IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // ^/ :< V J'4'- A f/. ^^ 1.0 I.I 1.25 AM 25 2.2 ! '- IIIIIM 1.4 1.8 1.6 "/a /a 7 /^ 1> i I CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. ■H Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions Institut Canadian de microreproducticns historiques 1980 Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. D D Coloured covers/ Couverture de couleur Covers damaged/ Couverture endommagde □ Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaurde et/ou pelliculde □ Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque □ Coloured maps/ Cartes g^ographiques en couleur □ Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) □ Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur D D D Bound with other material/ Relid avec d'autres documents Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ La reliure serr6e peut causer de I'ombre ou de la distortion le long de la marge intdrieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajout6es lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte, mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont pas 6t6 film^es. L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire qu'il lui a 6t6 possible de se procurer. Les details de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-Atre uniques du point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dans la mdthode normale de filmage sont indiquds ci-dessous. r~~| Coloured pages/ D Pages de couleur Pages damaged/ Pages endommag^es I I Pages restored and/or laminated/ Pages restaur6es et/ou pelliculdes Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ Pages d6color6es, tachetdes ou piqu6es □Pages detached/ Pages d6tachdes □ Showthrough/ Transparence □ Quality of print varies/ Quality inigale de Timpressiort D Includes supplementary material/ Comprend du matdriel supplementaire I — I Only edition available/ D Seule Edition disponible Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to ensure the best possible image/ Les pages totalement ou partiellement obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure, etc., ont 6t6 filmdes d nouveau de faqon d obtenir la meilleure image possible. D Additional comments:/ Commentaires suppldmentaires; □ This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est filmd au taux de reduction indiqu6 ci-dessous. IPX 14X 18X 22X \ I \ I I I I \ y 26X 30X 12X 16X 20X 24X 28X 32X The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks to the generosity of: National Library of Canada L'exemplaire film6 fut reproduit grdce d la g6ndrosit6 de: Bibliothdque nationale du Canada The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et de la nettetd de l'exemplaire i\\m6, et en conformity avec les conditions du contrat de filmage. Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprimde sont filmds en commenpant par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmds en commenpant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol —»> (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END "), whichever applies. Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole V signifie "FIN". Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre filmds d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clichd, il est filmd d partir de I'angle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas. en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 ;:.L'>t:jLAh.,:.:i. . '"■".'" 7*'Tw?r * ^' «7 THE MARSHLANDS. HY J. F. HE RUIN, Author of "C'anada, and other Poems." Wolfville, Nova Scotia. WINDSOR, N. S. J. J. Ansi,ow, 1893. »r '•:.., k ■ . J. J ,, ,-.