glows, 
 
 And present sorrow vanishes before 
 The dear remembrance, until it grows 
 
 A pleasing certainty, and smiles of yore 
 Cast on my mind a gleam of joys that are no more] 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " But let it be forgotten I why recall 
 The past to mock the heart with vanished joy] 
 
 A heart no woe — no danger can appal. 
 Nor time, nor change, its truthful pulse destroyl 
 
 " Hope, I 
 
 For air; 
 
 That lurei 
 
 To seek 
 
 ^ut, as he 
 
 He saw 
 
 Till each 
 
 Became 
 
 «d what 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMANO. 
 
 105 
 
 It is enough to feel each pleasure cloy 
 When present ; ! then be the past my theme : 
 
 And, if my dreams must mix with some alloy, 
 0! let it be, as now, some passing beam 
 Which, as it fades away, will leave of hope a gleam I 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Hope ! vain dreamer ! Thou hast hoped too 
 long ! 
 
 In hoping, trusting, have thy days been spent. — 
 Say ! wert thou happy when thy hope was strong ? 
 
 And love enraptured to the future lent 
 Its brightest colors, which thy wishes blent, 
 
 As sunrise gives yon crags the hue of gold, 
 But look at mid-day on the bleak extent 
 
 In rugged sternness dreary, wild, and cold. — 
 Thus hath reality the truth, unyielding told. 
 
 XlClX. 
 
 destroi 
 
 " Hope, Love, and Happiness are merely names 
 
 For airy phantoms. Like the glowing west 
 That lured the child, by its refulgent flames, 
 
 To seek the setting sun, a place of rest ; 
 But, as he onward, with full bosom, prest 
 
 He saw the varied glories slowly fade 
 Till each fair cloud, that late in gold was drest, 
 
 Became a sullen mass of gloomy shade, 
 id what once charmed his eye, his weary soul 
 dismay'd. 
 
106 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " And T have fought with my own heart, and won. 
 
 But still the weakness of a lonely hour, 
 When 1 would fain these sad reflections shun, 
 
 Doth .wring my soul to speak the silent power 
 Of brooding thought, which, like a ruined tower, 
 
 Looming in darkness on a barren coast, 
 Nor points the trav'ler to a friendly bower, 
 
 Becomes, with memory, a beckoning ghost, 
 Beneath whose gloomy sway my spirit sinks the I 
 most ! 
 
 • XXXI. 
 
 " Thus am I altered by the hand of care, 
 And sorrow marks me for its victim, still 
 
 Do I confront it, nor shall I despair 
 While heaven nerves'the all prevailing will; 
 
 Then let the cup of deep aflliction fill, 
 And I will quaff the bitter goblet dry, 
 
 Nor heed the pain with which its poisons thrill- 
 Then, as I lived, so fearless will I die, 
 Nor in the pangs of death my life — my love — beliel 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " My Love ! Ileen ! how can I think on thee 
 
 Nor feel my bosom swell as if 't would burst] 
 How can I from the dear reflection flee 
 
 " I lovec 
 Thou 
 
 Thou wel 
 Aroun 
 
 Whicli 
 
 Of joy 
 For oft 
 Thy vl 
 Which bo 
 
 II 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARM AND. 
 
 107 
 
 Which is my purest joy since when I first 
 Beheld and loved thee ? — 'Tis a thought uncurst 
 
 By biiter retrospection, so I may 
 Retain thee as my idol, since the worst 
 
 Has past, and fondly flream my life away ; 
 ! then blame not a heart by fervor led astray ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Would that such dreaming knew no waking I 
 but 
 
 Alas ! I feel the wish is worse than vain — 
 Wrapt in my soul, from outward vision shut, 
 
 I clasp thee to my bosom o'er again 
 In ecstacy of bliss, untinged by pain ! — 
 
 Mine is a love that must and will endure 
 Long as remembrance will thy form retain 
 
 And that will be forever ! None so pure 
 As thou could fill that place, or so my heart allure ! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " I loved thee deeply — ! too deep to tell ! — 
 
 Thou wert the angel of my every dream ! — 
 Thou wert the one who wrapt the spirit spell 
 
 Around my being with a golden beam, 
 Which, even now entrances by a gleam 
 
 Of joy ineffable that robes my soul : 
 For oft in many a weary land I've seen 
 
 Thy vlsioned beauties o'er my senses roll. 
 Which bound me willingly in bonds of swee 
 control 1 
 
r 
 
 108 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARM AND. 
 
 h 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " May I not think of thee in this sad hour 
 
 When all the promise of my youth has lied, 
 And, like to yonder lightning-riven tow'r, 
 
 I tremble o'er the gulf which Jiolds tlie dead ?— 
 Were not our souls in sacred union wed, 
 
 Wert thou not mine — my guardian and my 
 guide — 
 Who ever on to better objects led ? — 
 And wert thou not, when severed from my side, 
 The star that cheered my way thro' wildernesses 
 wide ? — 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " And will I never more behold thy glances 
 
 Speaking unutterable thoughts to mine ? — 
 Nor know again the rapture that entrances, 
 
 When kindred spirits lovingly entwine ? — 
 No ! nevermore ! — tho' I have made a shrine 
 
 For thee within my heart (the very thought 
 Is sin). But yet I never can resign 
 
 That love, which with my being is inwrought, 
 Till souls by death are born, or perish into naught! 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " Ileen ! in that dreadful moment when 
 Death seemed to clasp me in its cold embrace, 
 
 The fle( 
 And, paus 
 Myself 
 M find the st 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 109 
 
 And, looking round on harsh and reckless men, 
 I sought but vainly for one kindly face. 
 
 I closed mine aching eyes once more to trace 
 Thy memory on my soul, before the breath 
 
 Of life would vanish from its dwelling placo ; 
 And then methought there was a joy in death 
 Surpassing all that mortals know of bliss beneath I 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " And 1 was happy, tho' I knew I lay 
 
 A thing of yesterday upon thai shore 
 Where never sunbeams wake the cheerful day, 
 
 And where strange phantoms ever hover o'er. 
 I felt my doubt and sorrow was no more, 
 
 And in another moment I would be — 
 Nothing, perhaps, like what I was before, — 
 
 Gone, like a dewdrop on a midnight sea, — 
 Lost in the greedy deep's unknown immensity ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " Fast flies the parting day. — What is a day 
 
 But repetition of repeated care ? 
 While some would fain time's flying wing delay, 
 
 And others urge him with imploring pray'r. 
 I have grown reckless, having ceased to share 
 
 The fleeting pleasures of the passing scene ; 
 And, pausing thus a moment to compare 
 
 Myself and what I am, and what I've been, 
 II find the staff is broke on which I thought to lean ! 
 
ito 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 XL. 
 
 '•'■ 'Tis midniglit now, and o'er the silent hill, 
 
 Where calmly rest the fleecy clouds of snow, 
 The ghostly moon arises pale, and still. 
 
 And silv'ry rays of melancholy throw 
 Upon the bleakness of the scene below. 
 
 And I am thinking, Ileen, now of thee, 
 While inirestrained the tears of sorrow flow, 
 
 For time has altered — altered all but me. 
 Yet am I now no more as I was wont to be. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 " But, tho' I may be altered unto all ' 
 
 In outward seeming, I am still the same 
 To thee. Tho' enmity has raised a wall 
 
 Dividing us forever, yet thy name 
 Is written on my heart. Tho' friends, and fame 
 
 And fortune, be not mine, I still can hold 
 A purer, sweeter, more endearing claim ; — 
 
 I can in dreams thy lovely form enfold, 
 And on a treasure gaze whose richness is untold ! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 ^' They told me thou wert changed, and that thy 
 
 cheek 
 Had lost its roseate hue, and tha thine eye 
 Was downward cast, and frequent tears would 
 
 streak 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Their silent way, and oft a broken sigh 
 Would lift thy gentle heart, where seemed to lie 
 
 Some weight of sorrow which was crushing all 
 The joyous feelings of thy soul ; and 1 
 
 Was not beside thee to resist the thrall 
 Of bitter woe that cast upon thy mind a pall I 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 "But all my thoughts were with thee. — ^AU the toil 
 
 Of sleepless nights and dreary winter days 
 Was borne, that I might give to thee the spoil 
 
 My ardent labors won ; and feel thy praise 
 A thousand wild and sweet emotions raise 
 
 Within my bosom, where for long had reigned 
 Destroying care, which, even now, essays 
 
 To crush a feeling never yet profaned, 
 But still existent bright, unaltered and unstained ! 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 " Thy love did all my better thoughts inspire, 
 
 For in thy heart I found a living spring 
 Of purity, untouched by low desire. 
 
 Thou gave'st my spirit this exultant wing 
 To soar away from every meaner thing, 
 
 And, far above the cold and vulgar throng, 
 Upon a pinnacle, ecstatic sing 
 
 Of thee, my proud, tho' melancholy, song 
 ^ould (Which thou, perhaps, wilt hear the night wind h^ar 
 along I 
 
 Id! 
 
 t thy 
 
 mi 
 
112 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 \} 
 
 " And, in the solitude of thy lone cell, 
 
 Wilt weep when thinking of the wanderer ; 
 But if Religion has dissolved the spell, 
 
 And I am lost among the things that were, 
 Then it is time that life should cease to stir 
 
 Within this bosom ! On some hostile shore 
 Let dauntless hearts a sold^'er's doom confer !— 
 
 So let me perish, and be known no more. 
 For then what I have lost all earth could not restore! 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 " Now Dian o'er the distant hill has cast 
 
 Her beaming light, and there the lonely cross 
 Stands — gloomy omen — in the heavens vast. 
 
 Reminding my sad spirit of its loss. 
 Till, stung to madness, I am fain to toss, 
 
 Among the tenants of that silent spot. 
 This weary form, and let the creeping moss 
 
 Hide all its agony, and be forgot, 
 And share with them the bliss of death's enticing loll 
 
 XLVH. 
 
 " Look on this withered form, and on this face, 
 And on these locks, now prematurely gray ; 
 
 How plainly can the least observing trace 
 The wreck of life — the progress of decay. 
 
THE LAMENT OP ARMAND. 
 
 113 
 
 That something which we feel but cannot say, 
 Which makes the heart 'noath some vague 
 sorrow sink, 
 Then bids it bound again, beneath the sway 
 Of a strange impulse ; adding each a link 
 Unto the line of shades that flit o'er life's dark brink. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " So pass away accumulating years 
 
 In which I've known life's many joys and woes. 
 Life I that tempest fraught with racking fears — 
 
 That sea whose waters never know repose. 
 "Where some bright goal before us ever glows 
 
 Which, as we seek to enter, whirlwinds rise, 
 Wreck our frail bark, and soon above it flows 
 
 Oblivion's dull sea, where buried lies 
 Each high and burning thought of grand and great 
 emprise ! 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " 'Tis morn — the fields beneath the smile of Spring 
 
 Are glowing joyously in vernal bloom, 
 Within the grove the wild birds sweetly sing, 
 
 And gentle zephyrs waft a soft perfume, 
 But my sad heart is wrapt in pensive gloom, 
 
 Altho' the toilsome race has scarce begun ; 
 But shadowed o'er by care, that like a tomb 
 
 Encloses withered joy ; the happy sun 
 May shine upon it, still within all is undone ! 
 
114 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 L. 
 
 " Aixd so the sun will shine, the birds will sing, 
 
 Year follow year unto Eternity, 
 The glorious seasons in their rounds will bring 
 
 The changes that they brought to you and me, 
 When we, absorbed into the past, will be 
 
 Forgotten with the things that went before ; 
 Alike in love, and joy, and misery, 
 
 For the first wave which rises on tho shore 
 Of Time obliterates the footprints that it bore ! 
 
 T T 
 
 " When he who loved thee lies in death's embrace, 
 
 And chill the heart to which thou wert so dear. 
 Perhaps thou wilt his deeds of love retrace. 
 
 When recollection bids the past appear. 
 Ah 1 dare I think that thou wilt shed a tear 
 
 To moisten what was once impassioned clay 1 
 In spirit, dearest, wilt thou then be near ? 
 
 When all that was of Armand moves awav, 
 Yet waits to clasp thee fondly on time's concluding 
 day! 
 
 LIL 
 
 " In pompous mockery he may be laid. 
 
 By heedless hands, upon a friendless shore, 
 Far from the cherished scenes and friends thai] 
 made 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 115 
 
 This earth his home, ere life's sad dream was 
 o'er. 
 And there, perhaps, companions, who have more 
 
 Than others loved him, mav inscribe his name, 
 On which no unavailing tears will pour. 
 And then forj^^et that such did ever claim 
 A passing thought for one of light or dubious fame ! 
 
 LIII. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " Now many a sound of turbulence below, 
 
 Warn me my short respite is at an end ; 
 While yet the clouds retain their sunset glow, 
 
 My homeward way I sorrowfully wend. 
 If it may be a home where is no friend, 
 
 Where boisterous jollity, and empty mirth 
 In drunken uproar, and rude discord, blend. 
 
 Where better thought has seldom given birth, 
 In its coarse atmosphere, to things of greater worth. 
 
 LV. 
 
 " 'Tis sweet upon a summer eve to stand 
 Upon Dark Galpe's venerable height, 
 
 And gaze upon the scene of sea and land 
 Which lies beneath thee, in the soften'd light : 
 
11 
 
 THE LAMENT OP ARMAND. 
 
 When the bright sun, in its descending flight, 
 
 Has clothed the Spanish hills in crimson glow, 
 And the dark shades of fast approaching night, 
 Enshroud the valleys that are hid below, 
 And distant mountains far their lengthened shadows 
 throw. 
 
 LVL 
 
 
 " While o'er the billows from Levantine seas, 
 
 Fantastic clouds along the waters creep, 
 And the cool breathing of the evening breeze 
 
 Brings strange, sad murmurs from the dark'ning 
 deep ; 
 And Afric's cloudy mountains, looming steep 
 
 And boldly out against the south'rn sky, 
 Where weary warriors their watchings keep. 
 
 And mellow noises often echo by. 
 Like to the sighs of those, who there are left to die. 
 
 LVIL 
 
 " The thousand sails that swiftly course along, 
 
 Unto the distant ocean's troubled breast. 
 The boom of surges rising hoarse and strong. 
 
 Then moaning softly as if soothed to rest. 
 The light grows fainter now along the west. 
 
 And bugles sing the hour of retreat^ 
 And I must answer to the stern behest ; 
 
 But thus to wander unto me is sweet, 
 And Buena Vista's lights invite my weary feet. 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 117 
 
 Lvin. 
 
 '■'■ I've stood upon those boundless fields of snow, 
 
 Where not a living thing was seen around, — 
 And they were lonely. I have heard the flow 
 
 Of many waters, with a sullen sound, 
 When midnight reigned upon the deep profound, 
 
 And it was lonely. On the forest land 
 I've strayed — a wilderness without a bound — 
 
 And I was lonely — not as now I stand 
 Alone amid the pomp and noise of cities grand ! 
 
 LIX. 
 
 " In such I have found solitude, but ne'er 
 
 Was I, in life, so utterly alone, 
 For fancy raised ideal beings there, 
 
 And thought erected for itself a throne. 
 But here I am neglected and unknown, 
 
 I have no kindred feeling with the crowd. 
 By wretched choice among them I am thrown. 
 
 To me alike the humble or the proud, — 
 Unheeded in the mass where life is gay and loud. 
 
 LX. 
 
 '• My own sweet sister Hettie ! 'tis the hour 
 Of midnight now, the camp is wrapt in sleep, 
 
 And I, to woo its solitary power, 
 Steal forth, the vigil of lone thought to keep. 
 
118 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 These burning eyes are long unused to weep, 
 
 But, at thy memory, I feel a tear 
 Start, all unbidden, from affection's deep. 
 
 Fond fountain, yet undried. If thou vvert near, 
 How happy were my days, now desolate and drear ! 
 
 LXI. 
 
 '* And tliou, my sister, wept when I was gone- 
 Dear playmate of my younger, happier day ; 
 
 Thou knew'st the errors of the wand'ring one, 
 Yet did not let thy love for him decay. 
 
 False did they call me ! — worse they even say, 
 But thou, my sister, didst not such believe, 
 
 For tho' my footsteps have been led astray, 
 I never did — I never would deceive — 
 And would not have thee now for one like me to 
 
 grieve 
 
 LXIL 
 
 " Oft when I stray along the dreamy shore. 
 
 Or climb the hazy mountains, I recall 
 The happy hours when we wandered o'er 
 The crags of Flamboro' beneath the tall 
 Dark forest, or beside the waterfall. 
 
 Together sought for nature's hidden lore. 
 And, hand in hand, found happiness in all 
 Which she had lavished from her bounteous 
 store ; — 
 But ! since that sweet time, what changes we 
 deplore ! 
 
THE LAMENT OF ARMAND., 
 
 119 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 " Yes, changes, sister, that have torn apart 
 
 Love and affection's dearest, fondest ties, 
 And left the torn and lacerated heart 
 
 With wounds, that never heal until it dies. 
 Tho' outward looks its feelings may disguise, 
 
 And smiles their soft deception use to hide 
 The pain that darkly in the bosom lies. 
 
 And the careworn brow assume a lofty pride. 
 The' peace and hope, within the heart, have long 
 since died I 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 " Such I am now — ^but let no thought of me 
 
 Cast on the summer of thy life a shade — 
 The world recedes before me, and I see 
 
 Naught but a desert, where no path is made. 
 And I must wander on, till life shall fade 
 
 Into the nothingness from whence it rose ; 
 Then — the last penalty of error paid — 
 
 None will — none can — disturb my cold repose — 
 The mind will be at rest — the heart will cease its 
 throes 1 
 
 LXV. 
 
 " And when, dear Hettie, thou wilt hear my name 
 Spoken amid the scenes we loved so well, 
 
120 
 
 THE LAMENT OF ARMAND. 
 
 Remember me, as I was then, the same 
 As one you loved and lost, nor let the spell 
 
 Of memory upon thy bosom dwell. 
 But let my epitaph be written there, 
 
 Which, in the characters of love, will tell — 
 ' He sought for happiness^ but found despair^ 
 And didy in hearts that lovc^ his monument uprear ! ' " 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 121 
 
 HIAMORAH. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE THOUSAND ISLES. 
 
 'Twas long before the Genoese 
 Had crossed the unknown western seas, 
 And found a world of virgin soil 
 For grasping despots to despoil. 
 Ere Spaniards sought the Indian shore, 
 In search of Gold's accursed ore, 
 When, flying from the sinking wreck. 
 They built their huts on bleak Quebec. 
 In ages past ; long, long before 
 That steep was dyed by hostile gore : 
 Ere Gar tier with his gallant band 
 Sought Canada the wild and grand ; 
 And, on St. Lawrence river's bank, 
 Knelt humbly down his God to thank. 
 
122 
 
 HIAMORAH. 
 
 Ere when for greedy lust of gold 
 
 The rivers red with murder roU'd, 
 
 When the dark Indian, unsubdued, 
 
 Roamed thro' his native solitude ; 
 
 And in the valley built his tent 
 
 Where thought of Whiteman never went. 
 
 That in the distant Thousand Isles, 
 
 Where lavish nature brightly smiles, 
 
 There dwelt a tribe renowned afar 
 
 As being terrible in war. 
 
 And leagued with spirits that abide 
 
 Below the ever rushing tide. 
 
 Few were their numbers, but no race 
 
 Would dare that awful few to face. 
 
 But though in power strangely strong 
 
 None ever heard their battle song 
 
 Beyond their mystic native isles. 
 
 For never had they used the wiles 
 
 Of war to seek the overthrow 
 
 Of any near or distant foe. 
 
 Once, many years before, 'twas said, 
 
 A wandering nation did invade 
 
 The isolated tribe's domain. 
 
 (From lands far to the south they came) 
 
 But soon their fate the river told, 
 
 As to the distant sea it roU'd, 
 
 For tribes that dwelt along its shore 
 
 Of the Invaders saw no more. 
 
 And, since that time, feared and unkno^vn, 
 
 They dwelt unsought, unseen, alone ! 
 
 'The lig 
 When] 
 An Indi 
 Whose 
 Proclaii 
 Stood fo 
 To view 
 Of smili: 
 Hore lik 
 Than wl 
 Would t 
 
HIAMORAH. 123 
 
 The sun had cast his latest smiles 
 
 Upon the Lake of Thousand Isles, 
 
 And, sinking in his western bed ; 
 
 Soft rays of fading glory shed, 
 
 While, as the twilight shadows fell, 
 
 The passing water's sounding swell 
 
 Was mingled with the whispering breeze 
 
 That sported in the cedar trees 
 
 Which dipped their branches in the stream 
 
 Gilt by the days departing beam. 
 
 When o'er the wave of darkest blue 
 
 There swiftly sped a bark canoe 
 
 Unto a little isle that lay 
 
 From other groups a longer way ; 
 
 Where Wawnewaw, the Island King, 
 
 Would often his fair daughter bring, 
 
 And listen while she'd sweetly sing 
 
 The many wild impassioned lays 
 
 And legends wild of other days. 
 
 *%■ 
 
 The light canoe had touched the land 
 When leaping quickly on the strand 
 An Indian Youth in manly grace. 
 Whose eagle eye and painted face 
 Proclaimed him Chieftain of his race. 
 Stood for a while with raptured glance 
 To view the grand and far expanse 
 Of smiling Nature. 'Twas a scene 
 More like of fairy land a dream. 
 Than what the dull untraveled mind 
 Would think in savage wilds to find. 
 
'■^'UMJ*!- "■ 
 
 124 HIAMORAH. 
 
 The woody isles on either side 
 Seemed floating on the summer tide, 
 While plants that on their surface grow 
 Confused in gorgeous colors glow 
 And nod above the margin rock, 
 And seem the fretful wave to mock, 
 While far beyond, with boundless sweep, 
 Spread wild Ontario the deep, 
 And far along its wavelecs breast. 
 From his feet to the happy west, 
 A path of burnished gold was spread 
 That to the land of spirits led. 
 But as he watched, each magic hue 
 Was fading slowly from his view ; 
 And then the mournful song he heard 
 Sung by the lonely evening bird. 
 But soon another voice awoke 
 
 The stillness of the passing hour. 
 And, with the softest cadence, broke. 
 
 Upon his soul with fairy power, 
 The Chieftain listened to the song 
 Which now arose with passion strong 
 Then sank in wailing tones away. 
 As changed the feeling of the lay. 
 Wawnewaw's daughter, Meetah, sung 
 This lay the summer Isles among. 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 !25 
 
 The fall of King Ahdar. 
 
 I. 
 
 This river's wide border 
 Game under the order 
 Of a mighty marauder 
 
 Of southern race ; 
 "Who proud of their power 
 To make their foes cower, 
 They sought even our 
 
 Bright Isles to deface ! 
 
 n. 
 
 King Ahdar was mighty, 
 And daily and nightly 
 With jealous delight he 
 
 Would look o'er the wave 
 Which past him was going. 
 In loveliness :4o'ving. 
 In sunlight jtill flowing 
 
 The isl' Ts to lave. 
 
 III. 
 
 So he vowed to invade 
 And no more he delayed. 
 But quickly arrayed 
 His warriors great ; 
 

 126 
 
 HIAMORAK. 
 
 Those heroes whose glory 
 In many a story 
 Of battle field gory 
 
 Their foes would relate. 
 
 IV. 
 
 All danger despising, 
 Too proud for disguising, 
 The sun when arising 
 
 Beheld them in pride : 
 Of loss never dreaming. 
 So proud was their seeming, 
 Their tomahawks gleaming 
 
 Along by the tide I 
 
 V. 
 
 I mad was their daring, 
 Though war-paint was glaring, 
 And fierce was the bearing 
 
 Of resolute braves 
 In conquest believing, 
 Their own hearts deceiving : 
 "While spirits were weaving 
 
 Their shrouds in the waves I 
 
 VI. 
 
 The morn was uncloudy ; 
 And wildly, and proudly, 
 
 Th( 
 
 In s 
 And 
 
 
 The sun 
 The Chi, 
 And 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 Their warwhoops rose loudly 
 And swelled on the blast ; 
 But soon was the water 
 Made red with the slaughter. — 
 Of thousands that fought there, 
 That fight was their last ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 The lightning appearing 
 With fire barbs, steering 
 Through forests careering 
 
 In terrible state ; 
 Its swift devastation 
 Was less than our nation 
 Made wild desolation 
 
 Their enemies' fate ! 
 