« .' f 1 *,'- ■■■ r Entered accordhxj to Ad of the Parliament of Canada, in the year ISO.f, hi/ J. F. Herbhi, al the Jhfta.rliHfnt of Aijrindtiire. ' t I f. / 1 V ,i 1 Thtxe are hiif xtrfrhex of the rmnwoii trai/, C'aiit/hf /row the phnum f/mf hare held me lonti. Near the {/reen warxhlninlx, nii'l the, red tides xtrowj; Whoxe fleetinij jtictiire-t/forj/ I iroiild. stay. These (ire hut ij/liifs f'roiti a fii/ht-ttooded, day. Whether in picture, or in xinipl ,11111: My teoA^her hath heeii hind nor led me n'rouif Thromjh xeOMonn of ra/in lahnr and disfi/ay. The jturjtoMe. of my pirtnres n'on/d not hont . Only that life hath ftlea^nre for the eye. My lines ironid point the way info the heart Of all this i/lory, n-hirh will set a^/l(>n< Thy ptiKsinii flays; vnfil the rhapsody Of wakened life, of thee heroines ajtart. i f CONTENTS. \ ' Purpose, Acadiu, , - Nova Scotia, Departuie, Wolfville, Reiiowul, -' <• A Dreuiii, Ho1>()liiik8, The First Robin, An Acadian at < S raiul- Pro, Morn, Return, The Maish, At (xaspereau, The Returned Acadian, Midsiinnner, The Micmao, Ebb and Flow , A Shower, A View, ^ - Minas Basin, The Tide-Spirit, Prujf. iii I 2 3 - 3 4 4 h ■ 5 « 6 - 7 10 10 11 11 12 13 13 14 14 ^ WillowM, Drifting, Haying, 'I'lu- Dykf, The Night -Mow«r, The Sen- Harvest, Stowing, Wild Flowers, In the Rain, • • Aftt-rnitttli, Afteiinutli, Yesterday, The Broken Dyke, Tlie (iruvenstcin, Hi|»e, Windfall, ^CJiange, Absent, Leafless, Tiie Sonthern Voice, A Homestead, (Janada, .■., »■;'.- ■J. ;', I'aije • ■ lA • - 17 - - 17 - - 18 - ■ 18 - - 19 .*.. • 10 • 20 - ■ 20 • 21 <■■.'.-... :•'** 1" * • 22 •cv - 24 - - 25 - - 25 - - 26 - - 2tt - - 27 - - 30 - - 32 - - 32 - - 33 •• - 33 < i:^ >'»■ *» •• ' ;• %f ■ ; V. ■■>■ ' ■J, ■,.•> v., ' V ',* '■■■ •J- ' )I /.. f--:'. .-■^r: \r ■t , . I, ( ' •; .' < ■•J"., I This is a laiul of legend ; every mount A story has, would hoary shades recount. 'I'here is no valley, marsh, or misty shore. Without the charm of mystery and lore — Where rivers mute with wonder yet might tell The whole to him who waits and ciestions well. The lakes have stories for the kii.v..^ ear ; So utter oft their names, and thou will hear : Unwritten histories of time and men. Of love and craft await the willing pen. And only will the mountain to the sky (iive up its legend and its mystery. When whisper-winds with sun or fog drop low — If trusting ear be there, it too may know. When night shall leave the vales, and day is gone, The lone wanderer is not all alone. Upon the river do the murmurs hide Some greeting for the coming of the tide. Afar the waters rise, beyond the crest Of wooded hills ; and with a panting breast The great .sea comes athirst with mighty leap ; And brushing fierce against the bluff and steep, Like a wild courser, sweeps the sandy plain ; And leaping off into the depths again Whirls with a mighty speed the curving course ; And with a fmal [)lunge it comes to rest — The murky waters from the distant west. And the blue river at the ancient tryst, Flow on together ; — be thou there to list. Aot'a Scotia. The kgcMuls of the lake the isle will tell ; V V" An a^i- of vi|^il liath llu- sentinel, i ' Heed not the laughing; loon : there is a voice Whose tell sometime will make thy heart rejoice. And the coy spirit found or night or day L'|)on some shore, may then not fade away. Mayhap when Night is silent, and the hreak Of winging Time stirs not the slee|)ing lake ; And for brief s|)ace no voice comes froui the wood ; No step hut thine in all the solitude ; No eye hut thine to view the darkness stern ; 'I'he mystery may be read if thou wilt learn. So for thine ear, a voice is everywhere. In forest, dykeland, sea, and s|)eaking air, If thou shalt love and wait ; a written scroll To please thy heart and stir thy ready soul ; — i'or this is in the land of Acadie, The fairest place of all the earth and sea. V ;>- NOVA SCOTIA. \ ' ■:.. Nouvelle Ecosse, fair province of the sea, Almost an island with thy lakes and woods, Thy rivers lind the tides of many moods ; And fair is every season's change with thee. Through all these days of lightsome harmony, No place in all thy dreamy solitudes ; No hill, or slope^ or plain of rural roods ; No rock or shore, but stamps the heart of me. ^ t Woljville. \::t.^. ' DEPAKTVHE. Long have I lingt-red where the marshlaiKls are, Oft hearing in the nuirinur of the tide 'I'he past, alive again and at my side '' With unrelenting power and hateful war. Here in the calm of - / ' ■ - i, - ">•' '' . ■ A Dream. 1 ■■■ RENEWAL. t y ' Beauty comes again new-born and pure, -, '-/ V>:\ With virgin comeliness. No wrinkle-line V "^ , Cuts her fair face, and calm her glances shine, .^.'; ; Unshadowed by regret. No thoughts allure , ^ Remembrance of the past, for days endure ; ' V But while they live. Ever in soft recline, To all attendant joys she maketh sign, > V :,' '^^ ^'" '^^'" ^^^ ^^'^'^ draught whose sweet is sure. ;,'":> "Where Pleasure rests," she says, "is Beauty too." ;' . /, , And on their kiss Maturity takes wing , f ; ^ ' To scatter tears and death. The flowering grass , ■ V. She treads is soft ; never a sky so blue ;t^' And air so balmy, for her lips have sung ' •* ., No sorrow yet ; nor weeping sighed, "Alas !" ^ ' :' - A DREAM. A sunbeam fell upon my drowsy eyes ; And .soon within my veins its fluid gold With glad monitions through my being rolled. Dull days had hung like curtained mysteries, / And nights were weary with the starless skies. At once came life, and fire, and joys untold. And promi.ses for violets to unfold ; And every breeze had shreds of melodies. So faint and sweet. Upon the marsh late sere. Broke green and rippling grass and blossom-rays. Along with Beauty came full floods once more Of gladsome hours, leaving their pleasure near On every sign of death ; and all the ways Brimmed with abundance where the beams down-pour. y The First Robin. \ ^ ^5 ■■:■-'# ■:- ■ e ■■ ■■^' , 1 Morn. ■^■■■. /, v^.h-/- "^r > '-•■1 y^ .V ^ CA DIA N AT GR A NDPR E. -Tro-day alone of all my scattered race I see again the beauty of our land, Made fruitful by a cursed and banished hand ; Made sweet of tongue, without abiding-place. And Nature hath remembered, for a trace Of calm Acadian life yet holds command, Where undisturbed the rustling willows stand, And the curved grass, telling the breeze's pace. Before the march of power the weak must bend. And yet forgive ; the savage strong will smite. The glossing words of reason and of song, To tell of hate and virtue lo detend. May never set the bitter deed aright. Nor satisfy the ages with the wrong. MORN. Late Morn with drowsy eyelids drunk with night, Still-breathed in slumber, slipped a glance And slept again, veiling her eyes' delight. Too deep the ecstasy of nightly trance To break the power of a tender dream. I'aint music stirred her hearing till awake Her glances silvered from her tardy bed. Then wakefulness blushed with a warmer beam ; Life kissed her form and in her footstep spake ; And Day sprang up enthralled and ravishkl. She fled, yet smiled from mounts and over glades ; Sprang through the forests and awoke the shades. In vain his ardor ; yet he chased and leaped, ' • In the fragrance of her distant tresses steeped. V-: :^ H- '■>*;;:/■■,■ , ,c *' Return. - t' A • ' ; ' , RETURN. " ■ ■■ . V • Singer of hope and peare, soul of the dawn and gloaming, What will deny us joy beneath the whole blue sky? Never the greens of Spring ; never the blossoms coming, ^ Soft with the l)reath of June when thy fullest song is high. Never the sweep of the grain to the cloud-Iibation pouring. Here where afloat and afield the season's reign is good. Never the sea-bree/.e and land-bree/e thit takes thy song a-soaring, Calmly as Dawn sweeps the hill, or as Night sli|)s out of the wood. Never the breath of fogs with a sail just in from the ocean, Drifting with song and swing to the (jua^* spray-wet in the tide ; Nor the sweet noon-rest from toil, nor evening's soothing potion, >l,ife just learning to live in the glories that shall abide. Happiest singer of Spring-birds, each of thy lays seeming sweeter, 'i'ells to me over and over the things that have gone with a year. Kvery rha|)sodic strain slips eagerly fuller and fleeter - , Remembering, my answer is silence : ni\ welcome, the joy while I hear. What will deny us more when this virgin time is older? Never the promise it makes of the loveliness yet to be : Then will be strength of growth, and feeling deeper and bolder; Summer abroad like a woman |)roud in maturit). \ • ^1 • J. 8 Return. None shall deny that I claim thee, just back from a winter of winging. Here in the early morn thy throat is first to greet ; (; (living once more to my ear thy richest old-time singing ; , " Making the silence stir; making the day-soul beat. When on the ledge's breast the tidal heart is lulling, ; Midday biding near, flushed with its own display ; ' . ' ' , When the lake is waveless, and lilies droop for culling ; ' Yet will thy note be sweet and joyfully fill the day. Speech awake that was dead ; a word come back that was spoken ; LoVe retold with a hope that brightens when almost gone ; So came thy early song like a strain from a string that was broken, Stirring the dull of night with the hastening flow of dawn. , Ca\vn with the truth of life, deep with the love of loving, New, yet never unknown, my heart takes up the tune. .