 127 
 
 ^ 
 
 I? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And they who that morning 
 All danger were scorning, 
 Their bones were adorning 
 
 That evening the deep. 
 Their might and their prowess 
 In slimy mould now is, 
 And dreamless each brow is, 
 
 Far down where they sleep 1 " 
 
 The sun had set, the song was o'er, 
 The Chieftain left the island shore 
 And night the sacred, leafy bower, 
 
 5 
 
128 HIAMORAH. 
 
 Where, 'neath the Minstrel's happy power, 
 Laid on the flowery turf, he saw 
 The king and ruler Wawnewaw. 
 Unwilling to disturb the scene, 
 He gazed awhile with softened mien. 
 The lofty savage even smiled 
 Upon the father and the child ; 
 Tho' learned in deception's art. 
 That smile laid bare his secret heart : 
 ^. deep fond look of love was there, 
 < ad then would come a startling glare, 
 Lixve wilder workings of despair. 
 
 Upon a large and mossy stone, 
 Stern Nature's best and fiittest throne. 
 Sat Meetah, with her arms entwined 
 Around her father, who reclined 
 His head upon his daughter's breast, 
 And seemed in sweet content to rest. 
 While Meetah her wild legend sung, 
 Soft slumber o'er him gently flung 
 Its pleasing veil, and as he slept 
 Her watch of love she fondly kept. 
 While, stepping from his near retreat. 
 The youthful chieftain came to greet 
 The lovely maid, and softly spake. 
 As if he feared his voice might break 
 The slumbers of the fierce old king 
 And on his head a vengeance bring. 
 " Soft is the voice of Meetah fair. 
 And waters stop their course to hear 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 12J» 
 
 Her sing, and then the conscious waves 
 Bear the sweet music to their caves ; 
 Then how could Hiamorah stay 
 From his loved Meetah long away I " 
 She listened to him, but her face 
 Of tender feeling bore no trace, 
 'Twas but a softened look of pain, 
 As if she strove but all in vain 
 Some thought within her soul to !iide, 
 But which she could not crush oi guide, 
 Then in low accents she replied. 
 " Hiamorah is a mighty chief, 
 
 And Meetah's heart he knoweth well, 
 But yet he fiUeth her with grief — 
 
 He has not sought the secret spell ; 
 He knows the Island King has said 
 That none but one can Meetah wed ; 
 He who restores at any cost 
 To Wawnewaw the pow'r he lost. 
 Tho' Meetah loves her chieftain's face 
 She owes a duty to her race. 
 When Hiamorah can command 
 
 And rule the spirits that now roam 
 The waves. ! let him then demand 
 
 And Meetah shall be all his own ! » 
 
 One look upon the maid he cast 
 Then silently away he passed ; 
 And soon, within his light canoe, 
 Swift o'er the darkening wave he flew. 
 
 5* 
 
WBfSM 
 
 130 HIAMORAH. 
 
 Upon a rocky isle alone, 
 
 Within a cedar thicket shade, 
 Where never prying sunbeam shone, 
 The Powah had his wigwam made. 
 And there, on awful thoughts intent, 
 His days in solitude he spent : 
 To him the hunters often came 
 With offerings of choicest game. 
 Or ere they sought the red war-path 
 To free them from the Demons' wrath. 
 Or give them fortune in the chase, 
 Or lead their foes into disgrace. 
 Here often came the black-eyed maid, 
 V/ith panting bosom half afraid, 
 'i'o leaia, of love, some mystic charms 
 By ^ . hich to bring unto her arms 
 Some haughty youth, who had^ of late, 
 In battle, won a title great. 
 
 'Twas in the moon of moonless night 
 
 That Hiamorah sought the sage, 
 To learn by what dark way he might 
 
 Wrest from the deep's unwritten page 
 That secret, which alone could guide 
 Him to the bosom of his bride. 
 « O ! Chieftain ! » said the Powah wise, 
 
 « A hundred braves before to-day 
 Have perished in that rash emprise 
 
 Then rule thy wayward heart and stay 
 Are there not maidens fair as she, 
 
 Upon those shores, among these isles, 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 131 
 
 Who would be proud to wed with thee 
 And give themselves to win thy smiles I » 
 
 t( 0, never ! » Hiamorah cried, 
 
 « Care I to win a willing bride 
 
 To Meetah only will I wed, 
 
 Nor care if all the rest were dead : 
 
 « Dead ! » spoke the ancient Powah, « Dead ! 
 
 Chieftain now the word is said. — 
 
 Know'st thou not the prophecy. 
 
 Who wins the secret he must die ! » 
 * * * ^ * * 
 
 The Isles are changed, now winter's gloom 
 Has slain the summer's verdenL bloom ; 
 The dreary winds, with hollow tone, 
 Among the leafless branches moan : 
 And murky clouds across the sky 
 In shapes fantastic westward fly ; 
 While every hill and vale below 
 Lies 'neath a garb of trackless snow. 
 The river, that once proudly swell'd, 
 In chilling bonds of ice is held. 
 With moaning voice it tells its pain, 
 And strives to burst its bonds in vain, 
 And there the isles, that late were drest 
 In all the beauties of the west, 
 Are sad and silent, and is heard 
 No more the song of Wakon bird 
 Beneath the cedars dreamy shade 
 For all in winter gloom are laid. 
 
132 HIAMOHAH. 
 
 Upon his cold and lonely isle 
 Has Hiamorali stood awhilo ; 
 A strange wild lire fills his eye, 
 As if his vision conld descrv 
 Things in the cedar shadows dim 
 From others hid but plain to him. 
 He stood as if beneath a spell 
 While o'er him evening slowlv fell. 
 Tho' o'er his burning brow had past 
 The cutting frost, and northern blast, 
 Which howled amid the deep'ning gloom ; 
 Oft bearing on its wings the boom 
 Which echoed, long the shore to tell 
 Another sylvan monarch fell. 
 While wildly swept the hurricane 
 Above the bleak, bare, icy plain. 
 His faithful dog beside him stands 
 And licks his uncaressing hands. 
 While muttering an awful spell, 
 His mantle from his shoulders fell. 
 
 « Gome blue-eyed beauty of the deep 
 The isles are wrapt in night and sleep 
 And Hiamorah's heart is sad 
 And thou alone canst make it glad, 
 ! mighty spirit, deign to hear 
 A lonely hunter's anxious prayer 
 Or he must cast his robe aside, 
 Nor bear again a chieftain's pride ; 
 Must leave his father's land and roam 
 Far from his nation's island home, 
 
HUMORAH. 
 
 133 
 
 Thro' hostile tribes to stray unknown, 
 And like a wounded wolf go steal 
 
 To some dark cave to die alone, 
 Where none for him will care or feel ! » 
 
 While speaking thus, he saw afar 
 A light appear like evening's star. 
 And, as he gazed with i-aptured glance, 
 It moved along the dark expanse. 
 While as it near, and nearer drew, 
 Its beauty clearer, brighter grew. 
 Till, in the midst of flowing light, 
 He saw the lovely watersprite. 
 A veil like falling diamonds bright 
 Hung round her form so fair and white, 
 Her lovely limbs, of purest mould. 
 Shone thro' each soft transparent fold ; 
 Her tresses loose of golden hair 
 Hung down upon her shoulders bare, 
 And clung around her heaving breast 
 Half hiding beauties they caressed. 
 Gay llowers from the vales beneath. 
 Twined round her lofty brow a wreath, 
 Her gentle eyes of azure hue 
 Such glances on the chieftain threw, 
 That he dared not to raise his own 
 To meet the light that in them shone, 
 But sank upon the frozen shore 
 The mystic being to adore ; 
 When a low, sweet voice he heard 
 More sweet than song of summer -bird. 
 
134 
 
 HIAMORAH. 
 
 *' What would Iliamomh bravo 
 
 With Neo tho Spirit of tho Wave ? 
 
 But say tliy wish, and ore the sun 
 
 Has rose, thy mission shall he done : — 
 
 I know thy thought, but ere thou'lt ask, 
 
 Reflect upon the awful task : 
 
 You little know what scenes of woo 
 
 And sorrow you must undergo 
 
 Ere you return to Meetah's side, 
 
 To claim her promise and your bride ! " 
 
 *' Bright Spirit ! " Hiamorah cried, 
 
 " Great Queen who rules the mighty tide I 
 
 A chieftian's heart is true and bold, 
 
 And feareth nothing to behold ; 
 
 If in his soul fear had a trace 
 
 He were unworthy of his race, 
 
 And dare not hold a Chieftain's place I " 
 
 " Brave hunter pause," the spirit said, 
 " Nor seek the awful path to tread. 
 Return unto the Council place, 
 Go join thy people, lead the chase. 
 As was thy wont, nor learn the dread, 
 Forbidden secrets of the dead ! " 
 
 *' No I Lovely Spirit," he replied, 
 *' By what I said I will abide — 
 One hope I have and none beside. 
 The chase for me has got no charms, 
 When forced away from Meetah's arms. 
 
 Win 
 
 Stra 
 
 Gam 
 
 At sf 
 
 Theii 
 
 Thii 1 
 
 Aroni 
 
 Whe 
 
 III Ulfi 
 
 And 
 Or spc 
 
 Atlen 
 
 The ei 
 
 Whert 
 
 The da 
 
 A mon 
 
 And tu 
 
 "Brave 
 
 Tiiy/o( 
 
 But one 
 
 No han 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 And never thus I'll seek for fame 
 Or wisdom at the Council flame !" 
 
 "Then follow me," she said, "and know 
 The secrets that are hid below !'' 
 
 135 
 
 The snow and ice before him shrank, 
 And down amid the waves he sank ; 
 Far down into the stilly deep, 
 Where fancied treasures buried sleep. 
 Strange monsters with dilating eyes 
 Came round him with a dull surprise, 
 At seeing living man invade 
 Their heretofore securest shade. 
 The hoary slime, by ages saved, 
 Around the mossy boulders waved, 
 Where curious things with forms unknown 
 In many colors round him shone. 
 And crawled among the sounding caves, 
 Or sported through the ambient waves. 
 At length they reached a lonely spot. 
 The entrance to a gloomy grot. 
 Where pendent herbage hung a screen 
 The darkly rolling waves between. 
 A moment here the spirit staid. 
 And turning to the chieftain said: 
 "Brave hunter, pause before this place, 
 Thy footsteps thou canst yet retrace. 
 But once thou art beyond this cave 
 No hand, save one, thy life can save ! " 
 
136 HIAMORAH. 
 
 " No ! lovoly spirit," ho replied, 
 " Bv what I said I will abide ! " 
 
 Then down into tl.o grot they past, 
 No glance the chieftain backward cast ^ 
 When suddenly he felt a change, 
 To him a feeling new and strange ; — 
 An awful stillness, deep, profound, 
 Unbroken by a passing sound. 
 It was a lone and dreary place, 
 The realms of unvaried space. 
 There was no life, no light, no air, 
 No feeling of existence there ; 
 His footsteps prest upon no ground 
 Nor water, but a gloom profound. 
 He felt himself sustained and held, 
 And by a guiding power compell'd — 
 The grasp of something light and strong 
 Which bore him high and swift along. 
 He thought he heard a noise afar, 
 Like sounds of elemental war, 
 Which oft he hoard the woods among, 
 Before the mighty tempest sprung. 
 And oft he thought he heard the flow 
 Of Telon's fatal stream of woe ; 
 Where many a pale imprisoned ghost 
 Roamed sadly on the barren coast : 
 And then he felt a pleasing sleep 
 In gentle calm his senses steep ; 
 Nor felt, nor saw, nor heard he more 
 Till, on some undiscovered shore, 
 
 While 
 
IlIAMOnAH. 
 
 \h) wandered sadly by the side 
 
 Of a great Ocean's silent tide. 
 
 A light, such as tlu^ morning throws 
 
 On northern wastes of trackless snows, 
 
 Upon that dreary land was shed, 
 
 Unvisited save by the dead. 
 
 No sun, no moon, appeared on high 
 
 To light the far uncolored sky. 
 
 Even the waves so cold and deep, 
 
 Were sunk in lethargetic sleep. 
 
 He looked around, on either hand 
 
 High rocks enclosed the pathless strand 
 
 Rising precipitous and bare 
 
 Far up into the lifeless air. 
 
 But in the midst he saw a cleft 
 
 As if by some wild earthquake reft — 
 
 The opening scarce admitted light 
 
 And all beyond was wrapt in night. 
 
 That thitherward his pathway lay 
 
 He knew, and bent his stex3s that way. 
 
 137 
 
 While, as he neared the cavern rent 
 O'er which the aged granite bent, 
 He saw a shadowy canoe. 
 That o'er the listless water flew, 
 Within it stood the spirit guide 
 Whose hand the soundless paddle plied ; 
 Around him many warriors sate 
 Who had in battle fell of late. 
 And, gazing on their war worn forms, 
 Hiamorah well descried 
 
mm 
 
 138 HIAMORAH. 
 
 The painful marks of many storms, 
 
 And e'en the wounds by which they died. 
 As they approached the dreary shore, 
 Behind them followed manv more, 
 And each canoe within it bore 
 The like strange inmates as before. 
 In misty line they did advance. 
 
 With draggled plume and cloven brow, 
 As each canoe would slowly glance 
 
 Upon the strand with noiseless prow. 
 Like them he passed with soundless tread 
 Upon the path of fear and dread 
 Where Hobomoko lay in wait 
 To lure or drag them to their fate. 
 The light grew faint and fainter still, 
 He was enclosed by darkness chill ; 
 Now oft he through the silence heard 
 A sigh, a groan, a whispered word ; 
 So long that lifeless stillness reigned 
 Unusual sounds his senses pained. 
 And then he heard a wild, long shriek 
 That concentrated seemed to speak 
 The agony, the woe of years 
 Whose sweetest moments were of tears. 
 Such mad, such deep despair it told. 
 It made his blood run icy cold, 
 Then rush in fire to his brain 
 With sense of most exquisite pain. 
 Anon he'd hear a weary wail. 
 
 As from a wretch for liberty ; 
 Then loud laments his ears assail, 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 Then bursts of wild and horrid glee ; 
 Then sounds he heard as from a strife 
 Waged madly for revenge or life. 
 He heard the conquered mercy call 
 And shuddering knew the Tomhog's fall ; 
 And forms, he saw, amid the gloom 
 Like shadows of impending doom. 
 He clasped his hands upon his face 
 And flew with terror from the place, 
 Nor paused till tired he did find 
 The sounds had ceased long since behind. 
 Behind he saw the same dark cleft 
 Whose horrid gloom he lately left. 
 And, thankfully, his feelings shaped 
 A prayer for dangers he escaped. 
 He stood upon a mountain wild 
 Where rocks confusedly were piled. 
 With many yawning gaps between, 
 Down to the borders of a stream 
 Whose waters, black as midnight, flowed, 
 On which no wave or ripple glowed, 
 That beat with sullen sound the rocks 
 Where mournful Echo sits and mocks. 
 Twas Telon — fatal stream of woe — 
 Whose waters darkly rolled below. 
 
 130 
 
 Ere he the dread descent began 
 
 His eye o'er all the landscape ran : 
 
 He saw the fatal river's tide 
 
 The vale of spirits did divide. 
 
 Even from where, with headlong force. 
 
140 
 
 HIAMORAH. 
 
 1 
 
 w 
 
 1 
 
 
 It rolled adown the mountains high, 
 And seemed as if it had a source 
 Within that pale unchanging sky. 
 The side where Hiamorah stood 
 Was coldly barren, void of good, 
 No tree, no living thing, was there. 
 Nor western desert was more bare. 
 Beyond the stream. Oh ! wh"' ^ change 
 So beautiful, so calm, so strai^ge. 
 The sky wore that voluptuous tinge 
 Like summer evening's sunset fringe, 
 But so ethereally bright. 
 This earth ne'er basked in such a light. 
 No envious cloud obscured its face. 
 Nor tempest a deforming trace 
 Left on its deep and clear expanse 
 Lighted by Areskoui's glance. 
 Bright, happy birds, on fearless wing. 
 Rose gladly up to sweetly sing ; 
 For there no hawk arose to cast 
 Fear on the dove that fluttered past. 
 Beyond the river's further shore 
 
 The sweettsL flowers safely bloomed, 
 Altho' its constant, dismal roar 
 
 So near them in wild anger boomed. 
 And fields he saw of fadeless green. 
 Such as before he ne'er had seen, 
 Where fruitful trees a slielter made 
 For herds of deer that sought their shade. 
 And, far away, he saw that sea 
 
 Like to the floating atmosphere 
 
 Ne( 
 
 Un 
 
 Hoi 
 
 Till 
 
 Un 
 
 To 
 
 Bu 
 
 Af 
 
 Noi 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 141 
 
 Of Heaven's pure serenity, 
 
 So softly bright, so deeply clear ! 
 And, floating on its beaming breast, 
 He saw the Islands of the Blest. 
 While gazing on each fair retreat 
 He longed their happy calm to greet, 
 And in his soul a hope arose, 
 The secret — death — and then — repose ! 
 But in his mind's enraptured flight 
 He heeded not the spirit guide 
 Nee, the lovely watersprite. 
 
 Who pensively stood by his side. 
 Then filmv clouds he saw divide 
 
 The Valley of the dead between 
 As if some envious power denied 
 To him the beauty of the scene. 
 It was the spirits' wing whose dyes 
 
 Of gossamer o'erhung his eyes. 
 And kindly shut the scene away. 
 For thus no longer could he stay. 
 Then down the drear and long descent, 
 With bounding step, he quickly went 
 Nee his footsteps watching o'er 
 Until he stood upon the shore ; 
 Hovering o'er him with a charm 
 That kept him free from every harm. 
 Unto the shore was moored a bark 
 To bear him o'er the waters dark. 
 But, guarding it, with jealous care, 
 A frighful dog stood threatening there. 
 Nor club, nor tomahawk had he 
 
142 HIAMORAH. 
 
 To strive with it for mastery, 
 Yet moved he on to meet the fight : 
 The monster owned the spirit's might, 
 And slowly slunk abashed away 
 By Nee defeated of its prey. 
 But her power ended here, 
 No further could she interfere,. 
 For Telon's deadly stream could know 
 / No power but of Manitou. 
 
 His nervous hand the paddle drew. 
 And soon within the light canoe, 
 With fearless and belabored stroke. 
 Out o'er the sullen wave he broke ; 
 But now the river seemed to grow 
 More loud and furious in its flow, 
 And oft adown the rapid tide 
 Forms, he saw, with horror glide 
 Unto that deep, eternal grave 
 In which the river poured its wave, 
 Gazing up, with dreamy stare. 
 From glassy eyes that looked despair. 
 Some shrieking, as they passed him by, 
 " Know, Chieftain, what it is to die ! " 
 He b'3oded not, but with his eyes ^ 
 Fixeu on the distant golden skies 
 With heart more eager, arm more strong, 
 He urged his tiny bark along ; 
 And oft he thought he heard above ^ 
 The furious billows' constant roar. 
 The welcctme song of the spirit-dove 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 143 
 
 Upon the happy, promised shore. 
 Then came a sudden, fearful shock 
 For on a hidden, sunken rock 
 Was driven his frail, unstable bark, 
 And swift amid the waters dark 
 Sank down, and left him on the wave, 
 Where none could stretch an arm to save, 
 Or snatch him from the awful doom 
 Hidden in yon devouring gloom. 
 
 The furious billows, high and strong, 
 Swiftly bore the Chief along. 
 Tho' oft upon his native shore 
 The buffeting of waves he bore. 
 And tost before his brawny breast 
 The waters that around him prest : 
 But here his efforts were in vain, 
 For when almost the shore he'd gain 
 Some backward eddy cast him far, 
 With headlong waves again to war. 
 Now pain succeeds to weariness. 
 His feeble strokes grow less and less. 
 Now 'neatli the tide he disappears. 
 And ringing waters fill his ears, 
 Then, madly struggling for his life. 
 Renews the long protracted strife. 
 For life becomes more sweet and dear 
 As deathly shadows gather near. 
 But oh ! more sad it io to die 
 When youth just opening meets the eye 
 With golden hope, and promise bright — 
 
144 HIAMORAH. 
 
 To sink into the grave and night ! 
 Now fainter, fainter seems to grow 
 Each desperate but more useless throe, 
 Till hope his fearless breast forsakes 
 As wave on wave above him breaks, 
 Then, ceasing to resist, he goes 
 With the wild river as it flows I 
 
 As swift he passed along, he thought, 
 A form his failing vision caught 
 Weeping by the river's side — 
 Oh ! could it be his promised bride ? 
 He looked again, yes — there she stood. 
 Her arms extended o'er the flood, 
 The tresses of her raven hair 
 Flung loose upon the barren air, 
 And oh ! that ne'er forgotten voice, 
 That oft had made his soul rejoice. 
 Galling in wild tones of grief 
 On her lost, abandoned Chief. 
 But echo only made replies 
 Unto her loud repeated cries, 
 As if some mocking fiend were there 
 Delighting in her mad despair. 
 With one last effort of his soul 
 
 Hiamorah rose above 
 The sullen waves that round him roll. 
 
 Gave one last look upon his love, 
 Then sank amid the rushing tide — 
 Lost forever to his bride ! 
 
 vm 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 145 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 Once more o'er the Lake of Thousand Isles 
 The gladsome spirit of Summer smiles, 
 The cedars nod o'er the laughing stream 
 
 Where, down below, is darkly seen, 
 
 With many gems of fairer sheen, 
 Their wavering outline, like a dream 
 
 Which to a wanderer restores 
 The welciming light of loving eyes ; 
 Whose glance of joy to his replies. 
 But ere he feels its bliss it flies. 
 Like the rosy tint of the sunset skies. 
 
 Which losing again he" deplores. 
 
 One isle alone no Brave's canoe 
 In search of game e'er wanders to, 
 The doe may there her younglings bring. 
 There undisturbed the wild bird sing 
 
 Secure from twanging bow. 
 For this was Hiamorah's isle 
 Ere Meetah with ambitious wile 
 Did the hunter's heart beguile. 
 
 And filled the tribe with woe. 
 For long they sought their youthful chief, 
 And deep, and lasting was their grief 
 When frozen hard, with ice around. 
 Upon his cloak, his dog they found. 
 
146 
 
 HIAMORAH. 
 
 Poor faithful brute, his master came 
 No more to light the wigwam flame 
 
 For their accustomed meal ; 
 And so his lonely watch he kept 
 Till cold o'ercame him, and he slept 
 
 A sleep he could not feel, 
 But woke to seek his master's hand 
 Among the isles of spirit land. 
 
 All nndisturbed his wigwam lay 
 Since that unhappy, fatal day, 
 And where the Ghieftian spread his mat 
 The lizard crawled in slimy fat, 
 
 And sun, and rain, and storm 
 Beat on his desolated hearth, 
 O'er which arose no sound of mirth, 
 
 Or any human form. 
 His tomahawk, by moss o'ergrown. 
 Unheeded on the earth was thrown 
 
 Beside his eagle plume ; 
 The well-earned trophies of the chase 
 Were fallen from each honored place 
 
 And lay about the room, 
 And over all and everything 
 The raven croaked and flapped his wing. 
 The Hunter's home was desolate 
 
 And shunned by all his race. 
 It seemed that his mysterious fate 
 
 Still hung about the place. 
 A solemn air of loneliness ; 
 E'en shadows in the dark recess, 
 
HIAMOHAH. 
 
 By tangled branches made, 
 Seemed forms of an unnatural mould, 
 And many a hunger brave and bold 
 Would feel his blood run quick and cold 
 
 If there his bark had strayed, 
 And quickly ply his ready oar. 
 To hurry from the haunted shore, 
 Tho' he in war and storm before 
 
 Had never been afraid. 
 
 * * « . « • * 
 
 147 
 
 Softly still the stream is flowing, 
 Summer winds are gently blowing. 
 And the summer sun is glowing 
 
 Brightly in the west. 
 But he seems to linger softly 
 O'er the pine trees dark and lofty 
 
 Ere he sinks to rest, 
 As if a parting glance to shed 
 Upon a lovely maiden dead. 
 
 O'er whom he often cast a smile, 
 And robed in many a golden beam 
 
 When, upon her native isle. 
 She sang and sported by the stream ; 
 Knowing not the cares that follow 
 After hopes, as vain as hollow, 
 Nor the trouble, grief and sorrow. 
 That would come and blight the morrow. 
 Little knew she of that day, 
 Angel spirit, — form of clay 
 Born to die and pass away. 
 
148 HIAMORAH. 
 
 Spirit struggling to clasp 
 Things beyond a mortal's grasp, 
 Vainly beats its prison walls 
 Till o'ercome by death it falls, 
 Seeking then th^t shoreless sea 
 Called by man Eternity ! 
 
 The lovely Meetah was no more ; 
 With sorrow deep and anguish sore. 
 She had waited by the shore. 
 Watched and waited, as the llama 
 Lit within the sacred fane, 
 Constant, swerveless in its light 
 Thro' mid-day glare and noon of night. 
 Nor did that lamp more constant burn 
 Than she did wait her love's return. 
 But when the winter long and chill 
 Had passed and he was absent still, 
 Her haughty bosom learned to know 
 Of blighted love each bitter throe, 
 And feel what deep, heart-breaking pain 
 It was to love and love in vain ! 
 
 The Spring time came, but she was changed. 
 And from her former haunts estranged : 
 No more o'er laughing waters flew. 
 With fairy speed, her bright canoe. 
 And she, whose voice was often heard 
 More joyful than the morning bird, 
 With altered tones could scarcely sing 
 The evening anthem for the king. 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 149 
 
 Save when some passing hope would rise 
 The tears would leave her drooping eyes, 
 And 'nealh its sweet impulsive sway 
 She'd pour her wild untutored lay. 
 
 MEETAH S SONG. 
 
 Oh! why, pretty birds, do you wantonly sing 
 
 On my silent and sorrowful isle. 
 All joyous and happy ye come with the spring, 
 
 But go \yhen the skies cease to smile ? 
 
 Do you see not the shadow that lies at my door ? 
 
 I pray you gay mockers to flee — 
 There is sunshine and flowers on many a shore, 
 
 And leave this sad island to me ! 
 
 Or lend me your pinions, oh ! bright little dove, 
 
 And far o'er the water I'll fly, 
 To seek Hiamorah, my long absent love. 
 
 And find him, or for him to die ! 
 
 Ye hear, but ye heed me not, beautiful birds — 
 Oh ! why happy things do you stay ? 
 
 Seek him and tell him mv sorrowful words, 
 Fly away I Fly away ! Fly away ! 
 
 1 1 
 
*/ 
 
 150 
 
 HIAMORAH. 
 
 The sun arose one lovely morn 
 And raw the aged Chief forlorn 
 Kneel: ng bow his haughty head, 
 And with a father's anguish shed 
 Big tears upon his daughter dead. 
 The one last scion of his race — 
 
 Inheritor of all his fame, 
 Queenly form and angel face, — 
 
 Now all nothing but a name ! 
 Thou ! Chieftain, weep ! who didst behold 
 Thy hunters laid in bloody mould I 
 Who with thy mighty single hand 
 Oft kept at bay the hostile band, 
 Who often placed thy Oval o'er 
 The conquered foeman's wigwam, door ! — 
 Thou weep to see this fragile flower 
 Plucked haply in a joyful hour. 
 Cease ! Wawnewaw, 0, cease ! to weep. 
 Death at the worst is but a sleep. 
 Far in the nightless, calm south-west 
 Thou soon wilt join her and be blest : 
 Far better is thy nation's fate 
 Than other tribes that linger late, 
 To see their best and proudest braves 
 Led captive as a stranger's slaves. 
 Then drv, ! chief, those heavv tears, 
 Thy warriors' canoe appears : 
 Let them not know a father .i 
 Could draw a tear from such chief 
 
 hi 
 
HIAMORAH. 151 
 
 Now, while the sun descended low 
 
 In dazzling beauty, fading slow, 
 
 Among the islands, far along, 
 
 Arises Meetah's funeral song. 
 
 It was a wild and plaintive wail 
 
 Borne sadly by the evening gale, — 
 
 Sounds tiiat the fairest scenes oppress 
 
 With strange and undefined distress; 
 
 Which hath a melancholy power 
 
 In fairest garden's sweetest bow'r. 
 
 In day's most bright and cheery hour. 
 
 Such was the sound, oh, fair Ileen ! 
 
 Which came thro' Oakland's vale of green, 
 
 Presaging, with prophetic truth, 
 
 The grief that seared thy happy youth, 
 
 And with a long, unbroken gloom, 
 
 Obscured thy beauty in its bloom ; 
 
 And while beneath its pensive spell. 
 
 Thou wepst, for what, thoii couldst not tell. 
 
 How sad the memory has come 
 
 To me of that too happy day — 
 An exile^ far from thee and home, 
 
 So lonely, and so far away ! 
 
 A white canoe with flowers laden, 
 First bore the body of the maiden, 
 Arrayed as for the bridal dance. 
 So fair, she seemed but in a trance. 
 Although her pulse was stilled in death, 
 And pale her lips and hushed her breath, 
 Her form retained still the trace 
 
152 HIAMORAH. 
 
 Of many a sweet ondearinp: grace, 
 Wliich did in life so brifjitly shine 
 To make the maiden seem divine ; 
 As if some power to her had given 
 The native attributes of heaven. 
 Nor shall the greedy, earthly w^^rm 
 Ravish so beautiful a form, 
 Nor maggot's slimy jaws devour 
 The graces of so fair a flower ; 
 For here, beneath the smiling wave, 
 Will Meetah find a happy grave. 
 Where gentle spirits of the deep 
 Their vigil o'er her couch will keep. 
 
 Slowly, slowly, following 
 The bark of Wawnewaw the king, 
 The Island Tribe came sorrowing. 
 Their light canoes in line extend, 
 And far among the islands wend ; 
 While as the funeral notes arise 
 They each in turn catch up the strain. 
 Till every rocky isle replies 
 
 The sounds of sorrow back again. 
 As o'er the stream they passed along, 
 'Twas thus they sang the Funeral Song. 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 153 
 
 MEKTAIl's FUNERAL SONO. 
 
 Gone to Iho Spirit Land, 
 Where the good and nohle stand 
 
 Forever ! 
 On that undiscovered shore, 
 She will meet to part no more, 
 Lov'd ones who have gone before, 
 
 Forever ! Forever I 
 
 Gone from her island home, . 
 Whore in life she lov'd to roam, 
 
 Forever ! 
 W^e will miss her joyful song, 
 When the laughing maidens throng 
 On the summer evenings long, 
 
 P'orever ! Forever ! 
 
 O) 
 
 Gone from her father old, 
 She is silent, pale and cold. 
 
 Forever 1 
 But the spirit that had shed 
 Light and beauty now has lied, 
 Leaving but a ruin dead. 
 
 Forever ! Forever ! 
 
 Gone from the things of earth. 
 From the song and dance of mirth 
 
 Forever ! 
 To where the lovelv never die, 
 
154 
 
 HIAMORAH. 
 
 And the light that fills the eye, 
 Burns for all eternity, 
 
 Forever ! Forever ! 
 
 Gone at Ariskoui's call — 
 As behind the forests tall. 
 
 Forever ! 
 Sinks the gentle evening star, 
 With no cloud its light to mar. 
 Beautiful and fair and far, 
 
 Forever ! Forever ! 
 
 Gone to Maniloulin's isle, 
 "Where the sun delights to smile, 
 
 Forever ! 
 She will be a happy dove. 
 Every care and fear above, 
 In the light of endless love. 
 
 Forever ! Forever ! 
 
 Gone all her gentle ways. 
 Stricken in her youthful days, 
 
 Forever ! 
 Long we'll watch the spirit stream 
 Glide ere such another beam, 
 Will upon the wigwam gleam, 
 
 Forever ! Forever ! 
 
 Gone from all that held her dear, 
 As the flowers disappear, 
 Forever I 
 
 An 
 To 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 Passing from us every day, 
 To a better land away, 
 So the loveliest decay. 
 
 Forever ! Forever ! 
 
 Gone never to return, 
 
 Then for her we will not mourn, 
 
 Forever ! 
 For we known she is at rest 
 In the Islands of the West, 
 Bright, and happy, pure and blest. 
 
 Forever ! Forever ! 
 
 155 
 
 The eve had deepened to twilight. 
 That gentle time preceding night. 
 Before the gathering shades begin 
 To hide a world of grief and sin. 
 But then it was a different land. 
 
 To what now meets the traveller's eye, 
 All undisturbed, and wild, and grand, 
 
 It bloomed in native majesty. 
 When rested Meetah's death canoe. 
 Upon the river cold and blue, 
 Above that dark unfathomed place. 
 Where lie the dead of all her race. 
 The mourning tribe a circle make, 
 In silence round the Spirit Lake. 
 Then rose the ancient Powah chief, 
 Whose councils wise e'er found belief. 
 An aged and venerable seer, 
 To whom all mysteries were clear. 
 
156 
 
 HIAMOnAH. 
 
 He o'er the corse inspired hung, 
 Then high aloft his arms he flung, 
 And thus his incantation sung. 
 
 INCANTATION. 
 
 Dead of our Fathers, who ages unknown 
 Have slept in the waters unyielding embrace. 
 
 Receive to vour bosoms a child of vour own, — 
 A maiden, the fairest and best of your race ! 
 
 To ye we return her as pure as she sprung 
 
 FrOiii the land wdiere the spirits of beauty abide, 
 
 In the pride of her loveliness, happy and young, 
 We resign her, with sorrow, to rest by your side. 
 
 Ye waves that roll on to the ocean of death, 
 Where no star points the way for the hunter 
 to go, 
 
 Bear her gently along thro' your caverns beneath, 
 And murmur more softly as with her ye flow. 
 
 Like a flower that's plucked from the stem in its 
 bloom, 
 
 And cast on the water, our Meetah behold ; 
 But never that water enclosed in its tomb 
 
 A flower of sweeter or lovelier mould ! 
 
 He cd 
 Dei 
 
 And 
 Rol 
 
 Then 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 157 
 
 CO, 
 
 abide, 
 
 (T 
 
 lur side, 
 
 hunter 
 
 )eneaili, 
 Low. 
 
 b in its! 
 
 Ye demons that long were the slaves of her race, 
 Flee far from the path that her spirit must tread ; 
 
 While beings of beauty with guarding embrace, 
 The light of your brows on her weary way shed ! 
 
 Souls of her fathers prepare her retreat. 
 Of the downiest moss be the couch of her rest, 
 
 Spread the ripest of fruit and the daintiest meat 
 That is found in the gardens and isles of the blest. 
 
 Ye spirits of forest, of water, of air, 
 Protect her upon her lone journey to-night, 
 
 Till she passes the valley of death and despair. 
 And Great Manitoulin bursts full on her sight. 
 
 Hobomoko afllict not the child of our love. 
 And to thee we will oiler the best of our store, — 
 
 ! swift be her flight as the wing of a dove 
 To its nest, which the vulture is hovering o'er 1 
 
 And Thou Ariskoui, our God, and our Chief, — 
 Great Spirit of beauty, of love and of life 1 
 
 Thro' the valley of shadow defend her from grief. 
 Till she rests in thy presence from sorrow and 
 strife. 
 
 He ceases — slowly through the wave 
 
 Descends the tiny bark. 
 And soon above the maiden's grave 
 
 Roll on the waters dark. 
 Then every funeral canoe 
 
158 
 
 HIAMORAH. 
 
 In silence turned away, 
 There many a brave and fair they knew 
 
 All cold and lowly lay. 
 'Twas night, and on the woody shore 
 The whipoorwill did sadly pour 
 Its oft repeated, pensive song 
 Thro' nocturnal hours long. 
 And the night winds murmured softly 
 Thro' the pine trees dark and lofty ; 
 Hearken ! how they sigh and groan 
 With a strange, unearthly tone, 
 As if banished spirits there 
 Told their sorrow and despair. 
 Mourning in the gloomy shade 
 Of the overarching glade. 
 
 # 
 
 In deepest gloom the night descended 
 
 On mountain, isle, and river. 
 As home the mourning nation wended 
 
 From where, in death, forever 
 They had laid their fairest child. 
 Deep in waters cold and wild. 
 And that moaning water only 
 Broke the silence deep and lonely, 
 As if they sang a requiem 
 In answer to the funeral hymn. 
 
 Far in the distant northern sky 
 Arose a fair, pale light on high 
 In waving flashes springing, strong 
 
 Still 
 
 Was 
 
 Until 
 
 Off! 
 
 In sil 
 
 Each 
 
 All w 
 
 And 
 
 And 
 
 In 
 
HIAMOHAH. 
 
 Upon the heavens far along, 
 
 Until a mighty arch it glowed, 
 
 Of lambent flame, that surged and glowed. 
 
 While far beneath its spreading sheen 
 
 Mountain, isle, and lake was seen 
 
 Spread in misty gloom around 
 
 Without motion, life or sound, 
 
 Save the rushing of the river 
 
 Flowing darkly on forever. 
 
 !5U 
 
 Upon the Council Island stood 
 
 Wawnewaw, with his tribe around, 
 Before him rolled the mighty flood. 
 Above him waved the forest wood 
 Whose mystic shadows seemed to brood 
 
 In darkness awful and profound. 
 The Council flame was burning bright, 
 And fitful gleams of lurid light 
 Were cast into remoter shades. 
 Like spirits flitting thro' the glades 
 
 Unbroken by a sound. 
 Still that strange light which filled the north 
 Was spreading brighter, farther forth, 
 Until a mighty canopy 
 Of flame it overhung the sky. 
 In silence round the council flame 
 Each warrior and hunter came 
 All with the trophies of the fight 
 And of the toilsome chase bedight 
 And painted with the war paint bright 
 
 In grim and wild array. 
 
160 HI AMOR AH. 
 
 All gazed upon their ancient chief, 
 No longer bowed by care or grief. 
 He stood erect, apart, alone. 
 Where full the blaze upon him shone, 
 His gaze upon the sky was thrown. 
 
 His thoughts were far away. 
 Then turning to his tribe around 
 His voice did thro' the isle resound. 
 
 u 
 
 Once more," the Island King exclaimed, 
 *' 1 Sachmas ever just and wise. 
 And warriors brave, and hunters famed, 
 
 I call ye to an enterprise ! 
 Great Manitou is angry now, 
 
 And turned from us — his chosen race — 
 With midnight he has clothed his brow — 
 
 And from his people hides his face ! 
 How many weary moons have past 
 
 Since Hiamorah from us fled. 
 And every moon that went has cast 
 
 O'er us the shadow of the dead ! 
 Stand forth ! 0, Magasaugatee ! 
 Great Medicine we call on thee ! — 
 Old Powah of the isles arise, 
 
 Thou healer of the hunter's pain. 
 Did Hiamorah win the prize. 
 
 Or did he die, and die in vain ? " 
 Scarce had he ceased, when silently 
 Game forth the Magasaugatee. 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 16t 
 
 Of giant form the Powah stood 
 
 Like an oak of his native wood ; 
 
 Clad in a robes of bear skin black 
 
 That, falling from his breast and back, 
 
 Swept to his feet and lay around 
 
 In massive folds upon the ground. 
 
 While o'er his face a mask he wore 
 
 Which from some strange wild beast he tore ; 
 
 And from his sunken eyes outcamo 
 
 The lightnings of a hidden llame. 
 
 While o'er his brow of awful glooms 
 
 Waved darkly many sable plumes. 
 
 ^' King of the Isles ! " the Powah spoke. 
 And when his voice the silence broke 
 Each hunter sprang as if he heard 
 Some mystic being speak the word. 
 ^' King of the Isles, at thy command 
 I'll call from out the spirit land 
 The awful shape of Powahkee, 
 And he will answer unto thee." 
 Then strode he to a rock that stood 
 Alone and high above the flood, 
 And loudly spoke the dreadful spell 
 Which could the demon powers compel. 
 When ceased the Powah chief, the wave 
 Grew turbulent and 'gan to rave, 
 And heave, and leap upon the shore, 
 And like a wounded beast to roar ; 
 While slowly from its angry throes 
 The form of Powahkee arosp. 
 
 6# 
 
'ik 
 
 HIAMORAH. 
 
 ■ I >■ 
 
 Far to the sky its sharlow past, 
 A shape of terror, dim and vast, 
 While, as from out the clouds it spoke, 
 Its vdice like dying thunder broke. 
 
 ^' Thy dread command I must obey — 
 What would you have, ! Chieftain, say !" 
 
 " Did Hiamorah the secret attain 
 
 Or did he perish and perish in vain ? " 
 
 " Listen ! " thus the shade began, 
 *' Child of earth and water, Man : — 
 Thy Hiamorah won the prize 
 And now he is in Paradise. 
 Great power in thy race shall dwell, 
 Thine shall all other tribes excel 
 Until, from out the eastern sea, 
 
 A bearded warrior shall rise. 
 Whose brow as white as snow shall be, 
 
 And like the heaven's blue his eves. 
 Power shall never pass away 
 From thy people till that day ! — 
 Behold ! " and at the loud command 
 They saw a cloudy, pointing hand 
 
 The northern arch of light divide, 
 Discovering a valley fair. 
 
 With Meetah seated by the side 
 Of Hiamorah happy there. 
 Gay trees above them spread a shade, 
 Of softest leaves their couch was made. 
 
 T 
 T 
 A 
 
 T( 
 H( 
 
 Fo 
 
HIAMORAH. 
 
 The fairest flowers round tliem sprung, 
 The brightest birds above lliem sung ; 
 And lovely beings often came 
 To them with sweetest fruit and game. 
 Here at last they've found their rest 
 For faithful love is ever blest 1 
 
 163 
 
164 
 
 Malta. 
 
 MALTA. 
 
 " But not in silence pass Calypso^s isle.^' 
 
 — Byron. 
 
 ! hella fior del mondo ! to-morrow (^) 
 
 I'll leave thee to follow the path of the sun, 
 No more to return, yet departing in sorrow — 
 
 The stranger may go as the stranger hath done. 
 I've met the hot breath of the scorching siroc 
 
 As I guarded thy ramparts that frown on the sea, 
 
 I've lain 'neath the shade of the vine covered rock 
 
 Weaving bright fancies of glory and thee. 
 
 But now another takes my post 
 
 Upon thy lofty walls, 
 And 1 no more will wake the ghost 
 That haunts thy ancient halls. 
 
 No more my feeble voice will wake 
 
 The spirit overcast, 
 That broods where duskv shadows rake 
 
 TIj 
 
MALTA. 
 
 105 
 
 
 m, 
 
 The embers of the past. 
 Their fears, their tears, their years, 
 
 Are yet untold ; 
 The must, and dust, and rust 
 Tlieir armour mould. 
 St Elmo's walls still domineer (2) 
 
 The blue divided water, 
 As on that awful night of fear 
 
 They loomed above the slaughter ; 
 While in their crumbling breaches stood 
 
 Each knightly vowed defender. 
 Baptising with the heart's best blood 
 That post, nor would surrender ! 
 But now within 
 I hear the din 
 Of revelry and laughter, 
 From those who live 
 Their day nor give 
 A thought unto hereafter. 
 It may be good. 
 For ! why should 
 We toil and suffer daily? 
 Gould songs and wine 
 Kill thoughts like mine 
 ! would I not live gaily 1 
 
 St. Angelo in maiden pride 
 
 Frowns with a front unshaken, (3) 
 ! what a deep memorial tide 
 
 Those gray old ramparts waken 
 The lofty shade of old Vallette, 
 
tCt) MALTA. 
 
 L'lslc Adam sad and tearless, 
 Gassiere broken hearted, yet 
 In age and sorrow fearless ! (*) 
 His shade may weep 
 In that high keep 
 For virtue long departed ; 
 When knights who wear 
 The cross can dare 
 Be cruel and vile-hearted. 
 I look on the crosses 
 
 Cut deep in the wall, (5) 
 That tell of the deadly 
 Encounter and fall : 
 The gloomy Stretta 
 Where fierce vendetta 
 In bloody anger assuaged its hate : — 
 Their doom was written, 
 And thev were smitten 
 In their greatness by the hand of fate. 
 And now their glory 
 Is but a story 
 Of things forgotten that were once so great. 
 
 The Holy City's keys still hang 
 
 In San Giovanni's shrine, (6) 
 While hearts and hands that guarded them 
 
 Below in death recline. 
 Tread softly, for you stand upon 
 
 The dust of mi^htv men ! — 
 Earth, sanctified by such, will ne'er 
 
 Behold their like aij^ain. 
 
MALTA. 167 
 
 0, heroes of the Gross ! how great 
 
 Your lives, vour fortunes, and vour fate ! 
 
 And those that mighty d'AuLisson 
 
 Held with unsliakcMi trust, 
 When Rhodes defied the Moslem pow'r, 
 
 A useless treasure rust 
 Before the silver gates that ne'er 
 Are opened hut for holiest pray'r, 
 The iron faces of the dead 
 
 Look down the silei t aisles, 
 Stern, as in life, eacli lofty head 
 
 In seeming scorning smiles 
 On such as we who come and go, 
 Like fools who gape upon a show. 
 The highest glory filled their day 
 
 These monuments can tell : — 
 Kneel scoffer, if you can, and pray 
 That you may do as well ! 
 
 I stood one day upon the wall 
 
 That crown? the bleak Salmone, 0) 
 And, with the wind, heard voices call, 
 
 In weird and awful tone ; 
 And fi'cm he valley far below 
 
 A mo?king answer came. 
 It was not spoken — but I know 
 
 Its meaning all the same. 
 It might have been the voice of her 
 
 Forsaken ages past — 
 The lost enchantress may confer 
 
 Her sorrows to the blast. 
 
1 68 MALTA. 
 
 Below where those briglit waters smile 
 
 The great apostle's hark 
 Was driven, when this barren isle 
 
 Was wrapt in tempests dark, 
 liis shrine is standing by the sea, 
 To which comes many a devotee. 
 Behold those Christian drunk with wine 
 
 Who revel near the sacred spot, 
 The history of things divine — 
 
 The saint — their faith forgot 1 
 Are they deserving of the grace 
 To know his word — to see this place ? 
 
 Old Notabile stands upon a hill (§) 
 
 With Olive groves and vineyards at its ba«^ 
 Its lofty walls, half ruined, beareth still 
 Of siege and battle many a cruel trace. 
 The centre of this lovely isle, — 
 
 The home of song and story, — 
 Whose tranquil beauty seems to smile 
 
 Forgetful of its glory. 
 Deserted streets of marble halls. 
 And temples grand and olden. 
 Where startled echo's rarely calls 
 
 Strange sounds thro' sunlight golden : 
 High convent walls in ivy wrapt, 
 
 Shrines of our blessed ladv, 
 In melancholy silence lapt, 
 In lanes with cypress shady. 
 
MALTA. 
 
 169 
 
 And now and then 
 Queer aged men 
 Pass where thi. bastions moulder, 
 And seem to me, 
 So strange they be. 
 Old as the place or older. 
 And carved in stone above each door 
 
 Is many a knightly crest, 
 That flamed in hostile fields of vore 
 
 •J 
 
 Are now the sparrow's nest. 
 The winged hand still grasps the sword 
 
 Before the ancient palace ; 
 In dungeons underneath is stored 
 
 Verdala's burning chalice. 
 And Bellfiore's ruined wall 
 
 Frowns on the peasant's labor, 
 While from its brow strange echoes call 
 
 Of song, and pipe, and tabor. 
 Oh! what a host of shadows wait 
 Before yon dark unopened gate ; 
 Heroes from the east and west, 
 In their iron armour drest. 
 The white cross gleaming on each breast ; 
 Stern warriors of the cross are they — 
 Those shadows of a former day ! 
 
 len : 
 
 But hark! 
 It is dark — 
 The bells are all tolling, 
 
 While, up from the Levant, 
 The night cloud is roHing. 
 
170 
 
 MALTA. 
 
 0, those bells ! those Malta bells, (9) 
 
 Loudly, wildly ringing, 
 High their deaf'niog chorus swells, 
 
 Strangest medlies singing. 
 
 Now higher, higher, 
 
 The iron choir 
 
 Like tongues of fire 
 From earth ascend ; 
 
 The wide air beating, 
 
 Their notes repeating, 
 
 Like spirits meeting 
 They rise and blend ! 
 
 Now corning softly 
 
 From belfrey's lofty 
 Sweet silver voices float thro' the gloom. 
 