*^ Singing that needs no word.s, joy that needs no proving, Sinking in one long dream as Summer bides with June. Often 1 listen and wonder, when gently thy warble is ended. Whether a language is truer than the strains of a bird-made song? ■ * : Hath ever man sung as you sing, eagerly mellow and splendid, ; Yet singing alone for the singing, unconscious how sweet and strong? Uttering unconscious of rhythm, in waves of inspiration, ' r'" Full^of the passion that guides and bids the song to swell ; ' ^y:j.,:::iil Seeking no lover to listen to pleasure's pure elation ; 7 ,f^ --^:^\ ' Singing the whole true song, unknowing how ill or how well. ' ;: ^ -•; •■■•■ - v*/v ■ ,7. ■■>'>>;;•' • > ')v' 'V.'- '■■. J,t M ' Vv \r "i --■>■;:•>'• ',;''i''::'. TAe Marsh. ^c y ■t-.: Here is our dearest theme where skies are blue and brightest, ' ''] To sing a single song in places that love it best ; " :' Freighting the happy breeze when snowy clouds are lightest ; ^ 'i'\ Making a song to cease not when the singer is dumb in rest. •* ; Flooding the loveless heart with a strange and unknown fire : Warmth, and the passion to live making deep the theme of the song This is thy mission, sweet singer : so speak to the st.'ngs of my lyre, Dull and untuned as my heart, till its music be awakened and strong. ■f-.. S. V .■/ , Tl/E MARSH. The suns and shadows of thy seasons many Have not upraised thee from thy low estate ; Nor made thy heavy pulses fluctuate. Through (juickening sunlight and long hours rainy. Against thy side the sea's strong arm falls puny : Upon thy breast, vain is the creek's far flow ; The measuring march of rivers' tidal glow ; — Only the sky can span, agloom or sunny. When grasses wave, or all is wrapped in snow, . There comes to thee no glad awakening. Beneath the flight of days and flow of tides. The wafting wings that circle thee are slow ; And seldom voice awakes the gathering - , . Of days wherein thy purpose calmly bides. ''\v ■ '■ I - lO The Returned Acadian. V THE GASPEREAU. '^f^^ Below me winds the river to the sea, C V^ - : 1** » On whose brown slope stood wailing, homeless maids ; Stood exiled sons ; unsheltered hoary heads ; And sires and mothers duml) in agony. * . ' , 'J'he awful 'glare of burning h^mes, where free And happy late they d^velt, l)reaks on the shades Knc-ompassing the sailing fleet ; then fades With tumbling roof, ui)on the night-bound sea. How deep is hope in sorrow sunk ! How harsh 'I'he stranger voice ; and loud, the hopeless wail ! 'I'hen silence came to dwell ; the tide fell low ; The embers died. On the deserted marsh. Where grain and grass stirred only to the gale, 'i'he moose unchased dare cro.ss the (laspereau. ■ r , .:.■' ;f*Ti, ^ • T//E RETURNED ACADIAN. Along my fathers' dykes T roam again, . Among the willows by the river-side. These miles of green I know from hill to tide, And every creek and river's ruddy stain. Neglected long and shunned, our dead have lain. Here where a people's dearest hope has died. ., Alone of all their children scattered wide, I scan the sad memorials that remain. 'J'he dykes wave with the grass, but not for me ; The oxen stir not while this stranger calls. From these new homes upon the green hill-side, Where si)eech is strange and a new people free, No voice cries out in welcome ; for these halls (iive food and shelter where T may not bide. ■»> 7^ V The Micmac. II MJDSUMME'<.^ The even-tide is hushed ; and back to rest. Along the moody hills where oat-field.s sigh, ' The dilatory winds waft sleepy by. The day is festal in the curtained Uest, And opens wide its halls and chanihers dressed In colors' splendidness, as if the sky ' t !