 Then, loud as tiiunder, 
 
 From Gassels inider 
 
 Rush sounds of wonder 
 As if from the tomb ! 
 
 They cease, and slowly from afar, 
 
 Where Dhingli's vale reposes, 
 I hear a voice and see a star 
 
 That beams on paths of roses ; 
 But " the silver chord is broken," 
 And the night will give no token 
 
 That can lead me thither — 
 Soon the flowers I have cherished. 
 All neglected, will have perished, 
 
 And forgotten wither. 
 
MALTA. 
 
 171 
 
 Never more my steps will linger 
 
 Near that glad retreat, 
 Where a certain lovely singer 
 
 Singeth very sweet. 
 
 For me no more that star will rise 
 So brightly in the eastern skies 
 
 To guide me unto rest, 
 For when descends another night 
 O'er ocean I will urge my flight 
 
 Far, far unto the west ! 
 
 m, 
 
nnrii>i>jiiiiiWMfcilitMih 
 
 172 
 
 LINKS ON LKAVING CANADA. 
 
 LINES ON LEAVING CANADA. 
 
 Farewell, dear Canada, a last farewell ! 
 
 Thou tender mother of a wavward child : 
 In agony the parting tear doth swell 
 
 At leaving scenes that oftentimes beguiled 
 My overladen breast, and sweetly smiled 
 
 Away m.y grief, and soothed me to repose ; 
 Farewell ye beauties of my native wild, 
 
 The forest glens, the mountains clad in snows? 
 The bright and boundless lakes that mighty vales 
 enclose ! 
 
 But I must leave thos(^ scenes, so dear to me 
 By many a sweet and sad remembrance ; 
 
 But whither will my weary spirit flee, 
 Or whither turn my satiated glance ? 
 
 Where will I lay my head to court the trance 
 Of sweet forge tfulness ? Is there a place 
 
 Beyond the power of malignant chance — 
 
LINES ON LEAVING CANADA. 
 
 173 
 
 Some isle unknown, untainted by the trace 
 Of human baseness that remains to man's 
 
 disgrace ? 
 
 My country ! rugged nurse of dauntless souls, 
 
 Free, wild and bc^autifiil. Now must I stray 
 Afar from where my native water rolls, 
 
 To foreign climes, for many a weary day ; 
 But thought delighted often will array 
 
 Thy sunny hills in many a glowing theme ; 
 And on the gale will rise the wanderer's lay. 
 
 When lonely he will strive to catch a gleam 
 Of joys which are to him but shadows of a dream ! 
 
 Farewell, rny friend, who ever kindly sought 
 
 To cheer my weary days and nights of toil 
 Willi feelings wealth or power never bought. 
 
 Nor hate, nor envy ever could despoil ; 
 Yes, Gleon, thy firm heart couldst ever foil 
 
 The meaner shafts of malice, and remain 
 True to thy friend, nor let suspicion soil 
 
 Those feelings that united us through pain 
 And pleasure that has passed, but left us still the 
 same ! 
 
 ce 
 
 Farewell to ye, I fain would dwell Iteside, 
 Gould I but make mv weary heart forget. 
 
 And with ye down life's current gently glide 
 Unpained by sorrows that awake regret. 
 
 As unavailing as 'tis deep ; but yet 
 I would not leave ye with an angry brow ^ 
 
tmtatmm 
 
 174 
 
 LINES ON LEAVING CANADA. 
 
 ■ M 
 V 
 
 For, tho' my faults arc manifold, the debt 
 
 Of love I will repay, and oft, as now. 
 To sweet remembrance this aching head will bow. 
 
 Thou first bright vision of my hopeful youth, 
 
 To thee how can I speak a bist adieu ? 
 When will I find again such love and truth 
 
 As in those happy by-gone days I knew ? 
 Enough — Farewell ! Why waken ? why review 
 
 The gloomy retrospect of pain and wo ? — 
 Those thoughts like ivy round a ruin, grew 
 
 Into my being, though around it blow 
 The raging storms of life that no cessation know! 
 
 A last farewell ! I will forget it all — 
 
 To stormy scenes and distant lands 1 11 y — 
 The streams, the rocks, the haunts of old recall 
 
 What must not be remembered — I will try ! 
 And if upon the battle field I die, 
 
 There's few or none to mourn my early doom, 
 No tear for me may dim affection's eye ; 
 
 Uncared I'd fall, and sink into the gloom 
 Wliich shrouds that sweet repose found only in 
 the tomb ! 
 
LINES ON AnniVING IN CANADA. 
 
 175 
 
 LINES ON ARRIVING IN CANADA. 
 
 Once more upon my native land ! once more ! 
 
 0, liappy hour ! heralded on wings 
 Of hght and joy, all eager to restore 
 
 The wanderer to un forgotten things ! 
 See what a halo from the mountain springs, 
 
 As if some God behind the purple line 
 Of those dark woods his shadow eastward flings, 
 While singing welcomes thro' the branching 
 pine, 
 To one long loved and lost who comes across the 
 brine ! 
 
 Hail ! Hail ! my country ; I have wandered far 
 Thro' lands that glory in a cloudless sun, 
 
 But turn I now unto the northern star 
 Beneath whose ray my dream of life begun, 
 
 And, while T gaze where thy wild waters run, 
 I see each brave old landmark on the shore 
 
176 
 
 LINES ON ARRIVING IN CANADA. 
 
 Which shows tho wilderness from nature won : 
 ! I could gaze \intil my bosom's core 
 Tho impress of tho woods, and streams, and moun- 
 tains, bore ! 
 
 I left tliee years ago when T was young. 
 Thinking my fate was never to return, 
 Bowed by strange sorrow, yet the jjarting wrung 
 
 From me a wild farewell ; and I did yearn 
 While blinding tears my blanching checks did 
 
 burn. 
 E'en while the ship was bearing me aw'ay. 
 
 For oh ! I felt that parting, coldly stern, 
 Bade dreaming youth depart from me that day, 
 Then like a frightened thing my spirit fled astray ! 
 
 In eastern lands the eyes were darkly bright 
 
 That shone on me, nor shone they all in vain, 
 For who would turn from genial day to night, 
 
 Renounce a pleasure to endure a pain ? 
 But with what transport did I hail again 
 
 The lovely daughters of my native land 
 Fairest of all, so ever will they reign 
 
 Within my bosom, in supreme command, 
 While love is in my heart, or life is in my hand I 
 
 0, Canada ! mv native land thou art 
 Like a young Titan in the giant spring 
 
 Of thy wild youth. Let anarchs seek thy heart 
 To pierce with poison that can have no sting 
 
 For one like thee. Faith, valor, virtue, bring 
 
MNES ON AnniVING IN CANADA. 
 
 177 
 
 A crown from many nations unto thee ! 
 Be firm and true, and high thy banner fling, 
 Then thro' the future wilt thou ever he 
 The chosen land of peace, and love, and liberty ! 
 
 And, should a foe again our shores profane, 
 
 We, who of war have learned the horrid trade, 
 Will march unconquered to the field again — 
 
 The firm red line that never was afraid. 
 And when our flng is to the breeze display'd 
 
 E'en as our fathers fought wo too will fighl. 
 And never will invading foe degrade 
 
 That symbol of our glory and our right. 
 For we are men wdio know our duty and our might ! 
 
 w 
 

 
 
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178 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 
 r i 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 As o'er the page of vanished years we gaze 
 
 Recalling scenes and faces once so dear, 
 And memory with softening hand portrays 
 
 Each form that fancy bids again appear ; 
 We shed alfection's tributary tear, 
 
 When some dear name more cherished meets 
 the eye, 
 And one that bore it is no longer near. 
 
 But yet what distance can divide the tie 
 Which binds such kindred souls as to each other flv ! 
 
 Within this shrine will friendship leave the trace 
 Of the heart's promptings which no after wo 
 
 Can ever from Remembrance fond efface. 
 No matter where thy wand'ring steps may go 
 
 These treasured pages will a radiance throw 
 Around the past, containing as they will 
 
 Hopes and professions, oh ! may they not show 
 
WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 179 
 
 ay go 
 ow 
 U 
 show 
 
 How Friendship never does its vows fulfil, 
 And warmth of words contain no corresponding 
 thrill ! 
 
 How sweet it is, when years have past away. 
 
 To turn with retrospective glance and view 
 The happy traces of a former day. 
 
 And think of those we loved and those we knew 
 In life's proud opening prime ; and so pursue 
 
 The chain of recollection till we find. 
 With saddened hearts, how altered and how few 
 
 Are those revolving years have left behind. 
 Who once around our hearts with fond affection 
 twined ! 
 
 meets 
 
 her fly! 
 
 lie trace 
 jr wo 
 
 But 0, dear lady ! may it never be 
 
 So proved to thee, but may each hour tend 
 To make all earth more beautiful to thee. 
 
 May Heaven o'er thee its right arm extend. 
 And thy pure heart from sorrow's shafts defend. 
 
 And shed on thee its blessing and its peace ; 
 That thou mayst find a never swerving friend,— 
 
 May every day behold thy joy increase, 
 Until thy heart, unwrung, its happy pulse will 
 cease ! 
 
^ 
 
 180 
 
 ONTARIO. 
 
 ONTARIO. 
 
 Written in Malta, 
 
 The sun is brightly glowing 
 
 Upon the midland sea, 
 Whose limpid waters flowing 
 
 A mirror are for me. 
 As in its deeps I'm gazing 
 
 My thoughts will backward go, 
 Sweet memories upraising 
 
 Of bright Ontario. 
 
 Now dreams of love entrancing 
 
 Recall each happy scene, 
 Where the bright waves are glancing 
 
 'Neath woods of waving green ; 
 Where pensive cedars bending 
 
 O'er shadows far below — 
 Their drooping branches blending 
 
 With bright Ontario. 
 
ONTARIO. 
 
 This is a land of glory, 
 
 Its skies are fair and bright, 
 Oft sung in classic story, 
 
 And renowned in Christian fight ; 
 But give me back the wildwood. 
 
 Where dashing torrents flow, 
 Where sprung my happy childhood. 
 
 By bright Ontario ! 
 
 181 
 
 I see amid the bowers 
 
 Of vines and stately trees, 
 A cottage clad with flowers, 
 
 Whose odors load the breeze. 
 I see the rugged mountain 
 
 And grassy slopes below,* 
 I see the virgin fountain. 
 
 And bright Ontario. 
 
 
 I see the torrent dashing 
 
 Thro' tiie lonely forest glen, 
 I see the sunbeams flashing 
 
 On the cataract again ; 
 I see the grove of willow 
 
 On the cliff, as long ago, 
 Where by thy restless billow 
 
 Dwelt my love — Ontario. 
 
 Oh ! no I am not dreaming, 
 I see her standing there. 
 
 And in her eye is beaming 
 A love I cannot share ! 
 
182 ONTARIO. 
 
 ! couldst thou see me, Mary, 
 Thy gentle heart might know 
 
 What pangs of sorrow tear me 
 Far from Ontario ! 
 
 1 see the moonbeams falling 
 On a hill o'er the wave, 
 
 Where whip-poor-wills are calling 
 Above a lonely grave ; 
 
 There silently is sleeping 
 A heart that loved me so, 
 
 While lonely I am weeping 
 Far from Ontario. 
 
 But hope will bid me cherish. 
 
 Thro' all those weary years, 
 A dream that will not perish, 
 
 Tho' often dimm'd by tears ; 
 But now the whole is tending, 
 
 From my wrapt vision slow. 
 And the wave o'er which I'm bending 
 
 Is not Ontario ! 
 
THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 183 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 Farewell, Old Year ! thy latest sobbing breath 
 Falls on my brow like whisperings of doom ; 
 
 Cold, cold and still thy agony of death 
 Like one who perishes in winter gloom ! 
 
 ! heavy is the burthen of thy age, 
 
 Well mayst thou pant and stagger with the 
 weight, 
 Here, take with thee this darkly blotted page, 
 
 Filled with the record of a darker fate ! 
 
 Sad broken hearts and severed ties are thine, 
 Sin, sorrow, death ; — a tale of care and woe — 
 
 With rifted gleams of glory that will shine 
 In darkest hours on the faint and low. 
 
 Here is a soul-drawn picture of the past, 
 I traced it fondly when my heart was young, 
 
 ! colors bright, why did ye lade so fast 1 — 
 Faint, mocking echo of a song I sung ! 
 
184 
 
 THE DKATH OF THE OLD YEAH. 
 
 Go 1 go Old Year, such things may never more 
 Tear from my heart the armour thou hast lent, 
 
 Tho' floating faintly from a far off shore, 
 I hear a whisper with thy sighings blent. 
 
 Hush ! hush ! be still, — the poor Old Year is dead ! 
 
 While, springing from his ashes, see arise 
 A being lovely as a spirit led 
 
 Fresh from the glow of God's own paradise. 
 
 It brings to me a scroll on which is writ 
 Nor word, nor sign, of all that yet may be, 
 
 But o'er the page a shadow seems to flit — 
 I vainly grasp at what I cannot see ! 
 
 I see a form — Oh, can it be of earth ! 
 
 With long dark hair and eyes of wondrous hue, 
 But robed in black, like one who at the birth 
 
 Of sorrow stood and all its anguish knew. 
 
 So once again the long deserted halls 
 Of my dark heart is filling with a light 
 
 That softly on each buried treasure falls, 
 That long was hid by desolation's night. 
 
 Then hail, New Year ! for in thy face I read 
 Sweet hope and promises of future joy, 
 
 Delusive beauty, can I — dare I heed 
 What thou hast shown — perhaps but to destroy ? 
 
\ ONLY Smr, FOR THOSE I LOVE. 
 
 185 
 
 I ONLY SING FOR THOSE 1 LOVE. 
 
 hue, 
 
 troy 
 
 I only sing for those I love, 
 
 Nor care for praise or blame, 
 From lips whose smilings only prove 
 
 Them heartless, cold or tame ; 
 But those that love and suffer may 
 
 Find solace in my songs. 
 For only unto such as they 
 
 My wild sad strain belongs. 
 
 I will not curb my spirit down 
 
 To earth or earthly eyes, 
 Nor hang upon the smile or frown 
 
 Of those I do not prize 1 
 I have a kingdom of my own. 
 
 The world and men above, 
 Which is my home — so 1 alone 
 
 Will sing for those I love ! 
 
 
i 
 
 186 
 
 THE iMOONLIGHT STORNf. 
 
 THE MOONLIGHT STORM. 
 
 i^l 
 
 A lovely night ! serenely clear the sky 
 
 Spreads its broad arch of blue, filled by the light 
 Of pale wan Cynthia, who, far on high, 
 
 Looks calmly down — the silent queen of night. 
 The sportive zephyrs kissing, in their flight 
 
 Thy pure white brow, dear Mary, seem to sigh 
 A breath of love, and linger with delight 
 
 Around our bower, when thy form is nigh. 
 As if they fain would bear thee with them as they fly ! 
 
 But see, my love, upon the fancied bound 
 
 Where earth and sky are met, a gloomy cloud 
 Ascending slowly until far around 
 
 Lies 'neath the shadow of the stormy shroud. 
 Yon sheets of flame how grand, how wildly proud 
 
 They cleave the blackness with a livid tongue, 
 And now the thunders hoarsely roar aloud. 
 
 And wilder are the forked lightnings flung. 
 Which seem to madly sport the distant hills among- 
 
THE MOONLIGHT STORM. 
 
 187 
 
 See ! raised on high, like a triumphal arch 
 
 Based on the mountains that o'erlook the vale, 
 A spirit rainbow, gleaming o'er the march 
 
 Of elemental armies ; while the gale. 
 Eager the woods and mountains to assail, 
 
 Beareth them onward on his rushing wings, 
 Each flying: cohort, wrapt in cloudy mail. 
 
 With its exultant swiftness wildly sings 
 While chaos black behind the whole its shadow 
 flings ! 
 
 e light 
 night. 
 
 10 sigh 
 
 Ley fly'. 
 
 cloud 
 
 iroud. 
 
 proud 
 Itongue. 
 
 mg, 
 1 among- 
 
 Still the sweet moon upon us sadly pours 
 Her light as yet unshaded by the gloom 
 Of yonder cloud, from whose black bosom roars 
 
 The living thunder, as from out its womb, 
 Springs each wild flash, with every deaf'ning 
 boom. 
 The hissing deluge comes — where shalt thou fly 
 My frightened dove, to 'scape the coming doom ? 
 No shelter — none — come to this bosom I 1 
 Will shield my own sweet love from Heav'n's angry 
 sky! 
 
 Yes ! I will guard thee let the thunders peal. 
 And dizzy lightning its wild course pursue, 
 
 For oh ! what transport does my bosom feel 
 My own dear Mary, when protecting you I 
 
 I clasp thee to my bosom, and renew 
 My plighted vow again, and o'er again, 
 
 Amid the scenes my soul delights to view, 
 
188 
 
 THE MOONLIGHT STOAiM. 
 
 And strive to shield thee, nor so strive in vain, 
 As 1 would keep thee pure from earth's more blight- 
 ing pain I 
 
 So would 1 thro' the darker storm of life 
 
 Protect thy heart as now 1 do thy head, 
 And bear thee scathless thro' the wicked strife, 
 
 And scatter flowers where thy footsteps led. 
 That thou shouldst feel no pang of wo or dread, 
 
 But be all that delightful dreams portrayed. 
 The same bright vision that my fancy fed, 
 
 The same dear, beautiful, and loving maid 
 Beneath whose feet my heart has long in transport | 
 laid. 
 
 Peal ye wild thunders ! leap ye lighUiings down! 
 
 Ye wrathy elements your force combine. 
 Till trembling earth lies prone beneath your frown 
 I reck not for your wrath while Mary 's mine! 
 ! let me stand like yonder riven pine 
 Round whose bare head the lurid lightnings 
 flame, 
 And 'bout its arms like hissing serpents twine,— 
 Let me a part of this wild storm exclaim. 
 For hearts like mine can feel no joy in pleasures | 
 tame I 
 
 !BR ; 
 
THE BHII'UIIBCK. 
 
 189 
 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 A mighty ship in ,, -..sly 
 
 Across the so, was goi„. 
 The sun was. :..upon^ ;,:-.' 
 
 In setting g,orv^,,r„y- 
 And ovor as sh. spod along, 
 
 Arose fr5 °' '""' '"" ^««"'-- 
 Arose from many hearts a song 
 
 Of home, and love, and duty 
 
 And all around the hungry sea 
 Was treacherously smllin' 
 
 All animate it seemed to he !1 
 
 Strange, heauliful, beguiling 
 
 High hearts she hpM ^r.-fi • ^ 
 
 That heat wUhT "''" ^^^' ^^east 
 Tho K *^ "^ ^^Pe and darinr> 
 inehrothpi- hn«har,^ i '^'**^"g:, 
 
 T"- 'oVsS;tS'£r„g^'est, 
 
190 
 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 And high the joyous anthem rang, 
 " To loving hearts we're flying ! " 
 
 Ah ! little did they dream who sang 
 Of danger or of dying. 
 
 And silence reigi^d upon the sea 
 
 And some were gently dreaming, .. 
 While visions fair as fair may be 
 
 Upon their souls were beaming. 
 The brother saw his sister dear 
 
 His weary brow caressing, 
 The husband felt the one most near 
 
 Upon his bosom pressing. 
 
 The lover claspt his blushing bride 
 
 And whispered to the vision 
 Of years of joy that would betide 
 
 In love without division. 
 When suddenly arose a cry 
 
 Of horror and despairing 
 That rent the gloomy vault on high — 
 
 An awful fate declaring. 
 
 Around the ship the breakers spring 
 
 With voices loud as thunder. 
 And drooping like a wounded thing 
 
 She strikes the dark rocks under. 
 Deep in ocean's viewless cave 
 
 Those gallant souls are sleeping, 
 And broken hearts with anguish rave, 
 
 And loving ones are weeping ! 
 
ro CtOTILOS. 
 
 191 
 
 TO CLOTJLDE. 
 
 Met me clasp thee in my arms 
 
 mat to the pressure fondly warms 
 Nor deem the feeling weakT ' 
 Once more let i.« ;„ i 
 
 But not our lovp— ri « . 
 
 Tho- far apart Z' ""■" '"^^ ' 
 "* ctpdrt we roam 
 
 Our hearts will likp th. • 
 
 still sadly tuin't'ri r"^ ^°- 
 
 ^nH M,- . ^^^ 'oi* rest, 
 '"•*" ""y constant breast 1 
 
I' 
 
 19B NOW o'er the forest wild and deep. 
 
 NOW O'ER THE FOREST WILD AND DEEP. 
 
 Now o'er the forest wild and deep, 
 The shades of evening fall, 
 
 The gentle dews begin to weep, 
 And hollow tones to call 
 
 Around the path I sadly tread 
 
 Beside the mansions of the dead. 
 
 ' 'Ci 
 
 n 
 
 And, laid in murmuring repose. 
 
 Beneath Ontario lies 
 And in its lucid bosom glows 
 
 A mirror of the skies. 
 While to the sound of dipping oars 
 Soft music swells along the shores. 
 
 And all is happy and serene 
 Save my rebellious heart 
 That in the calmness of the scene 
 
NOW o'er the forest wild and deep. 193 
 
 Can take no kindred part ; — 
 Consuming with a quenchless flame, 
 E'er burning fiercely — still the same ! 
 
 Long years ago I wandered here 
 
 And sat beneath this tree, 
 The scene, as now, was calm and clear 
 
 But diff'rent seemed to me. 
 Ah 1 then the world looked all so fair 
 My breast a stranger was to care ! 
 
 As now, I was not then alone 
 
 Those happy summer days. 
 There was a voice whose gentle tone 
 
 Oft sang my tender lays. 
 And filled my spirit with a joy 
 Which nothing ever can destroy. 
 
 A lovely maiden with me stray'd 
 Who shared my hopes and fears, 
 
 As dreaming fondly we array'd 
 In bliss our future years ; 
 
 But 0, reality has wrought 
 
 A change that never came in thought I 
 
 There was a hand I prest in mine, 
 
 A bosom all mine own. 
 An arm that round my neck would twine, 
 
 An eye whose lovelight shone 
 Things that the tongue can utter not — 
 And never said, but ne'er forgot I 
 
 7* 
 
194 NOW o'er the forest wild and deep. 
 
 But I was forced from Minna's side, 
 
 And now when I return 
 I wander listless where she died 
 
 In solitude to mourn. 
 How sad are these green hills and lone, 
 Since she, the fairest flow'r has gone ! 
 
 And, when the twilight shadows steep, 
 My way in lengthening shade, 
 
 My lonely watch of love I keep 
 Where my lost one is laid ; 
 
 And oft methinks I hear her speak 
 
 And feel her breath upon my cheek. 
 
 But time is gliding swiftly by, 
 And soon the day will come 
 
 When thy sweet soul will gladly fly 
 To guide thy Willie home ; 
 
 And then united we will be 
 
 By love for an eternity I 
 
 1 M 
 
 . I i 
 • 1/ 
 
 fi ' 
 
 
THE NIGHT BIRD. 
 
 195 
 
 THE NIGHT BIRD. 
 
 Down where the cedars are bending, 
 
 Down by the side of the river, 
 Where the dark waters are wending 
 Their way to the ocean forever. 
 One night I heard 
 A lonely bird 
 Singing, 1 so sadly singing, 
 There was such pain 
 In its wild strain 
 So plaintive and so ringing. 
 I paused to listen and me thought 
 The sounds were into meaning wrought : 
 While, faint and low 
 As sobs of wo. 
 The lone bird kept repeating 
 The strange refrain 
 Of its wild strain 
 Where crowded shadows msating 
 
196 
 
 THE NIGHT BIRD. 
 
 Made that solitary grove 
 Like to a grave of love. 
 
 i'' i' 
 
 ffi; '• 
 
 « Rolled, rolled in the greedy mould 
 
 That taketh and nothing giveth, 
 Where, where, in a dumb despair, 
 
 No hope of the future liveth ; 
 Lies, lies, with o'ershaded eyes, 
 
 A being of many the fairest. 
 While, while, like a desert isle. 
 
 My bosom the night wind barest. 
 Strong, strong, is the giant Wrong, 
 
 And he mates with a demon cruel ; 
 Higher, higher, he buildeth a fire. 
 