/ (lave honor to the earth's maturity ; While Night stands in the east with ra\less breast. ;:^' ('ontent fdls every scene the vision takes ^r > . Unto itself. Its calm reigns everywhere :^\,''^', :-:'■_ In fruitful luxury of field and hill. ', ■',"'' There comes a signal-scjng, a frog awakes ' ' And stirs the stilly dusk ; then all the air, '-■ "^ As Night eomes down, the chorus-pipings fill. THE MICMAC. • .„ < . How calmly flows the valley-seeking river : No salmon leaps to tem])t my idle spear ; No moose's answering challenge do I hear ; Clone like the otter and the wary beaver. The air is darkened by the pigeons never ; Earth, air and water have no welcome cheer, To bind me to my fathers' forests here. Which to the axe's smiting vengeance shiver. The hemlock leave the plains, the spruces die ; The partridge, like my tribe, among the hills Are scattered. All alone my wigwam stands Where once our children heard the joyful cry Of the return from chase. No bow-string thrills. For scant the game to call these idle hands. /, 12 Ebb and Fhnv. W '. ' ElUi AND FLOW. , . , i. ..■■••■• Soft flows the tide to the hearhes, swift with the gulls on the wave, Reaching and rlimbing to inlands, soft as a prayer on a grave ; Curling through flag-margined gullies, |)ressing o'er flats of fresh green ; Hiding the glossy-red rush banks that sing to the currents, and lean. Flowing in power and silence, pushing great arms through the land ; Whirling the ships into harbor, lifting the keels from the sand ; Ebbing away to the northward, southward again to the sea ; Baring the darkened rock beaches, slanting and wet sombrely. Dark with the draught of red rivers the tide sucks into the seas, . Miles after miles lie dry channels drunk dry to the lees ; ^^ And mountain-born lakes, the children of clouds and of woods, Wash the dark places till the turn and the coming of floods. Sprung from the realm of darkness to look on the passing of years, Amethysts purple the shore and play with the sea as with tears. Moving again on the nieadows, heaving in endless unrest, • ' "■''' .. •; Filling and falling as ever, the tide is a living breast. . -, . Hiding the white-ribs of wreckage under- the doom it has set ; Roaring the first oath of vengeance, weeping the after regret. Seaward the ship points her bowsprit into the roadways beyond. Dim and wave-broken and distant, to fortune and failure in bond. Hig^ hangs the figure-head Ho])eful, looking across to the shore ; Hopeful for ever, till terror fall dead in the billowy roar. Tides and eternity linger not here, yet the fisherman's line Hangs all day, his face in the wind, and his hands in the brine ; Night-time and day, in the clutch of the sea and the lumbering hours, Where Fury abides with a sleepless hand on the leash of the jjowers. A limitless flow, a limitless dee]), and a limitless green - Where is the finish of things to be, though the first hath long bejn ? Waters to ebb and flow in peace, or with storm to give tongue ; Life that will pulse ; and themes by the lips to be spoken, unsung. I I A I 'iew. n A SHOWER ■v : ,": The morn is moody and the ( louds l)rood low, While a soffexpectalDii fills each |)la('i' Where grasses lean and flowers droop like lace : The atr is vacant, and no bree/es blow. ' The thunder for an hour ro'lcd deep and slow ; \ Then with the first cool gust that swept my face, From the dim west with (|uick increasing pace, The rain fell round me with a rustling flow. Earth sighs as the soft hand of heaven turns ^ 'I'he draught upon her lips. I'^en the calm Blue hills stir musically in the rain. The grass is waving and no flower mourns. , ' From secret places, fresh and fragrant balm Fills every dusty road and hidden lane. t , A VIEW. ."',.,' ' . ' ' ' Acadia's fairest scene lies here ■ . Beneath the eye : a vale shut in with hills U'here slopes and groves are dark with hazy blue. A sea floods in where cliflfs and rocks uprear A sombre entrance. The green ocean fills ; jl'' Long rivers, days and nights, and days anew. *^ Just now the wind is still. A sail V Hangs o'er the distant boat in waveless stream. The whole