 And human hearts are the fuel ; 
 Bright, bright, in the morning light, 
 
 Beauty and Love came flying. 
 Laid, laid, in deathly shade 
 
 Ere eve they were crushed and dying ! 
 Wo ! wo I against all below 
 
 That liveth and loveth is written : 
 Life, life, is a bitter strife, 
 
 Where the best are the soonest smitten 
 Here, here, on this hapless sphere. 
 
 All that are beautiful perish ; 
 Hope, hope, hath no wider scope 
 
 Than faint recollections we cherish 
 Earth, earth, had its hour of mirth, 
 
 But wo is an old, old story ; 
 Fast, fast, in the gliding past, 
 
 Fleeth our dreams of glory ! » 
 
 t""'" 
 
>i; 
 
 it, 
 
 Thte NIGHT BIRt). 197 
 
 hush ! unhappy thing, I cried, 
 Tho' fate hath left thee naught beside 
 
 Hast thou not faith and duty ? 
 What matters the loss of a toy of clay — 
 The perishing birlh of a perishing day — 
 Tho' it were a thing of beauty I 
 Can death destroy 
 The lasting joy 
 That springs from a hope immortal, 
 Or can grieving bring 
 Thee back the thing 
 That has past beyond life's portal ? 
 Still, still, from the grave you fill, 
 
 Cometh a voice supernal ; 
 Trust I trust in thy God— He is just — 
 And thy sorrows will not be eternal I 
 
 Lying 
 
 Imitten 
 
 :ish 
 

 198 
 
 arise! my countrymen, arise! 
 
 
 ARISE 1 MY COUNTRYMEN, ARISE I 
 
 
 Arise 1 my countrymen, arise 1 
 
 Let no invading foe 
 E'er desecrate the land we prize, 
 
 With misery and wo 1 
 By lake and river's bounding wave 
 
 Go meet them when they come. 
 And only let them find a grave 
 
 In Canada our home ! 
 
 i 
 
 |He> 
 
 " 1 
 
 1 
 
 Arise I Canadians, as be/ore. 
 
 In wild, resistless might, 
 And on your rabble foemen pour 
 
 The vengeance of the right. 
 And let them understand that we 
 
 The birthright will maintain. 
 Of glory, love and liberty 
 
 Without a blot or stain ! 
 
arise! my countrymen, arise! 
 
 199 
 
 What know we of their foreign wrongs, — 
 
 We've done to them no ill, — 
 And what bv right to us belongs 
 
 We'll hold defiant still ! 
 And if unto our happy shore 
 
 Should come those sons of shame, 
 We'll meet them, as we did before, 
 
 With battle, death and flame ! 
 
 Arise ! Canadians to the call 
 
 Of duty stern and high ! 
 'Tis great in such a cause to fall, 
 
 In such a way to die ! 
 Then onward to the battle field 
 
 And let the wretches know, 
 That Britons and Canadians yield 
 
 To no invading foe ! 
 
200 LINES WRITTEN IN MY SISTER's AI,DUM. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN MY SISTER'S ALBUM. 
 
 I m 
 
 Ye tenants of a borrowed clay 
 Who breathe awhile then pass away, 
 Forgotten where ye once held sway, 
 
 And hidden in the grave ! 
 When prompted by immortal mind 
 Are fain to leave some mark behind 
 Which after wanderers may find 
 
 Above oblivion's wave. 
 
 Upon these pages fondly trace 
 
 Those thoughts that nothing may erase, 
 
 Nor time can alter nor efface — 
 
 The wishes of a friend. 
 Then take the pen in friendship's glow 
 And let the heart's emotions flow, 
 Then on thy steps where'er thou'lt go, 
 
 Will memory attend ! 
 
Low 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN MT SISTER's ALBUM. 
 
 Thus will I leave, my sister dear ! 
 This, which, when I 'm no longer near, 
 Will make the cloudy past appear 
 
 Thro' many bygone years ; 
 While I, perhaps, afar will roam 
 O'er ocean's wide dividing foam. 
 Away from country, friends, and home. 
 
 To wake affection's tears. 
 
 201 
 
 May life to thee be ever fair. 
 And every day devoid of care. 
 And Heaven thy fond bosom spare 
 
 From woes that daily rise ! 
 And, when the lapse of time will bring 
 Life's evening on his flying wing, 
 May angel voices gladly sing 
 
 Thy welcome to the skies. 
 
 Irase, 
 
202 
 
 THE LOST SPIRIT. 
 
 THE LOST SPIRIT. 
 
 Now in the solitude of night, 
 
 ! tell to me my soul, 
 Why has that spirit taken flight 
 Which was to thee thy one delight 
 
 Above the world's control ! 
 
 She came to thee in early life 
 
 A spirit all divine, 
 And often in the headlong strife 
 Where grief, and woe, and death, were rife, 
 
 Her peace was ever thine. 
 
 Upon the tempest ridden sea 
 
 When danger round thee rose, 
 She seemed to beckon unto thee 
 From life to immortality, 
 
 From labor to repose. 
 
THB LOST SPIRIT. 
 
 Among the sunimer islands where 
 
 But oh ( my soul, she now has fleH 
 Than th,ne, O thing unWe^T 
 
 Nor.in;„„-t,;s°oi::--' 
 
 As thou, poor soul alone I 
 
 Op fn T }^ "^'""T sea, 
 
 Whe°r L^r "'r '^^"'y -"— 
 
 And look in Mary's eyes?" 
 
 303 
 
204 
 
 OFF CAPE SAN GARCIA. 
 
 OFF CAPE SAN GARCIA. 
 
 ! Sea, thy waves are cold and dark, 
 And thy voice is hoarse and wild, 
 
 And thou dost toss my weary bark. 
 On which this morn you smiled. 
 
 Yes, thou didst sparkle gay and smile, 
 As if, beneath thy waves. 
 
 There lay no victims to thy guile. 
 In deep and tearless graves. 
 
 But yet, Sea ! I knew that thou 
 Wert treacherous before 
 
 1 wrinkled thine inviting brow 
 With my reluctant oar. 
 
 1 called thee no endearing name. 
 Nor praised thee with my lyre, 
 
 For well I knew if thou wert tame, 
 'Twas but with smothered ire. 
 
OFF CAPE SAN GARCIa; 
 
 Then toss O, haughty Sea ! thy crest- 
 
 I little reck or care — 
 I'll slumber calmly on thy breast, 
 
 As on a maiden's fair ! 
 In love I never trusted thee, 
 
 Tho' o'er thy breast I bend, 
 For thou art false, ! angry Sea, 
 
 But not a faithless friend ! 
 
 205 
 
206 
 
 PSYCOS. 
 
 PSYGOS. 
 
 Come, I will teU a tale to thee 
 
 Of one — a lonely youth, 
 Who sought o'er land and over sea 
 
 For peace, and love, and truth, 
 But never could the seeker find 
 Aught like the form that filled his mind. 
 
 He of his heart had made a shrine. 
 
 And placed an idol there. 
 The semblance of a thing divine. 
 
 It was so grandly fair ; 
 Then went he seeking over earth 
 For one like it of mortal birth. 
 
 He wandered far in sunny lands, 
 
 And gazed on forms of light. 
 And often too, among the bands 
 
PSYCOS. 
 
 207 
 
 Of children of the night, 
 He quaffed that stream across whose tide 
 No mortal bark did ever glide. 
 
 Sometimes he thought his search was o'er, 
 
 When on his vision stole, 
 A form whose seeming beauty bore 
 
 A likeness to his soul ; 
 But soon he found the wished for prize 
 Was some base spirit in disguise. 
 
 For often forms of beauty hold 
 
 A spirit dark or vile, 
 As flows the breath of crystal cold 
 
 From where the sunbeams smile. 
 As those may know who strive to find 
 The mystery of thought and mind. 
 
 So years went by, and still in vain 
 The youth his search pursued 
 
 With thirsting heart and wearied brain, 
 Oft jostled by the rude 
 
 Unworthy beings of a sphere, 
 
 Controlled by cowardice and fear. 
 
 For he was with, but not of them. 
 
 They did not know his ways, 
 The false might sneer, the cold condemn, 
 
 He did not want their praise, 
 For he had studied from a book 
 On which they could not hope to look, 
 

 208 PSYCOs, 
 
 Until one day beside a stream 
 He laid him down to weep, 
 
 When o'er him came a living dream 
 That was not born of sleep ; 
 
 He claspt the vision to his breast, 
 
 And found at last his home of rest 
 
TO CELESTINE. 
 
 209 
 
 TO CELESTINE. 
 
 % heart wiiTotghHa?""'^ '"'^ 
 
 tongue- ^ *^' "^^«'' ^ound a 
 
 /-^^a...eant.ouHi^,rCi^^^^^^^^ 
 
 The spirit has departpd T n. • 
 
 lime, dear sister likp 7^ * ^^^" ^^^'^^'-o^- 
 ^- Which each d;i''r^r„TS^^^^^^^ 
 
 1^ 
 
210 
 
 TO GELBSTINE. 
 
 Doth Still unto my eyes a page unroll 
 Of misery and pain, unknown before, 
 Till, sad and sick of heart, I long to be no more ! 
 
 Nor blame me for that longing ; I have felt 
 What 'tis to be an outcast, and to gaze 
 
 On beauties that would make the coldest melt 
 In love and admiration, but their ways 
 Were far from mine. Ah ! I remember days 
 
 When I had but to ope my arms and press 
 Unto my bosom such as now I praise. 
 
 Bat even were they mine, they could not bless 
 My heart, nor I return, with truth, their fond caress ! 
 
 ! it is sweet to dream of future joys. 
 
 And clothe the forms we love in robes of light, 
 With every blissful hope the mind employs, 
 To gild a morning in the midst of night. 
 But 0, my sister ! in the weary flight 
 Of those long years 'tis misery to find 
 Those hopes deferred, and when, with eager' 
 sight, 
 'We seek the . dawn, to feel the darkness bind 
 The spirit to despair, 'tis then death seems most] 
 kind. 
 
 mtn 
 
 But these are thoughts which haply thou hast| 
 ne'er 
 
 Experienced, for thou hast left the scene 
 Where sorrow, disappointment, hate and fear 
 
 Wrestle with wretched man who toils between 
 
TO CBLBSTlNfi. 
 
 Ana picture scenes of l^^S^'l^^^' 
 
 mar. ^oma never 
 
 Whiio oo ^^ ^^"1 us Dillows stroll ff 
 ^Me,.srny ear grew dull, Us nolS .o,,, 
 
 my Jieart the angels' welcome song ! 
 
 Thai I LTwrite unol ""' '""'' "" *««' 
 
 All that I wo^ ^a „d vJ.?"''-''*'"«<l ^^«^' 
 S'ill I will nrav tf '^ ^ '''"°<'' ^«. 
 
 Be aught of wonh7o on'"' '' ''"'"" °"« "^e me 
 
 God gaardTl fs ,er untifth' ""' '^'«'»- 
 
 e shall hid thee rest wUh those who never d:e. 
 
212 
 
 ON LEAVING GIBRALTAR. 
 
 ON LEAVING GIBRALTAR. 
 
 Sweet Arethusa ! far away from thee, 
 In mist and storm, from Galpe I depart, 
 
 Out o'er the weary waste of waves I flee, 
 A lonely spirit and a saddened heart. 
 
 Night, storm, and darkness, o'er a howling sea. 
 Peopled with phantoms that to it impart 
 
 A likeness to the life which I have led. 
 
 And still mast lead, till numbered with the dead ! 
 
 The gloom increases — from the summit high 
 Of that dark rock which long has been my home, 
 
 Peals forth, with lurid flash, a long Good Bye, 
 Rending the gloom that, like a mighty dome, 
 
 O'ershadows mountain, city, wave, and sky ; 
 ! never more that welcome sound will come 
 
 To me at evening when I seek the grove. 
 
 Long sacred to my Mary and to love ! 
 
ON LEAVING GIBRALTAR. 
 
 213 
 
 And who was she ? perhaps a phantom grace 
 Which haunts the thirsting heart and fevered 
 brain 
 
 Of the impassioned who, from place to place, 
 Wander in search of love they cannot gain. 
 
 Such she might be — but I have learn'd to trace 
 Her image on my heart, and ne'er again 
 
 May other forms of loveliness destroy 
 
 That which has been my solace and my joy. 
 
 But I am now content, if that may be 
 Content which recks not of the passing hour ; 
 
 I laugh in Fortune's teeth, nor care to see 
 What she may threaten in her baleful power ; 
 
 As now through night and rushing winds I flee, 
 And angry waves, impatient to devour : 
 
 Night, tempest, sea, your terrors are in vain 
 
 To touch my soul with fear — my heart with pain ! 
 
2U 
 
 AT LAST. 
 
 AT LAST. 
 
 At last, O Heaven 1 has the blow been dealt, 
 
 And he is gone forever from our sight — 
 How deep the anguish for his loss is felt, 
 
 And sorrow wraps my spirit in its might 
 As cold, damp earth enwraps his form to night 
 
 With chill, unyielding, sorrowful embrace. 
 While his free spirit, to the spheres of light, 
 
 Hath been conducted by the angel face 
 Of one who went before to that mysterious place I 
 
 My Father I can it be that thou art dead ? 
 
 And that thy heart has ceased its pulse for aye ? 
 Can it be that thy loving soul hath fled — 
 
 That all our love, not even for a day, 
 Gould make thee with thy mourning children stay ? 
 
 Dim is thy kindly eye that beamed with joy, 
 Thy pale, pale lips as cold as churchyard clay, 
 
 And still thy heart where never dwelt alloy — 
 Hold, Death ! thy hand nor yet those lineaments 
 destroy ? 
 
AT LAST. 
 
 And lliose fond evL 1^ u° ""° « '"""e, 
 
 And pour on mfa l^r',^^'''' P'^''^' «" 
 My heart ; for I^jfei'if '^f '^'1 beguile 
 
 Away my Joflf' ^"'"^'j' ^"e 
 Again i![,u4frh;foj:j°7/«P'."' had 
 
 Was filled once ml? .u" '""'"^^ J^'e 
 
 -"— x^^it^3«,. 
 Bright form besXT' ^^°^^ hut one 
 
 Whose crS;tdi"nfo"''°"^''-' 
 A-"ey streamlets rnCrinu>-- 
 
 /odldyeSl'^-4^-n|3won,. 
 
 Your path a joy to those who moJ/n' '"'"^ 
 
 sake I """"^ now for your 
 
 21d 
 
 I 
 
216 
 
 MAHY OP GLaRB. 
 
 MARY OF CLARE. 
 
 Like a vision of beauty 
 
 In regions of bliss, 
 Beheld ere we wandered 
 
 Thro' error to this, 
 Is the sweet recollection 
 
 My bosom doth bear 
 Of a beautiful maiden — 
 
 Bright Mary of Glare ! 
 
 I have seen all the treasures 
 
 Which nature has piled 
 On lands, where for ages 
 
 Enchanting she smiled ; 
 Though peopled by beings 
 
 Exceedingly fair. 
 They had not the equal 
 
 Of Mary of Glare. 
 
MARY OF CLARE. 
 
 The sun in its glory 
 
 May light up the earth, 
 And look upon beauty, 
 
 And virtue, and worth, 
 But beside the low alter, 
 
 In silence and pray'r 
 He'll find them the purest 
 
 In Mary of Clare 1 
 
 I have seen the proud lady 
 
 A baron hath won, 
 Whose smile hath the hearts 
 
 01 a hundred undone. 
 But tho' she was lovely. 
 
 She could not compare 
 With the simple excellence 
 
 Of Marv of Clare ! 
 
 Hope fast is decaying 
 
 That brightly did burn, 
 I'm tired of straying 
 
 And fain would return 
 To the home of my spirit 
 
 Where, free from all care, 
 I will meet thee an angel 
 
 Bright Mary of Clare I 
 
 217 
 
t\^ TO TIIR nOVKhNon 0!=* tun MOOniBM CARTI.K. 
 
 TO TllK (U)VKUNOH OF TIIK MOOIUSII 
 OASTTiK, GIlUlAT/rAn. 
 
 Till* night was BiliMit, dark and drour, 
 
 And round tho castU» old 
 Tho wind niado wisporings of four 
 
 And tal(»s of horror loUl ; 
 And brooding shadows lay along 
 
 Th(» dark, nn([niol. drop 
 Which nmrninrM as, with fooling strong, 
 
 Tlu;droam(»r doth in aloi^p. 
 
 But 'twas not night nor mystery 
 
 That hoinid my bnsy mind, 
 Nor did I heed the heaving sea 
 
 Nor whisperings of wind. 
 For, wTap'.. in swcot and pensive thought, 
 
 That dreary prison cell 
 Bocamo a palace, brightly wronght. 
 
 For fairest forms to dwell. 
 
A'-'l ']-;". it w«„ who «„vn ,1,0 ni«)„ 
 
 Ami ,„„,„., ,,„„,. ^,„ '"'8'". 
 Am now, i„ «,.,.,,u„„„ , .^^l'/''^^ 
 Allwo.U,|„«„|,|,„. j|,j^j_ « 
 
 A lowly |„„.i'B .i/Ib/inK 
 '" KfBtitiido i„ i|,n„ , 
 
 2»» 
 
220 
 
 A STRANGER STOOD. 
 
 A STRANGER STOOD. 
 
 A stranger stood by a iideless sea, 
 
 His brow was marked by ccr.', 
 And fitful and wild from his sunken e'e 
 
 A restless light would glare. 
 He watched the sun as it sank behind 
 
 The purple mountain zone, — 
 A picture rose in his troubled iviinl. 
 
 And calm and sweet it sho.c. 
 
 It was many a long and \^eary year 
 
 With storm and danger rife, 
 Since a boy he shed a pjirting tsar 
 
 And turned to meet the strife ; 
 And since that ne'er forgotten day 
 
 A wanderer was he, 
 In many a burning clime av^iy. 
 
 And many a slioreless sea. 
 
A StRAI^GfiR STOOD. 
 
 Sprite Fancy weaved a potent spell 
 
 And bound his senses fast 
 To fairy regions, wherein dwell 
 
 The shadows of the past. 
 The laughing wavelets kist his feet, 
 
 The sunbeams crown'd his brow, 
 And on his heedless ear the sweet, 
 
 Sad vespers sounded low. 
 
 When, to the dreaming stranger's side, 
 
 There came a lovely maid, 
 Who, gazing on him, softly sighed 
 
 A sigh that might upbraid ; 
 For on that weather-beaten cheek 
 
 That never paled with fear, 
 She saw the sign of feeling weak — 
 
 An uncontrolled tear. 
 
 n\ 
 
 She laid her head upon his breast 
 
 And claspt him in her arms, 
 And soothing words to him addrest, 
 
 And spoke of vain alarms. 
 He gazed awhile with wildered glance 
 
 On her loveliness and youth, 
 As if his spirit, in a trance 
 
 Yet struggled with the truth. 
 
 •' Why, Carlos, gaze upon the west 
 
 So wild and far away, 
 Are they not here who love thee best 
 
 As flowers love the day ? 
 
222 A STRANGER STOOD. 
 
 Then why regretful turn thee to 
 A place that knows thee not, 
 
 Here hearts are warm and friends are true 
 But there thou art forgot ? 
 
 Oh 1 let me take the place of all • 
 
 By time and absence strange, 
 And I, whatever may befall, 
 
 Will never, never change ! " 
 " Yes 1" he exclaimed, '' my love — my own 
 
 Thou shalt be all to me. 
 And never more I'll think upon 
 
 Cold hearts beyond the sea !" 
 
 IH 
 
 * '':-■' 
 
 r > 
 
TO M. M. G. 
 
 2:^3 
 
 TO M. M. G. 
 
 Perhaps, dear lady, when the tide 
 
 Unchangeable anrt?'' *"' ''"''"''» !>« 
 What w! ' "^ ^« '« no more 
 wJiat we are now or were before ; 
 
 ""^dTi '"' '°°'' "PO" «he past, 
 
 Those beams nnT"^ ''^'"''^ •='■•«' 
 But leave a Z '^'' ''"""^ ^"s'-oy. 
 
 The tZ . *'■ '■"S'-e' behind ^ ' 
 
 Jiie fondest treasure of the mind. 
 
 ^Tmav a?; ?««-'««P Of fame 
 "•^"e on Helicon my name 
 
221 
 
 TO M. M. G. 
 
 .' ' '!S 
 
 With others of the mighty dead, 
 Nor be forgotten in the throng 
 Whose names are sacred unto song. 
 
 And may I hope that thou wilt he 
 Unchanged amid this world of change. 
 
 That love may light life's i)ath for thee 
 No matter where thy footsteps range. 
 
 And joy be thy attendant still, 
 
 And fate obedient to thy will. 
 
 But should an envious care arise 
 To cast a gloom upon thy mind. 
 
 May it be as o'er summer skies 
 A flee'ting cloud, nor leave behind 
 
 On tny fair soul the faintest trace 
 
 To dim the beauty of its face ! 
 
 And may thy happiness increase 
 With every year that glides away. 
 
 And bring that true and lasting peace 
 Which stays the hand of cold decay. 
 
 And time with lenient hand depart 
 
 Nor sear thy tender, truthful heart 1 
 
 Dear] 
 I thoU; 
 Nordi 
 Woulc 
 Emoti( 
 
 Wh€ 
 
 Have e 
 Witt 
 
 Oh I th 
 
 Was al 
 
 Such ct 
 
 Too strc 
 
 Ah! so( 
 
 Than 
 
 Tho' tin 
 
 And e 
 
 h '- 
 
 8* 
 
TO ELLA. 
 
 225 
 
 TO ELLA. 
 
 
 Dear Ella I when we parted last 
 I thought all happy days were past, 
 Nor did I deem such bliss divine 
 Would e'er again in life be mine. 
 Emotions which my bosom felt, 
 
 When last you parted. Love, from me. 
 Have ever in my bosom dwelt 
 
 With thoughts of beauty and of thee ! 
 
 Oh 1 think not, Ella, tho' my lot 
 Was altered, that my heart forgot ; 
 Such changes never reach a soul 
 Too strong and deep for their control. 
 Ah ! sooner would it cease to beat 
 
 Than to forget, for every thought 
 Tho' tinged by grief, is rapture sweet, 
 
 And every throb with bliss is fraught ! 
 
 8# 
 
I 
 
 226 
 
 I'll sing for thee. 
 
 I'LL SING FOR THEE. 
 
 I'll sing for thee, but oh I the chord 
 
 I wake is faint and chill, 
 The blissful numbers that it poured 
 
 Now come no more at will ! 
 But, could I wake it as of old, 
 
 I dare not touch the string. 
 For memory with chilling hold 
 
 Unbidden tears would bring ! 
 
 Then blame me not, I cannot wake 
 
 The spirit that has fled, 
 Nor by my feeble efforts break 
 
 That spell which wraps the dead. 
 Ah ! such are but the weary sighs 
 
 That from a heart opprest. 
 With painful heaving, upward rise 
 
 And rend the lonely breast ! 
 
I'll sing for thee. 
 
 To friendship once it gave a strain 
 
 And happy numbers roU'd, 
 But time has proved it weak and vain, 
 
 That friendship now is cold. 
 Once with affection proud and pure 
 
 It poured a happy song, 
 But earthly ties may not endure — 
 
 Affection fled ere long 1 
 
 To love, with passion, long it thrill'd 
 
 When blissful hope it felt, 
 But when deceived, forever still'd, 
 
 With sorrow it hath dwelt. 
 Then chide me not, my heart is sad, 
 
 And mournful is my lay. 
 Once it was joyous, light and glad. 
 
 But such have pass'd away I 
 
 227 
 
 Tho' friendship's honied words were sweet 
 
 I find like wind they change, 
 That e'en affection learns deceit, 
 
 And loving hearts estrange. 
 Then let the chord, unstrung by tears 
 
 Of sorrow o'er it shed, 
 Sink into peace till after years 
 
 Have laid it with the dead ! 
 
228 I DEEMED THOU WERT AS GOOD AS FAIR. 
 
 I DEEMED THOU WERT AS GOOD AS FAIR 
 
 I deemed thou wert as good as fair, 
 
 As pure as thou wert bright, 
 That on thy virgin spirit ne'er 
 
 Was cast an earthly blight. 
 I clothed thee with ideal grace 
 
 All human charms above, 
 I gave thy name the dearest place 
 
 And crowned thee with my love I 
 
 i( ' 
 
 I sang for thee my sweetest lays, 
 
 Nor did I ever deem 
 That I could too enraptured praise 
 
 The Gythna of my dream ; 
 But all too rude thou'st broke the spell, 
 
 And I behold to-day 
 Not what my heart had pictu»*ed well 
 
 But one of earth — of clay ! 
 
FAIR. 
 
 AS FAIR 
 
 But go r will not chide thee now 
 I cannot crown so strange a brow 
 
 B,,?^'''' """""'hs which are divfnL 
 But thou wilt learn in after ;;;"^' 
 
 When r"" ' ^'"' '^^--n^d, 
 "^hen deep mto thy heart tl e tear, 
 Of broken faith have burned . 
 
 229 
 
 el 
 
 spell, 
 iVell 
 
230 HENEATH THE FOKEST's THOUGHTFUL SHADE. 
 
 BENEATH THE FORESTS THOUGHTFUL 
 
 SHADE. 
 
 Beneath the forest's though "ul shade 
 
 One summer eve I walh 'ong, 
 And to a lonely spot 1 stray'cl 
 
 To hear the wild bird's evening song. 
 The sun had set — o'er earth and sky 
 
 A flood of golden light was spread, 
 And, motionless, the clouds on high 
 
 Soft rays of borrowed glory shed. 
 
 And as I glided thro' the Past 
 
 On memory's entrancing stream, 
 A gentle spell was o'er me cast 
 
 And shadowed a prophetic dream : 
 Methought that time had rolled the tide 
 
 Of changing years above my head. 
 That age had chilled my youthful pride, 
 
 And many I had loved were dead. 
 
W«".oueht that for a life of ,„n 
 
 Tile hearts Zn^\ ""'^^"^ "J'es ; 
 And stana in heaut; ;:;:';!«- 
 
 My dream h """"'"' ^ ^«« West , 
 ySetrrifif "''-''« P-' 
 
 B"' like the setting starrrh^'""^'-""' 
 A loiJRinsr Inv n? t ^ ^^'"^ cast 
 •g'ng, loving, backward gleam - 
 
 i>ni 
 
wm 
 
 232 
 
 DEAII ANNIJi IN THOSE EYES OF BLUE. 
 
 DEAR ANNIE IN THOSE EYES OF BLUE. 
 
 I 
 p 
 
 l| 
 
 f 
 
 If 
 
 I!" 
 
 Dear Annie, in those eyes of blue, 
 
 Now bright with smiles, now dim with tears, 
 The mirror of a heart I view 
 
 Where every passing thought appears. 
 So fondly do I love to gaze 
 
 Into their deeps, that I would fain 
 Bask in the beauty of their rays 
 
 Forever— were it not in vain I 
 
 MM 
 
 
 We met, we loved, and now we part, 
 
 But say not that it is forever. 
 For feelings cherished by the htjart 
 
 In life can be forgotten never ! 
 And when in other scenes thou'lt be 
 
 Where thou wilt win the smiles of many, 
 Perhaps thou wilt remember me. 
 
 For I shall ne'er forget thee Annie ! 
 
DEAR ANNIE IN THOSE EYES OF BLUB. 
 
 But if, long lost to memory, 
 
 The ties of love should all be broken 
 borne word or scene may give to thee ' 
 
 Of absent love a kindly token : 
 Then o'er the tomb of withered feeling 
 
 Thou It breathe a sigh or shed a tear 
 How fondly on that moment stealing ' 
 
 Will my glad spirit hover near ! 
 
 233 
 
234 
 
 TO jerry's bride. 
 
 iilil 
 
 TO J' '^ RY'S BRIDE. 
 
 Although perhaps you never heard 
 
 The wandering minstrel's lay 
 "Who, long accustomed to the sword, 
 
 Is uncouth in his way, 
 Yet unto thee I gladly send 
 
 Across the ocean wide, 
 The fondest wishes of a friend 
 
 Unto my Jerry's Bride. 
 
 m 
 
 With him, thro' dangers wild and dark, 
 
 I crossed that dreary sea, 
 "When long our tempest driven bark 
 
 Sought home and liberty ; 
 "Where he, by kinder fortune blest, 
 
 Ne-'^d never leave thy side. 
 But loose all care upon thy breast — 
 
 His fond confiding Bride ! 
 
 \mMs 
 
TO jerry's bride. 
 
 0, Heaven ! if an erring bard 
 
 Might dare to frame a pray'r, 
 I'd ask thy influence to guard 
 
 Them from all pain and care ; 
 All sorrow from their way remove, 
 
 Let peace with them abide, 
 And bless, thro' life, the faithful love 
 
 Of Jerry and his Bride ! 
 
 May flowers spring where thou wilt tread, 
 
 And pleasure fill thy days, 
 And peace upon thy bosom shed 
 
 Its purest, sweetest rays ; 
 And, when long years have past away 
 
 My bark may homeward ghde, 
 I'll find thee happy as the day 
 
 When first thou wert a Bride ? 
 
 235 
 
 :k. 
 
TaSBP 
 
 236 
 
 VOYAGE BETWEEN MALTA AND QUEBEC. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE VOYAGE BETWEEN 
 MALTA AND QUEBEC. 
 
 m 
 
 
 I. 
 
 Back to my western home again 
 
 I sorrowfully glide, 
 For time has proved my longings vain 
 
 And humbled all my pride. 
 My songs are hushed, my brow is bent 
 
 By pain, and storm, and sun, 
 The veil that wrapt my soul is rent — 
 
 My race is nearly run ! 
 
 n. 
 
 Now looking calmly, coldly back 
 On all this lapse of time, 
 
 T see but little in its track 
 To make my heart repine, 
 
VOYAGE BETWEEN MALTA AND QUEBEC. 
 
 I toiled for good and suffered ill, 
 And erring sought the right, 
 
 And, like a night watch on a hill, 
 Oft longing looked for light. 
 
 III. 
 
 I sought for wisdom in the lore 
 
 And tongues of other lands, 
 And all the fruit my labor bore — 
 
 Sad heart and weary hands — 
 So did I learn what men may learn 
 
 Who mix among their kind, 
 So do I yearn as men will yearn 
 
 In restlessness of mind, 
 
 4o ( 
 
 IV. 
 
 For some sweet phantom which the soul 
 
 Has conjured from the deep 
 Prophetic dreamings of a goal 
 
 Where none will toil or weep. 
 But well I know it is not here 
 
 Or there that I will find 
 The phantom, born of hope and fear. 
 
 Which lives within my mind. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thus sorrowfully I return 
 Unto my native shore, 
 
B' I 
 
 238 VOYAGE BETWEEN MALTA AND QUEBEC. 
 
 That, frowning stormy, wild and stern, 
 
 Yet haply doth restore 
 Old memories and tender ties, 
 
 W iile love and friendship come, 
 Tho' parted long, still pure and wise 
 
 To give a welcome Home ! 
 
 1 
 
THE VENGEANCE OF VINCENIO. 
 
 239 
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF VINCENZO. 
 
 Gome Cora, sit thee down by me, — 
 I had an ugly dream last night — 
 
 Here, place thy little hand in mine — 
 Here, in the rosy gleam of sunny light. 
 
 Smooth back those truant curls awhile, 
 For I would gaze into thine eyes, 
 
 Those beautiful, deep, azure wells 
 Where truth, rare gem, most surely lies. 
 
 Methought the sun was sinking down 
 
 Into the sea beyond Salmone, 
 And I had left the noisy town 
 
 To wander thro' the hills alone. 
 
 xVmong the orange-scented groves 
 
 Of old St. Angelo I laid 
 Me down to dream about our loves — 
 
 Start not, — 'twas but a dream I said. 
 
240 
 
 THE V£NG£ANCE OF VINCENZO. 
 
 Ill 
 
 While there methought a lady bright 
 And gallant youth came slowly by, 
 
 They were familiar to my sight, 
 I heard him speak — and her reply — 
 
 « And wedded to that dark old man. 
 Whose fulsome love you so despise : — 
 
 ! fly with me, — 'twere better than 
 To live in falsehood and disguise ! » 
 
 Then she — « Oh ! horrid 'tis to bear 
 
 Of hateful love the hot caress ; — 
 Yes, I will fly with thee and dare 
 
 From fate a respite or redress 1 » 
 
 They passed away — the earth below 
 And sky above did blood beseem : — 
 
 Why do you pale and tremble so ? 
 I said before 'twas but a dream ! 
 
 My dream then changed, methought 'twas day. 
 
 And I was standing by the sea. 
 Before me a dead body lay, 
 
 It was the gallant youth — 'twas He ! 
 
 By Heav'n you are deadly pale 
 You cry for mercy — gasp and scream 
 
 Mercy for what ? — can tears avail ?— ^ 
 My dream was then « not all a dream ! » 
 
SONG. 
 
 241 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Whosp «;mn. "® Virginal snows 
 
 F^Tst s^rs' °''r'^''°* ^-8 
 
 warm, gushing, affectionate spring 
 Oh I give me the ht " thatT^"^"'"^ ^""' 
 
 ^'» light with its St :ixrs ^r™"^ "■'- 
 
 ^ iove the gloomiest skies. 
 Oh! give me the soul wherp th. f ,• 
 
 Make its centre . fh '' ?'"'' ^'•°"» above, 
 
 centre a shnne where angels might love 
 
 fa "s worshipper ever and aye ! 
 
242 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 WRiriEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 What folly 'tis for me to write 
 Who wrote so oft, and wrote in vain, 
 
 When dreams which soothe the soul to-night 
 Bat give to-morrow greater pain I 
 
 Yet, mid the sorrows that arise 
 Each day around the path we tread, 
 
 There is a pleasure that defies 
 The pangs of coarser pain or dread ; 
 
 'Tis memory, whose spell awakes 
 
 Some lovely vision of the past 
 Whose magic power often breaks 
 
 The clouds which sorrow o'er us cast. 
 
 Thus may I dare to think of thee 
 Through gloomy life whate'er my lot : — 
 
 If here my name recorded be 
 I too, will not be quite forgot ! 
 
VVEKP NOT MY LOVK. 
 
 243 
 
 WEEP NOT MY LOVE. 
 
 in, 
 
 to-night 
 
 A\ 
 
 last. 
 
 lot :— 
 
 Weep not my love there's joy in store 
 For us, though sorrow reigns to-day, 
 
 And we will feel its rapture more 
 When all our wo has past away. 
 
 Tho' life's young morning's overcast 
 By storms, the sun of hope shall shine 
 
 More brightly, for they cannot last. 
 And happiuess will then be thine. 
 
 ! then we will, my Love, forget 
 The sorrows that once shed a gloom 
 
 Upon our hearts, and not regret 
 While fond affections sweetly bloom. 
 
 For what is life — those fleeting years 
 That come and go, but leave no trace 
 
 Except the wayworn course that tears 
 Have left on sorrow's joyless face ? 
 
244 
 
 WEEP NOT MY LOVE. 
 
 Then let us put our trust above, 
 And Heav'n will regard the pray'r, 
 
 That when we cease on earth to love 
 For aye we'll be united there. 
 
 lit 
 
TO ANNA— SINfilNG. 
 
 245 
 
 TO ANNA -SINGING. 
 
 Pour out thy wild sweet song, dear maid, 
 
 Unce more for me, to-night I 
 For on its stream, like one afraid 
 
 I venture with delight ' 
 
 Ah ! who can tell the joyous thrill 
 
 That rushes thro' the breast, 
 When thy glad songs the caverns fill 
 
 Of hearts hy care opprest ! 
 
 Oh ! sing for me a joyous song 
 
 My lonely heart to glad, 
 For I have suffered much and long 
 
 And will at times be sad. 
 Thou art so beautiful and bright 
 
 So glorious and free, ' 
 
 That I, in my untold delight. 
 
 Could almost bend to thee ! 
 
2i6 
 
 TO ANNA — SIN(;.:(G. 
 
 My soul is like a bark that flies 
 
 Upon a mystic stream 
 Thro' lands enchanted where the skies 
 
 In cloudless beauty beam. 
 Thro' moonlit groves and towering hills 
 
 I'm wafted by thy voice, 
 My spirit's sail thy breathing fills — 
 
 I " tremble and rejoice " ! 
 
 h't 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 Upon the outspread wings of song, 
 
 Like one released from earth, 
 I'm borne delightedly along 
 
 In joy that is not mirth. 
 Then pour thy glorious melody. 
 
 Bright maid, to me again. 
 And thoughts that minister to me 
 
 Will oft repeat the strain ! 
 
 I've woven thoughts for other hearts 
 
 To tell when I'm no more : 
 But at thy voice a phantom starts 
 
 Up from a nameless shore. 
 Oh ! that I could forever live, 
 
 As when I hear thee sing. 
 No purer joy the earth could give 
 
 No sweeter can it bring ! 
 
I HAVE POURED OUT MY SPIRIT BEFORE THEE. 247 
 
 I HAVE POURED OUT MY SPIRIT BEFORE 
 
 THEE. 
 
 I have poured out my spirit before thee, 
 
 I've opened the gates of my heart, 
 I have told thee how much I adore thee, 
 
 How dear to this bosom thou art 1 
 Afar o'er this world I have wandered, 
 
 I have buried the hopes of my youth, 
 The wealth of my heart I ha /e squandered, 
 
 On things that repay with untruth. 
 
 Ah ! little I've known of the pleasures 
 
 Of life, for I've labored for years ; 
 All alone I have gathered strange treasures, 
 
 That were won by privation and tears. 
 I have conqured the devil that haunteth 
 
 The faltering footsteps of men, 
 On things that brave bosoms oft daunteth 
 
 I have looked, yea, again and again ! 
 
*'^ 
 
 p 
 
 248 I HAVE POURED OUT MY SPIRIT BEFORE THEE. 
 
 Those things for which long I have striven, 
 
 I find now are worthless and vain, 
 The price that for them I have given, 
 
 I cannot recover again. 
 Fuld down in thy bosom the pages 
 
 That beareth my name and my song, 
 Forget the dark stranger whose wages 
 
 For toiling were sorrow and wrong ! 
 
 But if, in its gloom and its sorrow, 
 
 My name should arise from the past, 
 1 think it a dream that to-morrow 
 
 Will deep in oblivion cast. 
 Of many thou wert the one only 
 
 That conquered the pride of a soul 
 Whose greatest delight was when, lonely. 
 
 It soared above every control. 
 
 But I saw thee, and gently descended 
 
 A calm on my spirit serene. 
 And thy form with those visions were blended, 
 
 Which only the poet hath seen. 
 The enchantment of song and of beauty, 
 
 And everything lovely, is thine, 
 But alone, on the pathway of duty, 
 
 To labor and suffer is mine ! 
 
EE. 
 
 veil, 
 
 TO ROSE — ON HEARING HER SING. 
 
 249 
 
 t, 
 
 TO ROSE— ON HEARING HER SING. 
 
 nely, 
 
 [e blended, 
 ky, 
 
 Sweet Lady ! in my sad and thirsting heart 
 Are memories which have grown to be a part 
 Of its existence ; there thy name is shrined 
 With many more — a wreath by love entwined — 
 But thine shall ever be more deep and strong 
 As consecrate to beauty and to song : 
 For on a time thou didst appear to me, 
 Some bright embodiment of light to be, 
 From whose sweet lips, where love seem'd to 
 
 repose, 
 The sweetest music naturally arose. 
 Entranced I listened to thy voice, until 
 My soul, no longer subject to my will, 
 Rushed forth, its way to distant regions winging, 
 Borne on the stream of thy melodious singing. 
 Thou wert^a spirit then, whose hand swept o'er 
 The harpstrings of my soul, and to its core 
 Heverberating, left an «cho tliere 
 
250 
 
 TO ROSE — ON HEARING HER SING. 
 
 Which has o'ercome even the dark despair 
 
 That, wrapt about my bosom, I have borne 
 
 Through many lands, until its hand has worn 
 
 Furrows which are not records of long time, 
 
 Marking the wrecks of passion, woe and crime ; 
 
 But, like the rocks that fence a burning isle. 
 
 Show dreariest when most they seem to smile. 
 
 But if, 0, Lady ! there be aught of worth, 
 
 Or bright, or beautiful, upon this earth 
 
 Which I have found, and treasured in my breast 
 
 (The only treasure whose possession blest 
 
 My lonely heart,) to such as thee I owe 
 
 The sweet companionship which they bestow : — 
 
 If I have past thro' many dangers great. 
 
 And toiled and suffered, still defying fate ; 
 
 If I have kept the source of love and tears 
 
 Within me pure, and undefiled for years, 
 
 It was the memory of such as thee 
 
 That stood a guardian angel over me ! 
 
 J r^t;-^- 
 
4 
 
 TO MINNIE. 
 
 251 
 
 TO MINNIE. 
 
 It may not know again 
 It seemed as if from oi, th 
 In all .( °"t tile past 
 
 in all Us grace and trutli ' 
 
 AspintrosewJiosebeaC'cast 
 A spell upon my youth.^ '' 
 
 The look and tonp fi, 
 
 ^ That once eS7£^«^ same 
 
 And o'er mv starting • • ' 
 
 Thp /I ^ startled spirit came 
 
 The dream of long ago- 
 
 Ere sorrow „,ade its singing sad 
 Ere earth had soilpd ■? ^^^^' 
 
 Was love for lovely thi„i^''' 
 
252 
 
 TO MINNIE. 
 
 The tide of years .was backward rolled, 
 
 Their gloom thou didst destroy ; 
 I felt what never yet was told, 
 
 I was again a boy. 
 The spell is thine, but thou may'ft ne'er 
 
 On me its bliss confer, 
 But I will ever love thee dear 
 
 For being like to her i 
 
LINES ON RECEIVING A rnpv «*, « 
 
 ''^ A COPY OP POEMS. 253 
 
 urns ON RKGKIVING A COPY OF POEMS. 
 
 Dear lady, ,n thy songs I trace 
 Thoughts beautiful and bright, 
 
 S'uch as I saw steal o'er thy face 
 in moments of delight • 
 
 Ai ound thy forehead fair, 
 I felt no mortal charm could shed 
 A grander beauty there. 
 
 1 marked thy scorn of worldly rage 
 Thy hatred for the wrong _ ' 
 How glorious is thy heritage, 
 
 lovely Child of Song ! 
 lis thine, in youth, to show how far 
 
 The human soul can rise ;_ 
 10 lower ones a guiding star,_ 
 A beacon in the skies. 
 
254 LINES ON RECEIVING A COPY OF POEMS. 
 
 The spirit God hath given thee 
 
 He seldom gives to man, 
 The genius of the pure and free, 
 
 The heart of giant span ; 
 All things the good and wise have sought 
 
 Since earth began are thine. 
 The bosom pure, the god-like thought, 
 
 The destiny divine ! 
 
 To one like me to whom the deep 
 
 Of misery is known. 
 Who saw the things that make men weep, 
 
 Who toils — and toils alone. 
 Thou art a being born to grace 
 . A dream of brighter spheres. 
 Where serpent sorrow leaves no trace 
 
 Of agonizing tears. 
 
 But ah I dear Lady, few may find 
 
 The power of thy hand. 
 The vacant heart, the idle mind. 
 
 How can they understand ? 
 Dost thou not know each god-like child 
 
 Of light and song hath cried 
 In grief and disappointment wild 
 
 Till, overcome, they died ? 
 
 The careless world may seldom know 
 How their great hearts were riv'n — 
 
 Those angels passing to and fro 
 Between this earth and heav'n ! 
 
"NES ON „ECE,V,Na A COPV OK POK«.. 
 
 A brighter fate than this 
 
 I pray thy spirit may not yearn 
 For joy that fled too fas^r 
 
 The temple of thy heart, 
 
 W J? ^'*'' ">'»' Por'al through 
 Which all alike depart - ^^ 
 
 2S5 
 
. 
 
 256 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 r 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 J.:S 
 
 
 " How beautiful, and calm, and free thou art 
 In thy young wisdom." 
 
 — Shtlley, 
 
 Me thinks in pre-existent dreams 
 I've gazed upon thy face, 
 
 For round thy brow a beauty beams 
 Which memory can trace 
 
 By broken efforts, faint and weak, 
 
 Of which I feel but cannot speak. 
 
 I- 
 
 Or in the far unfathomed deeps 
 Of thy dark, glorious eyes 
 
 I see the shade of one who weeps 
 For that which never dies : 
 
 Sitting alone, disconsolate. 
 
 Before a never-opened gate. 
 
TO MARV. 
 
 By souls xvift ' °^^®" said 
 Or 1.. Hi, ,„„, , 
 
 Ti^en demons u^^SdTS""^^^^' 
 
 Ic^notsayalll^ouldsay 
 M^hen on thy face I g^,/ 
 
 »^t.tr--^c,ay 
 
 And When I striL r."'' '"'' ' 
 
 ^^-on^i^Trrh^s^^^^ad 
 
 And ofteinimes, when thr. 
 ^r''^^«"-h, love, and fear, 
 
 257 
 
258 TO MARY. 
 
 A torrent into thine ; 
 For oh 1 there never was a breast 
 That longed like mine to be at rest 1 
 
 For, like the Jewish sage of old 
 Who from the mountain high 
 
 The land of promise might behold 
 Before he turned to die, 
 
 I gaze with swelling heart on thee — 
 
 The one last joy on earth for me 1 
 
 T 
 
•■ ^ • m v mtm 
 
 TO MARV. 
 
 259 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 T^e wild an^ "^ "^^ "^ore 
 
 ^no at thy feet a fr... ^ ' 
 That PnJk ^^easure ilunff 
 
 ^^at cost him all his days? 
 
260 TO MAKY. 
 
 And if the things we learn below 
 
 Are but ihe memory 
 Of former knowledge, then I know 
 
 Why thou art dear to me. 
 For, during all my wanderings, 
 
 I never met before 
 One who, like thee, could touch the strings 
 
 Hid in my bosom's core 1 
 
 Perhaps in those far regions where 
 
 Exist the good and wise 
 I met thy lovely spirit ere ' 
 
 It took a mortal guise ; 
 And so thou dost appear to me 
 
 As one I've known for long, 
 Allied through immortality. 
 
 To my sad soul by song I 
 
' OTTAWA WATEns I 
 
 261 
 
 EVER FLOW or, nrv^ 
 
 '^^DLYo.omWA WATERS 
 
 „,, daughters °""'" -"nonff the W^t 
 
 Of beauty who dvveliin.h , 
 
 "'"""' 'and of the west - 
 Lone was the str-,„„ 
 
 Over Z f '" '^«' compelled ,7 ""* ^^arled .' 
 j" 'Jie earth since the dw , "" '"= ''o^m 
 
 |«--«hewooras-- ""'^^^"'"'-«- 
 
 Hi^wasasorrov^f,';-'l'''-'ade„, 
 
 Gentle his heart ■,. ,i J '''"'ay endure 
 
 «-'^^".^or:;i:^,?;;-ora^^ 
 
 J '"'y 'Hid pure i 
 
 He came to t],;- niargin o h • 
 
 [^^-'<'"«..i.eda;o"S3tr:iTi 
 
262 EVER FLOW GLADLY 0, OTTAWA WATERS ! 
 
 ! blest be the hour tliat found there a giver 
 Of joy to a heart that was long with the deaa ? 
 
 Spirit of song and of beauty ! believe him 
 Who sings to thee now is akin to thy soul, 
 
 Man may annoy, and the world may deceive him, 
 But thee he will cherish above their control ! 
 
 Bid him not go from thy presence to languish 
 Sorrowful years with heartless and proud, 
 
 O ! knowest thou not the terrible anguish 
 Of hearts that must beat all alone in a crowd ? 
 
 Take him with thee to thy heaver^ nf beauty, 
 Teach him like thee to be gent^ :}id wise. 
 
 Guide him aright on the jjath of his duty 
 Ere worn with the sorrow of living he dies ! 
 
 11 
 
TO MARV. 
 
 •?C3 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 Sweet sister of my soul ! to thee 
 
 HI pour the tide of song, 
 That I may twine thy memory 
 
 With mine for ages long. 
 
 Ill cast around thy brow the light 
 Of poesy and love, 
 
 I'll crown and throne thee on a hei,' t 
 AH other maids above I ^ 
 
 As in a censer, to thv feet 
 My burning heart I'll brin- 
 
 And wrap thee with an incenJe sweet 
 vvhile passionate I sing • 
 
 My soul will be a chalice „,ade 
 i^ibations to outpour 
 
 %Tt!^^^'"V' thought, unslaj-d, 
 lo show now I adore. 
 
f 
 
 264 TO MARY. 
 
 I'll tell the world how wildly fair 
 
 And beautiful thou art, 
 The grace and sweetness of thy air, 
 
 The goodness of thy heart : 
 For like the forms that poets see 
 
 In wrapt ideal dreams, 
 That live in heart-hid mystery. 
 