full-tide is smooth and pale, ., s - ', And all the world adream. M Thf Thfe-Sf>int. ' . ■ f M/NAS /iAS/X V . ■•■■>;. ^ r' Into thy cup an (uvan |)()urs. and fills Thy groat niarsh-rivcrs wlu-rt' tlu- ruddy stains Mix with thi' waters of a hundred hills ; And then with eager <|uatting lip he drains. Where sea-grass under every air-How thrills. And stirs the level watch-ground of the cranes. As on an altar, the sea's offering spills, Once to the day ; once to the night that reigns. On thy hroad rim, the great Designer's hand Has wrought the fairest things of earth and sky; And made a wonder of thy mighty tides. And a Romance is thine not writ with hand. Alive in every 7fS. » * ^ ir//./.ous. >s Willows whisju'r strangi.', this noon, with ^rct'ii , And j^t-ntU- wavings. Pools anil shadows merge Heneath the hranchfs, wlurc the rushes lean And stunihle |)rone ; and sad along the verge 'I'he marsh hen totters. Strang*- the l)ranehes play Ahovi' the snake roots in the it>.<. Willows olil and tU-alliU-ss near the foncf (, 'rooked cvrrywherr, lu're totti-riiin to their fall, Half hid in golden-rod and grasses tall Alonj; the marshes. W'indinj^-rutted thence The road leads sea-ward where tin- anchor clings, And sein-poles split the eddy. On the iiill A lake lies blue. Thi- swallow's dip|)ing rings, And wavelets play among the leaves that s[)read, Or sink <:ool swathed along the hidden trimk. • Brown-skinned urchins 'niong the willows spill . NN'ithin the shade with pleasure drunk, Afloat in a/ure fallen from the sky ; Plucking the lilies, once the heaven's stars. Hefore the glossy hair is dry, Late drenched like lily-leaves, hoy skill prepares • The willow pi[)e to speak a noisy note ; Or merman-like, with ringlets all afloat, Among the flowers joins the swollen throat Of stranded frog, or drowns his song. Red lips Apart with song and laughter ; eyes that glance Into the sun ; and pipes that play all day The tunes that come with hap|)y chance. The heart-song through the whistle .slips, And like the echo dies away. . '' . ■ '■> 'i'he breezes rustle with the old-time voice : The laughter lags, the |)ipe-notes will not stay ; We drift beyond the walls of yesterday, Where songs still linger and must long rejoice. Sing, piper, on thy willow-reed sing clear. Waft, bree/es, wing me till my youth be near. Sing, willows, shake my heart-strings into chords, Intenser for the absence of the words. Piper, breezes, willows, I 5m sleeping In the heaven of your keeping. Driftinf^. «7 RETROSPECTIOX. Why shall I rursc until my tiars arc dry, And read your story hut to curso again. ' ". !,ct history make T//£ DYKE. ■ P>om dyke to hillside, sways the level sweep Of all the ri|)ened hay, in mid-Jul) , A tideless sea of rustling melody, , ^ ' Beside the river-channels of the deep. Astray and straggling, or in broken heap, Where birdlings flutter, dark the fences he. Far off, the tortuous rush-grown creek is dry, Where looms the leaning barn like ancient keep. A Ne|)tune cuts across the sea of green AV'ith chariot-music trembling to the hills ; And as the horses swim the grass divides. Showing to heaven when; his way has been. The sounding wheel that bares what Natures hides Drowns the low nestling-cry, and ruthless kills. ' V' The Sea-Harresf. *„..'■' 19 /.:■ . r//i? NIGHT MO HER. In the soft dew-fall of an autumn night, A solitary mower marks his wa)- ■ ' VN'ith hissing scythe in the brine-savored hay, Long ere the dawn is flooding into light. A\'hile coward fear and doubting dim my sight, I shame to hear the certain swing and play Of the strong toiler's arm, or night or day, Treading the hours through in faithful might. Ever he glides with form invisible ; • His ringing scythe oft filling the dark |)lain. The moving murmur of the coming tide Stirs the broad night, now full and palpable ; Kor wholesome pride and fiaith are mine again Near the night-mower by the river side. *■»■ ■?