 Thy presence on me beams ! 
 
 I, like the bard who sought his king 
 
 Many a weary year 
 And often would those numbers sing 
 
 His master loved to hear. 
 Have sought for thee in many lands, 
 
 But now my search is o'er. 
 The mourning heart and tired hands 
 
 Will mourn and toil no more I 
 
"iftimmmm. 
 
 TO MY SISTEn. 
 
 265 
 
 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 Night falls upon the city now 
 A mantle of repose, 
 
 Soothing many a weary brow 
 
 J, ^°''f '^"1 onts woesf 
 
 Unto the sentry's measured tread 
 
 Footfalls of danger darkly led 
 ^S' fancy wildly fleet. 
 
 While comrades round the watchli»h, r 
 In sweet unconscious sleep ° ^"- 
 
I 
 
 266 
 
 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 For tho' the scene be ne'er so fair 
 
 The beauty ne'er so bright 
 It cannot soothe the stranger's care 
 
 Nor give his soul delight. 
 For 1 his conscious mind returns 
 
 O'er each dividing sea, 
 And with affection fondly yearns 
 
 To those beloved as thee ! 
 
 Tho' lone and long the weary way 
 
 Which I am forced to take, 
 Hope smiling points unto the day 
 
 Whose morn with joy will break, 
 And unto home and happiness. 
 
 The Wanderer restore, 
 Whom separation taught to bless. 
 
 And love, and leave, no more ! 
 
TO W. G. ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 267 
 
 '^0 W. G. ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 lill we to-iiight 
 
 While s:mpie truti. and worth c'ommand 
 Our true delight. 
 
 Now is the golden age of man 
 The centre of life-. .,ght,,;i' 
 
 Complete in thee. 
 
 Beneath thee now the silent stream 
 
 Lnto that sea where spirits dream, 
 
268 TO W. G. ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 But Hope, sweet angel, rises o'er 
 The dim and cloud-enveloped shore 
 
 And points above, 
 Where those who labor here will go 
 And meet with those they loved below, 
 While ages will unnumbered flow, 
 
 In peace and love 1 
 
 Gould pray'rs of mine on high avail, 
 I'd ask of Heaven to entail 
 
 Upon thy head. 
 Long years of peace, content and joy. 
 Of happiness without alloy, 
 And virtue all thy days employ, 
 
 And live when dead ! 
 
 And may the flowers thou hast reared 
 Around thy hearth for long be spared 
 
 To cheer thy heart ! 
 And may each budding blossom rise 
 More beautiful before thine eyes, 
 To yield that pleasure which defies 
 
 E'en death to part I 
 
TO E. I. ON HIS BIHTHDAV, 
 
 269 
 
 TO E. L. ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 «-J as t.e ;ee.rsX''i°-; 
 
 scat4Xrr""r^-'" 
 
 WherP T >,: ^'""^ "^e way 
 Wiiere I have wandered till to day. 
 
 ^ On Victory's awKr '"' "'""^' 
 ■f^nd wast, wIu'Ip ^ro^ • u ' 
 
 A^-ow;rS?':,^;,-ir.-''^^''^' 
 
 'Twas thine to pass thro' fields nf .1 ^ 
 Among the firm and brave "^ 
 
 And see full many a yonlwS head 
 
i 
 
 270 TO E. L. ON HIS niRTHDAY. 
 
 Sink tearless in the grave ; 
 To bear the flag of Freedom high, 
 'Neath which 'tis great to live or die ! 
 
 But yet thou has a better claim 
 
 Than this to my esteem, 
 For, with thy friendship, to me came 
 
 A bright and happy dream 
 Of things that, in my wanderings wild, 
 For years had seldom on me smiled. 
 
 And if the wayward strain I wake, 
 Should tell of darker thought. 
 
 Remember every song I make 
 A gloomy tone hath caught 
 
 From years of suffering, toil and grief, 
 
 Which seem so long and are so brief. 
 
 For when I look upon the past. 
 
 Its joys and many woes, 
 A spectre rises, dim and vast, 
 
 And o'er me darkly throws 
 A shadow many-hued and deep. 
 Like what we see in fevered sleep. 
 
 ! may this day, which sees thee start 
 On manhood's proud career. 
 
 Cast such a glow upon thy heart 
 That each succeeding year 
 
 Will find thee happier than before, 
 
 And still have greater joys in store 
 
e 
 ild, 
 
 ^^ ^' I- ON HIS BIBTHDAV. 
 
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 272 
 
 OFF GOZO BY NIGHT. 
 
 OFF GOZO BY NIGHT. 
 
 Return O, thou departed ! 
 
 Return ! return to me I 
 
 For I am broken hearted 
 
 When thou art gone from me. 
 
 The sun its glory veiling 
 
 Has wrapt the earth in gloom, 
 
 While I, thy loss bewailing. 
 
 Must wander to the tomb. 
 Lay me down, lay me down 
 Where the shadows frown 
 
 Beneath the cypress old, 
 My name in the sand 
 Has been writ, dnd the hand 
 
 That traced it now is cold I 
 Like a purple shroud, 
 Is the sunset cloud 
 
 That is wafting away my breath, 
 And the waves that roar 
 On the sounding shore, 
 
 Are steeds I will ride on to death ! 
 
ON GUARD AT NIGHT. 
 
 273 
 
 ON GUARD AT NIGHT. 
 
 :l 
 
 s 
 
 Lonely is the watch I'm keepin 
 
 By the castle old, 
 And the skies are on me weeping 
 
 Tear drops chill and cold. 
 
 Through the clouds that roll above me 
 
 trentle stars appear, 
 Seeming spirits, pure and lovely. 
 
 Shedding pity's tear. 
 
 ! dear Minnie, I am weary. 
 Sinful, weak, and wretched, now • 
 
 And my soul is worn and weary- ' 
 Sorrow wrinkles on my brow ! 
 
 1 would fam lie down and slumber, 
 When my lonely watch is o'er 
 .^/r"""^ "le happy number ' 
 Who have slept to wake no more 
 
274 
 
 ON GUARD AT NIGHT. 
 
 Life increases but my error, 
 Minnie ! since from thee I lied — 
 
 Death, for one, has got no terror 
 Who seeks freedom with the dead ! 
 
 ill 
 
MY 
 
 VOW IS STILL UNBROKEN. 
 
 275 
 
 MY VOW IS STILL UNBROKEN. 
 
 Thn' T y. ^^ ''^^^ '^ ^^^^^ unbroken f 
 
 Writ on my heart a sign 
 Unspoken ! 
 
 Andfrom^'tSonr,'"''"'^^"''"^' 
 To find thee still as pure and dear 
 
 My dark dream disappear 
 In seeming I 
 
 I feel It ever—ever there 
 
 And roaming lonely and apart 
 I hope yet fear to dare 
 To-morrow ! 
 
T3«i" 
 
 276 
 
 TC ROSE. 
 
 TO ROSE. 
 
 On receiving a portrait with the words " Remember me." 
 
 Remember thee I ah ! how could I 
 
 So dear a one forget — 
 Not even till the day I die 
 
 Can I repay the debt 
 Of gratitude I owe to thee, 
 Thou wert so good and kind to me ! 
 
 
 So little kindness I have known, 
 
 So little loving care, 
 So long I've lived and toiled alone 
 
 With thoughts I could not share, 
 That, even unto thee, I feel 
 I cannot all I would reveal. 
 
 "^s^ 
 
 i^:: 
 
 Thou wert the first who gave the hand 
 Of welcoming to me, 
 
mm 
 
 TO ROSE. 
 
 277 
 
 lember mer 
 
 le! 
 
 hand 
 
 A stranger in my native land, 
 
 Whose sorrow was to be 
 Friendless, neglected, and forgot. 
 Unknown, unloved, 0, weary lot ! 
 
 My bosom was a vacant shrine, 
 Tho' filled with treasures great. 
 
 The soul that made it once divine 
 Had left it desolate. 
 
 And darkness brooded sadly o'er 
 
 The altar that was bright before. 
 
 But, like the odors that impart 
 Strange sweetness to the air. 
 
 You stole into my lonely heart 
 Before I was aware 
 
 That its dim halls could be so blest 
 
 In having such a lovely guest. 
 
 The gentle sweetness of thy ways. 
 The beauty of thy smile. 
 
 The raptured softness of thy gaze, 
 Are such they would beguile 
 
 The coldest hearts to turn and bow 
 
 To thee enthralled, as I do now. 
 
 Remember thee ! Remember thee I 
 
 Yes, until life has past 
 Forever from me, thou shalt be 
 
 My sweetest thought and last ; 
 And oh, believe me, lady bright 
 'Twill be my dearest, best delight I 
 
278 TO ROSE. 
 
 Too soon, alas ! too soon, sweet maid, 
 
 It may be mine to go 
 Where heartless men the world degrade 
 
 By many a needless woe, 
 To be the thing I was, again 
 To live alone, and toil in vain ! 
 
 But, when I'm bowed by care or grief, 
 
 I'll turn and gaze on this 
 And from thy smile obtain relief 
 
 As from a dream of bliss. 
 Perhaps when thou'st forgotten long 
 The child of sorrow and of song. 
 
 I judge me not by other souls, 
 
 By other men or things, 
 The bond of clay that such controls 
 
 Can never bind the wings 
 Of my wild spirit that can aim 
 To emulate the proudest fame ! 
 
 Perhaps upon some future day 
 A stranger's voice will tell 
 
 How he who sings for thee this lay 
 In some dark moment fell. 
 
 Remember, should it bring regret, 
 
 He never could or would forget ! 
 
THE DflEAMER. 
 
 279 
 
 THE DREAMER. 
 
 Rise ! rise ! rise 1 
 
 Thou with the glorious eyes 
 
 And tt Sltal?' -t *« '"-'y ^'r, 
 ^ The so^r ttlvtiaS^-^ ''^^^^ 
 Bear me-O I bear me away - 
 
 I an, weary of things of claV, 
 Of the lonely night and the dreary dar 
 As ever was love lorn maiden ^ ^' 
 ! ^yhat is the use to toil 
 Ihro sorrow and sin, that soil 
 
 l*e soul till it hates itself v^th a h«f» 
 Which is ever the sharpest Sgoffl 
 
 jKn^stS;^r^--"^' 
 
 ATt^ci?ofS;rgr'^--^' 
 
 Tho'ho^hefledfrorin,^'^-.- 
 
280 THE DRBAMEn. 
 
 That smiles in its deep serenity 
 
 While sinking, slirinking, 
 Down we go 
 
 Deep in the bottomless sea of wo I 
 No child of this unhappy earth 
 
 Art thou, 
 Like those who laugh with a cruel mirth, 
 
 Thy brow 
 Is not like theirs low, bent, and lined, 
 Telling so well that the brain behind 
 Is the failing spark of decaying mind. 
 Nor like the daughters of men who smile 
 In heartless loveliness and guile, 
 
 So little, and foolish, and vain, they be ; 
 But yet, perhaps, there are one or two 
 To whom God hath given a soul more true. 
 But even these, so good and few. 
 
 Are not like thee I 
 What sayest thou spirit so calm and fair ? — 
 " The earth is thine to labor, there 
 Is much for thee if thou wouldst share 
 
 A glorious prize." 
 But I have striven so long in vain 
 Thro' light and darkness, joy and pain, 
 And there is nothing I can gain 
 That I care to have, tho' I would fain 
 
 Be of the good and wise ! 
 " Fool ! Fool ! the age 
 Of dreams has past — upon the page 
 Of life go write — as well you might — 
 By worthy action truer songs 
 
I mii'lh, 
 
 led, 
 nd 
 Ind. 
 o smile 
 
 THK DREAMBB. 
 
 Than over you wrote before : 
 
 And an that is thine to God belongll*'' 
 Go woik I He will restore 
 The peace far from thee fled I 
 There never yet was child of man 
 But had ,„ iho AIn,ightys pla^ 
 
 A place to flII, if buu sU 
 And that among the dead I 
 
 Go try— Good Bye J " 
 
 281 
 
 ) 
 
 liey be ; 
 two 
 ore true, 
 
 d fair ?- 
 hare 
 
 Dain, 
 lin 
 
 e 
 [it- 
 
282 
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 
 
 li « 
 
 Come thou who in my secret heart hath been 
 The veiled companion of my lonely ways ; 
 
 Thou who the halls of memory hath seen 
 Lit up by many bright but fleeting rays I 
 
 Come mourn with me upon the dreary void 
 Which death hath made in my afflicted heart, 
 
 Whose coward hand each kindred tie destroyed, 
 And tore each golden wreath of hope apart ! 
 
 For she is dead the beautiful and bright 
 Whose kindred -^yere all good and lovely things, 
 
 From weary earth her soul hath taken flight 
 To Heaven, wafted upon angel wings. 
 
 Come then we will not weep for one at rest 
 From many sorrows haply she is free. 
 
 The young who die in dying are more blest 
 Than those who live for deeper misery ! 
 
as 
 
 SSCitlJaSMMI 
 
 A DIBGE. 
 
 283 
 
 alh been 
 r ways ; 
 seen 
 rays! 
 
 •y void 
 icted heart, 
 destroyed, 
 |pe apart ! 
 
 rht 
 
 )vely things, 
 ^n flight 
 igs. 
 
 I, to the dregs, have quafFed the bitter bowl, 
 She only tasted of its smiling brim ; 
 
 Its deadly poison cankers in my soul, 
 But her young spirit it did hardly dim ! 
 
 She did not see how love grows faint or cold, 
 Nor mark caresses turn to frowns of hate, 
 
 She did not know the things that makt ;^f»n old, 
 Nor view the wrecks upon the shore o ' fate I 
 
 The sweet young love that nestled in her heiiit 
 Had n. t yet raised its gaudy wings to 11 v ; 
 
 She did not feel her purity depart, 
 With years that brought her in the end to die. 
 
 But in the glorious morn of hope and youth, 
 She left the earth to seek her native skies, 
 
 Where misery is wedded not to truth. 
 And where the lovely never, never dies ! 
 
 at rest 
 free, 
 ire blest 
 
 sery \ 
 
284 
 
 AN EPICEDE. 
 
 AN EPICEDE. 
 
 11;' 
 
 Oh I mother weep not for thy child 
 
 For blessed are the dead, 
 The waves of time cold, dark and wild 
 
 Sweep harmless o'er her head. 
 How many barks by tempests tost, 
 With rudder, sail, and compass lost 
 
 Drive o'er life's dreary sea, 
 When storms that sweep around their path 
 Are but the instruments of warth 
 
 From which they vainly flee. 
 
 1 happy are the young who die ! 
 
 They but return the same 
 Unto that heavenly home on high 
 
 From which they lately came ; 
 While we, compell'd to toil for years 
 Thro' scenes of anguish blood and tears, 
 
 And bosoms worn and sad, 
 
AN EPIGEDE. 
 
 285 
 
 lid 
 
 wild 
 
 t, 
 
 lost 
 
 I their path 
 
 le! 
 
 Decay like wrecks upon that shore 
 Out o'er whose waves we'll never more 
 Go bounding young and glad I 
 
 Remember He, who from the tomb 
 
 Bade Lazarus arise, 
 Did die himself to break the gloom 
 
 That shut out Paradise ! 
 And, when thy heart is bow'd with grief, 
 
 ! think — the thought will bring relief — 
 That thy lost one is near ; 
 
 For ties that bind our souls on earth 
 Receive in Heaven purer birth — 
 More holy, strong and dear 1 
 
 1 would not pray for lengthened days 
 
 For those whom most I cherish, 
 For earth has not, in all its ways 
 
 A hope that will not perish. 
 The eye that reads from youth to age 
 The book of life will find the page 
 
 A dull evented story ; — 
 The chime that rings our marriage bell 
 Will also toll our passing knell 
 
 When perishes our glory 1 
 
 rears 
 Ld tears, 
 
"f ,ypi 
 
 286 
 
 CANADA OUR HOME. 
 
 CANADA OUR HOME. 
 
 The skies are fair that beam above 
 
 Far lands of fame and song, 
 Where eyes that look the sweetest love, 
 
 In sunny vallies throng ; 
 But oh ! give me the forest hills, 
 
 Where happy I may roam, 
 "Where every dear affection thrills 
 
 For Canada, our home. 
 
 The annals of our native land 
 
 May be but rough and brief. 
 But there is many a fearless hand 
 
 To guard the maple leaf. 
 Let danger threaten when it will, 
 
 We'll meet whate'er will come — 
 Remaining firm and faithful still 
 
 To Canada our home. 
 
nhhI 
 
 CANADA OUR HOME. 287 
 
 The mountains, woods, and torrents wild^ 
 
 Where chainless freedom dwells, 
 Have charms unto the forest child 
 
 Which evorythhig excels. 
 Oh ! for the joyful wind that Hies 
 
 Beneath the leafy domc^ 
 Bv lakes that heam like heauty's eves 
 
 In Canada our home. 
 
 love. 
 
 Let other nations boast the fame 
 
 or hero and of sage : 
 What is their glory but a name 
 
 Upon a blotted page ? 
 Behold a land from tyrants pure 
 
 As wild Atlantic's foam. 
 Where love and beauty dwell secure 
 
 In Canada our home. 
 
 Young giants of the north and west, 
 
 The nations hail your birth, 
 Your heritage is of the best 
 
 That e'er was claimed on earth ; 
 Firm as your hills, bright as your streams, 
 
 Your glory shall become. 
 And realize hope's brightest dreams 
 
 In Canada our home. 
 
 <o 
 
r'" ... .n'mmm^mimmmmmmmm 
 
 288 
 
 REST thee! beloved. 
 
 REST THEE ! BELOVED. 
 
 
 
 .if' 
 
 ^1 
 
 lis 
 
 Rest thee ! beloved, the dream is o'er ! 
 
 Chill death has torn thee from mv licart, 
 But faith and hope point on before 
 
 Where we will meet and never part ! 
 
 We conld not keep thee always liere 
 Along life's weary way to roam ; 
 
 God called tliee to a l)i'igliter sphei-e, 
 And gave tliee an eternal home. 
 
 In christian faith we are resigned, 
 Yet will tlu; tears of sorrow flow, 
 
 Eor one like thee we'll never find. 
 And love like thine we'll never know ! 
 
 Beneath the f^hadow of thy God, 
 With those who went before thee, rest ! 
 
 Thro' death's dark valley thon hast trod 
 To mingle with the faithful blest I 
 
WRITTEN IN AN ALDUM. 
 
 289 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 v licart, 
 irt ! 
 
 e. 
 
 know ! 
 
 Another age 
 May see this page 
 
 And, reading, may not find 
 The lesson wise 
 That in it h'es 
 
 Whicii we have left behind 
 Through life we moved 
 
 We hved and loved 
 Jii JOY, or hope, or pride 
 But when at last ' 
 It all had past, 
 rwas nothing-and we died ! 
 
 ee, rest ! 
 ^t trod 
 
 stl 
 
 Mi^ft 
 
Si 
 
 d 
 h( 
 
 CO 
 
 be 
 
 to 
 
 ab 
 
 sol 
 
 qu: 
 
 luj 
 
 bai 
 
wotm 
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE FALL OF QUEBEC, 
 
 Note 1, Stanza Til, page 53. 
 
 ii 
 
 Then I will make beneath thy maple bowers y 
 
 The commencement of this poem, and as far as the 
 XXV stanza, was composed in Waterdown, Canada West, 
 some time before my departure in 1859 for England, and 
 lay a long time among my papers unfinished, till I acci- 
 dentally discovered and concluded it during the leisure 
 hours of night duty on Gibraltar. Any one acquainted 
 with the life of a soldier, in that garrison, will know that I 
 could not have the opportunity nor the time necessary to 
 bestow much care upon the composition, which has grown 
 to its present state under circumstances the most unfavour- 
 able. So multiferous and never-ending are the duties of a 
 soldier, that it is very seldom indeed that he can obtain the 
 quiet necessary for the indulgence of thought, a great 
 luxury to one compelled to live amid the uproar of a 
 barrack. 
 
n NOTES TO THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 Note 2, Stanza VI, page 54. 
 
 " When to the river came a lonely wight.''^ 
 
 The story upon which the opening of this poem is founded, 
 will be found in the " Percy Anecdotes of Captivity and 
 Exile:' 
 
 Note 3, Stanza X, page 56. 
 
 " Brave Braddockfell in battle's scathing glare.'' 
 
 ** General Braddock lost his life'in Virginia by the French 
 and Indians in the war in which General Wolfe afterwards 
 fell on the heights of Quebec, in Canada. The French having 
 determined to connect their Canadian colony with their 
 other possessions in Louisana, by a chain of fortified 
 military stations which interfered with the British territories, 
 General Braddock, with an army of 2,000 English, was 
 despatched to Virginia, where he arrived in February, 
 1755, at Kichmond. With 390 waggons of provisions, 
 ammunition and baggage, he reached in July the Monon- 
 gahela, a branch of the river Ohio. Washington, who 
 was then at the age of twenty-three, joined him as 
 a volunteer, in capacity of aid-de-camp, and from nis 
 accurate knowledge of his native country, and of the 
 Indian mode of warfare, would have furnished the English 
 commander with the information requisite for the success 
 of his expedition, but Braddock' s self sufficiency con- 
 temptuously disregarded the advice of American officers. 
 Having advanced on the 9th of July within six miles of 
 Fort du Quesne, now Pitsburg, where he supposed the 
 enemy awaited his approach, his columns, in silently pass- 
 ing through a deep forest ravine, were suddenly struck 
 
NOTES TO THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 Ill 
 
 3 founded, 
 tiinty and 
 
 I tore' 
 
 ^ the French 
 Q afterwards 
 renchhaving 
 y with their 
 ^ of fortified 
 ih territories, 
 English, was 
 in February, 
 f provisions, 
 [y the Monon- 
 iington, who 
 ined him as 
 md from nis 
 and of the 
 the English 
 ,r the success 
 [fficiency con- 
 ,rican officers. 
 six miles of 
 supposed the 
 , silently pass- 
 Lddenly struck 
 
 with the utmost terror by the frightful war-whoop of tho 
 Indians from the dense thickets on both sidos, antl tho 
 murderous firo of invisible rifles that with infallible aim 
 killed each its man. Eushing forward, they were surprised 
 and attacked in front by the French forces, while tho 
 Indian warriors, leaping by hundreds from their ambush, 
 fell upon thorn with fury in the rear. Their strange and 
 hideous appearance, and the echo of their piercing dog-like 
 yelp in such a gloomy wilderness of trees, so startled the 
 English soldiers, wlio for the first time heard it, tlmt the 
 panic which seized them continued till luilf the army was 
 destroyed. With the single exception of Washington, who 
 received several rifle balls through his dress, and had two 
 horses shot under liim, no officer escaped alive. Braddock 
 himself after mounting in succession five horses, was shot 
 and carried off on a tumbrel by the remnant of his troops, 
 who fled precipituously forty miles to the place in which 
 the baggage had been left, where he died. Throughout 
 Virginia, the inhabitants of which feared an invasion from 
 the French, this disastrous defeat occasioned great con- 
 sternation, and to the present day it is there a subject of 
 interesting discussion, as connected with the career of 
 Washington." (History of the late War in America, aiid the 
 Campaigns against His Majesty^ s Indian enemies. By Thomas 
 Mante, 4io, 1764 ; Gent. Mag. vol. XJTV, page 378.) 
 
 Note 4, Stanza XII, page 57. 
 
 " While Squaws attend to cure him for the Gauntlet race.^' 
 
 It seems that this mode of treating their enemies was 
 adopted from their white neighbours, by whom it was at 
 that time practised as a military punishment. The name 
 
IV 
 
 NOTES TO THE FALL OF OIIEBEC. 
 
 Gaunlct, or Gauntlope, is derived from Ghent, the name 
 of the city where it was first practised. It is thus described 
 in the *^ Universal Diciionwy of Arts and Sciences,^'' by E. 
 Chambers. " Running the Gauntlope thro' parade at 
 Guard mounting, drawn up in two lines for that purpose. 
 On this occasion the Provost marches through with twigs 
 or switches, and every soldier takes as many as there are 
 criminals to be punished ; the criminal then marches 
 through the two lines, and each soldier gives him a hard 
 stroke, the Major riding up and down to see that the men 
 lay on properly." 
 