■. THE SEA-HARVEST On the great sea-marsh where the eddies stray, 'I'he mower strikes ere yet the dew is fled. The salt-hay falls before his heavy tread, Filling with odorous breath the whole green way. On the tide's back, now with the broadened day, Like a mild beast of burden slowly led, The floating grass is meshed and gathered ; A great tide-harvest of salt-smelling hay. ^V'here herons stalk, and the shy mallard hrdes In stillest haunts, is the man-worker seen — Even the sea must garner for his good. Soon high and dark above the marsh and tides, Stand the great hay-towers ; as they loom and Like turrets grim to mark the solitude. can. 20 Wild-Fhnvers. ^::i From the marsh hay-fields, owned of sea and sky, Come the wet scow-loads, drifting with the tide ; While fragmentary breezes curl and glide Over the silver surface lazily. With each dark burden builded broad and high. The laden scows lean clu'nsv, side by side. ^ No ripples mark their passage ; yet they ride In to the creek's soft landing red and dry. The tide-deserted creek glows in the sun ; And the wet scows now stranded on the shore (lape dark and empty, near a loaded cart Drawn by two sturdy oxen, white and dun, ^ Which, as the evening reddens more and more, Bend to the driver's word, ready to start. "i- ;; ■'V, M: ■ ; WILD-FLOWERS. Youth and Beauty make a lovely twain. With smiles and tenderness upon their lips. So is fair Summer wedded as she trips With Flora in her gardens, where sweet strain The wind-harps make, and the soft murmuring rain. Like any eager honey-bee that dips, > Is Summer with her tender finger-tips. Unfolding buds to give her robes a stain. And Summer loves them all, or dull or bright, 'I'he lone wood-flower, and the road-side bloom ; Sprays fallen earthward from the varied skies : The white of clouds, the gold of living light. These are her care until the Autumn gloom. When to her solitude she sadly hies. ■ / , t Aftertnath. '21 ;r ■r.u'i^p^:; : ■ IN THE RAIN. > ", With the new hay, a dripping, scented load, ; (Monies the slow ox-team with a noiseless tread 'I'hroiigh the thick rain with bent, unswerving head, Toiling along the soft and silent road. Across the marsh the ripened hay windrowed I.ies all deserted, where the toilers sped. ■ - The dyke-road winding to the leaning shed Has but a solitary, hobbling toad. Adown the wide and grass-grown village street, The last dark phantom pair of steaming steeds Leap headlong toward the open barn, with chains That rattle louder than their rapid feet. Until the tide has left the swaying reeds - t High on the marsh, the morning through, it rains. AFTERMATH. But late I saw the mower's marching sweep lay bare and dry from upland to the tide The whole green dyke. Even the bright hill-side In scattered rose and golden-rod lay deep. Swift wheel the busy birds of prey, and leap Through the bright sunlight nowhere now denied ; Where thick and close the shielding grasses dyed : And the full barns the sweet hay-odors keep. Then night shed tears on the uncovered fields. Lying in barrenness, a stubbly waste ; Where, like a raging fire, the scythe has been. To-day the aftermath renews and shields All the denuded dykes with kindly haste ; And everywhere again the plains are green. •s <. ;■ 22 Aftermath. AFTERMATH. August is hot in the flood of an ardent sun, 'J Lolling and still in fields and windless places; ,; v' Idle all day, like a woman with hair undone, Her f(|et unshod, her bosom bare of laces. ,^ " !• , All her passionate beauty and strength are here, , "- Complete, and grown to power beyond disguising. .- , Her flying days are short as the last draw near .. And wane, September anear on wings uprising. . ;: Hotter glow her burning eyes and harsh Where the scythe has bared the grassy slo[)es and meadows ; On the breathless sea, and the stifled miles of marsh, - ., , ^\'here spruce and willow lose the cool of shadows. Yet the dewy nights are sweet ; and the lagging dawn Awakes to the ringing scythe, like a heavy sleeper ; ,' : ;; And the dyke-ward drift of the tide with the marsh-hay nrown, Drives ofi" the cranes from the hidden creeks grown deeper. As a tired troop of horses march in sleep = { ;, v . : ; ' When the weary riders hear not the sounding sabres ; So comes the tide with the flooding march of the deep. Across the marshes to the winding rivers. And a ship like a gull swings off" the yielding clay. And