 I'm 
 
 Note 5, Stanza XVII, page 59. 
 
 *' Ononthio, he heard the Chief tan say, — 
 Had sent to tell them peace was at an end.^^ 
 
 Ononthio was the name by which the French Governors 
 of Canada were known and addressed by their Indian allies. 
 It signifies Big Mountain, being a translation into the 
 Indian tongue of Montmagny, the name of an early Gover- 
 nor of the colony of Quebec, and was over after used in this 
 sense until the time of Wolfe's conquest. 
 
 Note G, Stanza XXXV, page 66. 
 
 '* Then loudly thunders the besieging gunj^ 
 
 ^' On the extreme right of the enemy's position, that is 
 to say, close to the junction of the two rivers, (St. Lawrence 
 and Montmorency) stood a redoubt, considerably detached 
 from the rest of their works, yet so placed as to form an 
 
NOTES TO THE FALL OF QIJEHEC. 
 
 the name 
 described 
 
 .?," by E. 
 parade at 
 i purpose, 
 with twigs 
 there are 
 1 marches 
 im a hard 
 at the men 
 
 id." 
 
 •h Governors 
 
 [ndian allies. 
 
 on into the 
 
 early Gover- 
 
 used in this 
 
 admirable point of reconnoisonco. Wolfe determined, if 
 possible, to make himself master of it, partly with the hope 
 that the enemy, in their eagerness to save it, would bring 
 on a general action ; partly with the design, in case this 
 anticipation should fail, of turning it to the best account 
 which circumstances would allow. With this view he pre- 
 vailed upon the Admiral to arm a transport of shallow 
 burthen, which, when the iitting moment came, might be 
 run close in shore, and keep the batteries silent by her 
 superior weight of tire. A small frigate was directed to 
 take her station at the same time in mid-channel, so as to 
 command a battery which Montcalm had thrown up foi* the 
 defence of the ford already alluded to, under the falls o^ 
 the Montmorency, while the grenadiers of the whole army, 
 with the greater portion of General Monckton's brigade, 
 were told oft' for a descent from the fleet's boats, in rear of 
 the post threatened. These several dispositions were to be 
 made just before the ebb tide should fall so low as to 
 enable the brigades of Murray and Townsend to traverse 
 the stream, and the attack was to take place in the after- 
 noon of the 31st, both the land and water columns moving 
 on at the same moment." 
 
 *' Lives of Brit. Mil. Com.f Vol. 11, page 341." 
 
 fttn." 
 
 )sition, that is 
 (St. Lawrence 
 bbly detached 
 as to form an 
 
 Note 7, Stanza XXXVI, page 67. 
 
 " Then flashed the claymores of the Fraser clan.^^ 
 
 If I do not err, this clan which rendered such signal 
 service at the taking of Quebec, was deeply implicated in 
 the Rebellion of 1745, and the Master of Lovet, mentioned 
 in the text, was a descendant of that Lord Lovet who was 
 executed for High Treason. 
 
VI 
 
 NOTKS TO THK FALL OF QHFUFC. 
 
 V ■ 
 
 
 Nolo 8, Stanza XXXV 11, page 07. 
 
 " Jleie Id \i« juinse to fno/c upon aform.'^ 
 
 " Among tho many illiiHtrious namos tliat fill up tho. 
 jmgo of r)iitisli Military History, thcr*' is not, perhaps, one 
 to wliii'li a stionger, a more romantic, <^)i' more melancholy 
 interest nttaches tlian that of Wolle. His prominant aj)pea- 
 ranco on the stage of public lifcs at a moment wlien the 
 arms of England wero everywhere suflering reverses; the 
 good fortune as well as gallantry, with which he succeeded 
 in retrieving the somewhat tarnished honour of his country ; 
 his death, in tho very prime of manhood, on a well fought 
 field, just as the shout of victory began to be raised by his 
 followers ; all these circumstances have combined to estab- 
 lish for him a si)e(''ies of renown which tho bravest soldier 
 of modern times may envy, tho most favoured alono hoi)e 
 to emulate." 
 
 " JAves of Brit. Mil. Com., vol. 11, pa(/e 317." 
 
 ** Tho command of tho army in tho river St. Lawrence 
 was confored on Wolfe, who, like Washington, could have 
 found happhiess in retirement. His nature, at once affec- 
 tionate and aspiring, mingled the kindliest gentleness with 
 an impetous courage which was never exhausted or appalled. 
 He loved letters and wrote well ; he had studied the 
 science of war profoundly, joining to experience a creative 
 mind ; and tho vehement passion for immortal glory over- 
 came his motives to repose. 'I feel called upon,' he had 
 once written on occasion of his early promotion, ' to justify 
 the notice tak(?n of mo by such exertions and exposure of 
 myself as will j^robably lead to my fall.' And the day before 
 departing for his conunand, in the inspiring presence of 
 Pitt, he forgot danger, glory, everything but the over- 
 mastering purpose to devote lumself to his country." 
 BancroJVs history of the American Revolution, vol. 1," 
 
(Ul up thn 
 .ihap!*, one 
 iiu'livnoholy 
 
 t wlu'ii ilu* 
 >voi'sos ; tlu" 
 
 Ills country, 
 , well t'ouglit 
 raised by his 
 nod to cstivb- 
 ■avost soldiov 
 I alono liopc. 
 
 page 317. 
 St. Lawrence 
 
 could have 
 lit once affec- 
 ntleness with 
 dor appalled. 
 
 studied the 
 
 NOTKS 'I'O 'IIIK I'MA^ 01' QIKIIKC. VII 
 
 Nolo 0, .Stanzii XXXIX, pa^'o CH. 
 
 " Su'iffli/ the hni'ijcs <lnsh alhirart ihr. .sttrnm.^^ 
 
 " The enemy, who had slackened their lire during the 
 last half hour, no sooner ^'ot the boats within lang*", then 
 they <)pene(l upon thcni with increased fury, and some 
 edbct : a few, thou^'h only a few, were sunk ; while tlu^ 
 nunainder pressed forwaid, the sailors ene()ura;j;in^ one 
 another at the oar, and the solditM's shoutinjj;, from time to 
 time, as it weve in (h^liance of the fate which threatened 
 them. Aire}.. V were they within two Inmdrecl yards of the 
 beach, when a ledge of rocks, which by some unac^eountablc 
 oversight had not previously been noticed, present«!d itself 
 all at once to impede their further progress. WolfV^ threw 
 himself immediately into a man-of-war's cutter, and fol- 
 lowed by a Hat bottomed boat rowed along this ledge, under 
 a murderous shower of grape, till he descri<Ml a channel 
 through which they might pass. They followed their daring 
 leader in exc silent order, and still in some degrei; covered 
 by the broadsides of the frigate and transport, each, as it 
 gained the strand, disembarked its gallant cargo." 
 
 " Lives of Brit. Mil. Com., vol. II, page 342." 
 
 Note 10, stanza XLIIL, page TO. 
 
 " But all their dauntless valor was in vainJ'^ 
 
 " The men became exasperated by witnessing the loss of 
 so many of their comrades ; while an over anxiety to close with 
 their assailants produced its customary effects, — a reckless, 
 dai'ing, but ill-regulated valor. The grenadiers, in particular, 
 110 sooner touched the soil, than setting all the commands 
 
f 3 
 
 I. 
 
 vni 
 
 NOTKS TO THK FALL OK QUEnKC. 
 
 and entr'(\aties of thoir oificei'H ut defiance, they rushed for- 
 ward, l)ut ill total disord(M', upon the redoubt; and they 
 were, as might be expected, cut down by hundreds, without 
 pro(hicinij; the smallest impression. « • * 
 
 The decisive moment was lost; the enemy evacuated the 
 redoubt, it is true, and fell back upon their lines, where 
 they stood ready to receive the charge of the English as 
 soon as it should be given. • * * Wolfe was eventu- 
 ally compelled to order the retreat of this corps, which at 
 last attained to something like consistency in roar of Monck- 
 ton's brigade." 
 
 ''Lives ofJint Mil. Com., vol. IT, page 343-4." 
 
 Note 11, Stanza XLV., page 70. 
 
 " On Orleans Isle was seen nor guard nor tent.^^ 
 
 "Wolfe applied himself intently to reconnoitring the 
 north shore above Quebec. Nature had given him good 
 eyes as well as a warmth of temper to follow first impressions. 
 He himself discovered the cove which now beare his name, 
 where the bendhig promontories almost form a basin with a 
 very narrow margin, over which the hill rises precipitously, 
 lie saw the path which wound up the steep, tho' so narrow 
 that two men could hardly march in it abreast; and ho 
 knew by the number of tents which he counted on the sum- 
 mit, that the Canadian joost which guarded it could not ex- 
 ceed a hundred. Here ho resolved to land his army by 
 surprise. To mislead the enemy, his trooj^s were kept far 
 above the town, while Saunders, as if an attack were in- 
 tended at Beauport, set Cook the great mariner, with others, 
 to sound the water and plant buoys along the shore. 
 
NOTES TO TJIE r'A[J. OF OHEnKC. 
 
 IX 
 
 mshed for- 
 
 and tlioy 
 
 ds, without 
 
 » 
 
 ,cuatod the 
 iines, where 
 English as 
 was even tu- 
 ps, which at 
 irofMonck- 
 
 tent:' 
 
 " Tlic (lay and night of the l:ith were employed in prepa- 
 rations ; the autumn evening was bright; and the general 
 under the clear stai-light, visited his stsitions to make his 
 final inspection, and utter his last words of encouriigeuKint. 
 As he pass(Hl from ship to ship, he spoke to thost^ in the 
 boat with him of the poet Gray, and the ''Elegy in a 
 Country Church Yard." "1," said he, "would prefer being 
 the author of that poen\ to the glory of Ideating the French 
 to-morrow ; " and while the oars struck the river as it rip- 
 pled in the silence of the night, under the flowing tide, he 
 repeated : 
 
 "The boast of heraldry, the i)omp of power 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. 
 
 Await alike the inevitable hour ; 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 "Every officer knew his appointed duty, when at one 
 o'clock in the morning of 13th of September, Wolfe, with 
 Monckton and Murray, and about half the forces, set off in 
 boats, and, without sail or oars, glided down with the tide. 
 In three quarte)-s of an hour the ships followed, and though 
 the night had become dark, aided by the rapid current they 
 ret-ched the cove just in time to cover the landing. Wolfe 
 and the troops with him leaped on shore; the light infantry, 
 who found t.iemselves borne by the current a little below 
 the entrenched path, clambered up the steep hill, staying 
 themselves by the roots and boughs of the maple, and 
 spruce, and ash trees that covered the precipitous declivity, 
 and, after a little firing, dispersed the picket which guarded 
 the height. The rest ascended safely by the pathway. A 
 battery of four guns on the left was abandoned to Colonel 
 Howe. When Townshend's division disembarked the En- 
 glish had already gahied one of the roads to Quebec, and 
 advancing in front of the for?:.t, Wolfe stood at daybreak 
 
NOTES TO THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 with his invincible battaUons on the plains of Abraham, the 
 battle lield of empire. 
 
 " ' It can but be a small party come to burn a few houses 
 and retire,' said Montcalm, in amazement, as the news 
 reached him in his retrenchments the other side of the St. 
 Charles ; but obtaining better information, — ' Then,' he 
 cried, ' they have at last got to the weak side of this miser- 
 able garrison ; we must give battle and crush them before 
 mid-day ! ' and before ten, the two armies, equal in num- 
 bers, each being composed of less than five thousand men, 
 were ranged in presence of one another for battle. The 
 English, not easily accessible from intervening shallow 
 ravines and rail fences, were all regulars, perfect in discip- 
 line, terrible in their fearless enthusiasm, thrilling with 
 pride at their morning's success, commanded by a man 
 whom thoy obeyed with confidence and love. The doomed 
 and devoted Montcalm had what Wolfe called but ' five 
 weak French battalions,' of less than five thousand men, 
 mingled with disorderly peasantry,' formed on ground 
 which commanded the position of the English. The French 
 had three little pieces of artillery, the English one or two. 
 The two armies cannonaded each other for nearly an hour, 
 when Montcalm having summonded Bourgainville to his 
 aid, and despatched messenger after messenger after de 
 Vaudreuil, who had fifteen hundred men at the camp, to 
 come up, before he should be driven from his ground, 
 endeavoured to flank the British and drive them down the 
 steep bank of the river. Wolfe counteracted the move- 
 ment, by detaching Townshend with Amherst's regiment, 
 and afterwards a part of the Royal Americans, who formed 
 on the left with a double front. Waiting no longer for 
 more troops, Montcalm led the French army impetuously 
 to the attack. The ill-disciplined companies broke by their 
 precipitation and the uneveness of the ground, and fired 
 
 
NOTES TO THE FALL OF QUEBEC. 
 
 XI 
 
 raham, the 
 
 few houses 
 ■ the news 
 Le of the St. 
 'Then,' he 
 f this miser- 
 ,hem before 
 lual in num- 
 ausand men, 
 battle. The 
 ling shallow 
 ■ect in discip- 
 :hrilling with 
 ed by a man 
 The doomed 
 lied but ' five 
 housand men, 
 ;d on ground 
 rhe French 
 sh one or two. 
 early an hour, 
 Linville to his 
 ■nger after de 
 t the camp, to 
 ti his ground, 
 ^hem down the 
 ,ed the move- 
 irst's regiment, 
 IS, who forme^^ 
 no longer for 
 ly impetuously 
 .broke by their 
 ound, and fird 
 
 by platoons without unity. The English, especially the 
 43rd and 47th, where Monckton stood, received the shock 
 with calmness, and after having at Wolfe's command, 
 reserved their fire till their enemy was within forty yards, 
 their line began a regular, rapid and exact discharge of 
 musketry. Montcalm was present everywhere, braving 
 danger, wounded, but cheering by his example. The 
 second in command, de Sennezergues, an associate in glory 
 at Ticonderoga, was killed. The brave, but untried Cana- 
 dians, flinching from a hot fire in the open field, began to 
 waver, and so soon as Wolfe, placing himself at the head of 
 the 28th and the Louisburg grenadiers, charged with 
 bayonets, they everywhere gave way. Of the English 
 officers, Carleton was wounded ; Barre, who fought near 
 Wolfe, received in the head a ball which destroyed the 
 power of vision of one eye, and ultimately made him blind. 
 Wolfe also as he led the charge, was wounded in the wrist, 
 but still pressing forward, he received a second l)all, and 
 having decided tlie day, was struck a third time, and 
 mortally, in tlie breast. ' Support me,' lie cried, to an 
 officer near him, * let not my brave fellows see me drop.' 
 He was carried to the rear, and they brought him water 
 to quench his thirst. ' They run, they run,' spoke the 
 officer on whom he leaned. ' Who runs ? ' asked Wolfe, as 
 his life was fast ebbing. ' The French,' replied the officer, 
 give way eveiy where. ' What,' cried the expiring hero, 
 ' do they run already ? Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton, 
 bid him march Welles' regiment with all speed to Charles 
 river to cut ott' the fugitives.' Four days before he had 
 looked forward to early death with dismay, ' Now, God be 
 praised, I die happy ! ' These were his words as his spirit 
 escaped in the blaze of his glory. 
 
 " Night, silence, the rushing tide, veteran discipline, the 
 siu-e inspirat'on of genius, had been his allies ; his battle 
 
xu 
 
 NOTES TO THE FALL OF QUEflEC. 
 
 I) 
 li 
 
 ^f'M lll'UXS'ffX 
 
 m 
 
 field, high over the ocean river, was the grandest theatre 
 on earth for illustrious deeds ; his victory, one of the most 
 momentous in the annals of mankind, gave to the English 
 tongue and the institutions of the (rermanic race the unex- 
 plored and seemingly infinite West and North. He crowded 
 into a few hours actions that would have given lustre to a 
 length of life, and filling his day with greatness, completed 
 it before its noon." 
 
 Bancroft's History of the American Revolution, Vol. 1. 
 
NOTES TO MALTA. 
 
 guish their island. *^^ '^^^^^^^ ^f Kalta distin- 
 
 ct.) The castle of Sf vi^ x , 
 of land which sepLl^^/f^t'""'''* extreme point 
 «d6 of tho city otvZtU A^ ?'i''°" tJ-^'lleat each 
 «mation with 4ioh iTwas Ifr ^ '", ?"°™ ''''' *« deter 
 John against the TulfeL 1 '"^"'^ ''y *''«Kmghtsof St 
 foWier Of the cross stend^^fn^ ^^"""^ = -t a 
 taken when the last KnightlS^airel*' ^''' "*'°"'y 
 
 ;'^hed'lft%l^j;--;^ »d ^^^ of u Bor,o 
 
 l>^ter Za r.&«e then neaTtt^^''"^"' ''''«'« *««''and 
 ■n person, i^iife ^^^ ''^^ ^fty years old comn^anded 
 
 the dispersion of the lL2, f '^"'' ^'"'^' "^o, after 
 -landof MalU fro„ S^^T/'r""' l'™our;ithe 
 there. '^'^'^''^ V, and established tho order 
 
 'n^be«r^7t£'^>;[0.si.„, theKnightsrose 
 „ "™-»"^'t'«aMdmarkofthestate 
 
w 
 
 XIV 
 
 Nd'l'I'JS TO MA[/J"A. 
 
 of morality thou existing among tlieni when wo find that 
 one of their causes of complaint to the Pope was, that the 
 Grand Master would not allow the Knights to live with 
 their mistresses, or rear and educate their children in the 
 colleges of the island. The rebels seized the Grand Master 
 and led him through the streets of Valletta, where he 
 endured every indignity from the abandoned paramours of 
 his unwortliy followers, and imprisoned him in the Castle ^^ 
 »St, Angelo, the Pope at length interfered and Cassiere 
 whent to Home, where ho shortly after died. 
 
 (5.) There is a narrow gloomy street leading nearly the 
 whole length of Valletta whore in former times the Knights 
 decided their quarrels by the sword, in fact this street was 
 the acknowledged duelling ground of Malta, encounters 
 which took place here, no matter how fatally thy might 
 terminate, were never taken notice of. The custom in 
 Catholic countries of markhig a cross near the place where 
 a tragedy had been enacted is here fully examplified, for 
 crosses are to be seen at every step cut in the walls of the 
 houses to a great many of which dates are appended. 
 
 (6.) The keys of Jerusalem and Rhodes, more bunches 
 of rusty iron, are to be seen in one of the chapels of the 
 church of St. John, the interior of which is the strangest 
 and most beautiful in the world. 
 
 V 
 
 (7.) Salmone is a high bleak hill to the west of the bay 
 where the Maltese have a tradition that St. Paul was 
 ■wrecked. An ancient tower built on its summit, is now a 
 signal station and commands a magnificent view of Malta, 
 Gozo and Cameno. 
 
 tLJi.: r-^t-i 
 
 k^ 
 
 (8.) Cltta Notahile or, as it is now called, Citta Vecckia, is 
 commandingly situated on a hill in the centre of the island. 
 
fOemBiCiSb^SLgB^C^ 
 
 NOTKS TO MAf/l'A. 
 
 XV 
 
 (i find that 
 s, that the 
 o live with 
 h-en in the 
 \nd Master 
 t, ^vhere ho 
 iramours of 
 lio Castle ^f 
 nd Cassiere 
 
 ; nearly the 
 the Knights 
 
 is street was 
 , encounters 
 y thy might 
 9 custom in 
 
 place where 
 implified, for 
 walls of the 
 
 ended. 
 
 ncre bunches 
 'liapels of the 
 the strangest 
 
 and is like those cities we read of in the '' Arabian tales :" 
 its streets are lined with beautiful churches and palaces in 
 or about which it is semetliini: wonderful to see a livin" 
 being except an occasional old gray-beardcMl iVior. It was 
 strongly fortitied by Villina, but is now dismantled and 
 decaying. 
 
 (9.) The Bells of Malta are somotliing which cannot ho 
 described, a person must hear them to have any idea of 
 their wounderful power ; some times for days and niglits it 
 is utterly impossible to hear anything else. They have a 
 strange and pleasing effect when first heard, but their 
 constant clatter becomes wearisome in tlie extreme. Shortly 
 before I left the island Sir 11. K. Storks issued an order rela- 
 tive to the ringing of bells, which had the concurrence of 
 the R. C. Bishop, but the canons of the cliurcli of Siin 
 Lorenzo refused to obey it, and were conseiiuently sus- 
 pended from their functions which had the effect of al)ating 
 the nuisance. The lOOtli Regiment left Malta on tlie 15th 
 October, 1866, and though I was not sorry to leave "Sirocco, 
 sun and sweat ; " there are many sad and pleasing memo- 
 ries connected with my sojurn there. 
 
 est of the bay 
 it. Paul was 
 imit, is now a 
 new of Malta, 
 
 itta Vecchia, is 
 of the island, 
 
l 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 I^a Sentinella 
 
 Tile Fall of QueheZZZZ ^ 
 
 The Lament of Armand..'* ''^ 
 
 Hiamorah 94 
 
 Malta ** 121 
 
 Lines on leaving Canada ^^^ 
 
 Lines on arriving in Canada ^'^ 
 
 Written in an Album ^ ^^ 
 
 Ontario 178 
 
 The death of the Old Year ^^^ 
 
 I only sing for those I love ^^^ 
 
 The Moonlight Storm ^^^ 
 
 The Shipwreck ^^6 
 
 To Clotilde... 189 
 
 Nowo;er the ^^e^^^M;;;^-^^::: Z 
 
 ihe Niglit Bird... ^'^^ 
 
 Arise- my coun;™;";;:;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;- ••■• JJ^ 
 
XVI 11 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Lines written in my Sister's Album 200 
 
 Tlio Lost Spirit 202 
 
 Off Gape San Garcia 20i 
 
 Psycos 20G 
 
 To Gelestine 209 
 
 On leaving Gibraltar 212 
 
 At Last 214 
 
 Mary of Glare 21G 
 
 To the Governor of the Moorish Castle, 
 Gibraltar 218 
 
 A Stranger Stood 220 
 
 To M. M. G 223 
 
 To Ella 225 
 
 I'll Sing for Thee 220 
 
 I deemed thou wert as good as fair 228 
 
 Beneath the forest's thoughtful shade 230 
 
 Dear Annie in those eyes of blue 232 
 
 To Jerry's Bride... 234 
 
 Written on the voyage between Malta and 
 
 Quebec 23G 
 
 The Vengeance of Vincenzo 239 
 
 Song 241 
 
 Written in an Album. 242 
 
 Weep not my love 243 
 
 To Anna — Singing 245 
 
 1 have poured out my spirit before thee 247 
 
 To Rose — On hearing her sing 249 
 
200 
 
 202 
 
 204 
 
 20G 
 
 209 
 
 212 
 
 214 
 
 216 
 
 Castle, 
 218 
 
 223 
 
 225 
 
 22G 
 
 228 
 
 230 
 
 232 
 
 234 
 
 ta and 
 23G 
 
 239 
 
 241 
 
 242 
 
 243 
 
 245 
 
 ) 247 
 
 249 
 
 TAnLK OF CONTENTS. 
 
 To Minnie 
 
 Lines on recoiving'rcoVyo^Po'Jn.'Z f.! 
 
 lo Mary ^-^J 
 
 To Mary .'*.... ^^^ 
 
 Evc^flow gladly o;o;;a;:~v: !'' 
 
 10 Mary ^^1 . 
 
 To my Sister.. ^^^ 
 
 ToM.G.onhi;B;;;h^;::::::;;;;:- ^ 
 
 To E. L. on his Birthday. ^^^ 
 
 OffGozohy Night ...'.'.' ^f 
 
 On Guard at Night ^^^ 
 
 My vow is still unbroken ^'''"^ 
 
 To Rose • -'^^ 
 
 The Dreamer ^^^^ 
 
 A Dirge •*^'*^ 
 
 An Epicede \ ^''"^ 
 
 Canada Our Home ^^^ 
 
 Hest Thee I Beloved..*.'.'*.***.' ^'^'^ 
 
 Written in an Album..'.*. ^'^"^'"^ 
 
 Notes to the Fall of Quebec* ' '^^'^ 
 
 Notes to Malta. 
 
 ii