drifts with the fisher-craft from the nearer offing ; While th2 inshore flight of the gulls on the edge of day. Startles the silent flats with joyless laughing. Aftermath. ^ ' 23. As the sea drifts in, the toilers deep in the tide ' ' (lather the grass, as fishermen drag the meshes — '^\» Hunters surrounding the game on every side, '' , / Till the spoil is captive in the binding leashes. ^ V Trumpet-like, the call of the herds long-blown Wafts mellow and far to the drowse of the sense's hearing ; The perfumes fresh from the marshy meadows flown Bring taste of the tide whose overflow is nearing. Still the meadows are the mower has shorn, Where thistles stood, and perfumes fled from the flowers ; And the stubble stark where the summer's yield was borne. Now seemeth dead to the sun and the touch of showers. From the empty barns have the hollow echoes fled ; The lofts are loaded deep with the grassy sweetness. . . , ' The grain, ungarnered and ripe, swings lazy head, And all the corn is bursting with its greatness. '.*■ ' , Leaning hay-ricks dark rise everywhere ' ,.:.*, ' Across the meadows and the waters looming. '..._,"■'' ^'/'^,y.. The higher tides flood the marshes unaware, ' ' -'• Among strange ways and newer channels roaming. ! .i September comes to the bare burnt places and cools With gentle touch and breath, a glad new-comer ; Refreshing the languorous lakes and dying pools, Before the advent of the Indian-summer. 34 • Yesterday, Fragrant are the orchards ripe of fruit, And fairest the flowers of September-bringing. Songsters seem to be wording a second suit, So eager and so joyful in their singing. Yet is the primrose blown, and the thistle abloom » The August-flower bright from the bud, its month gone over ; Asters smile near the rushes' damp and gloom ; A sweetness lingers near the thrifty clover. The season will not die, though all the dykes Seemed to the roots destroyed by the ruthless mower : Where now the cattle graze, and the marsh-hawk strikes, Are the fields of aftermath of the secret sower. YESTERDAY. Sweet was the yesterday that came to me And brought the golden end of circling years Wherein were moods of anger, smiles, and tears ; The varied music of earth's melody. And Nature found me ever at her knee ; Bound to her beck, a lover at her side ; Returning ever faithful, as the tide - Returns forever to the outer sea. But yesterday is dead ; and this new morn Hath light more golden, and a smile more sweet. And when she asks, my queen who came to-day, Why all this loveliness of earth is born, I shall declare : to charm her wandering feet ; To make her living bright, and glad her way. The Gravensteir 25 THE BROKEN DYKE. From the far ocean, hour after hour, Inflowed the waveless and quick-rising flood ; Until the marsh-reeds like a storm-struck wood, Beneath the murky waters curve and cower. The tortuous dyke-wall, crowned of grass and flower, That has a century of wars withstood. Leans hard to-night a^ainst the sea-front rude. Awaiting the great current's fullest power. In vain the strength and virtue of its years ! O'er fence and furrow, through the broken walls. Across the verdant fields, the tide has thrown Its torrent arms ; and the awed listener hears Through the deep night the herds' harsh cries and calLs, As the fierce ocean leaps to claim its own. THE GRAVENSTEIN. Horace, thou classic harp of rustic theme, Thy days went smoothly as thy facile line, For the kind favor of the gods was thine— Yet such as this was even not thy dream. Thy moderate pleasures found in many a stream Brimming thy cup of sparkling Massic wine, Of peaceful musing under branch and vine. Had given thee all ; — so did thy fancy deem. This blushing apple fallen from the tree, Reddened and ripe to tempt my loving lip. Has nectar which a thousand groves afford. Ah, this is wine of all the wines, to me The richest. While I think on thee, I sip. Mixing the sweet with thy immortal word. V 26 Windfall. RIPE. Mature with days of sunshine, warmth and rain, As earth undrapes again to rest from toil, The sheaves before the touch of winds uncoil, Ripe-golden with the fulness of the grain. 'I'he fateful lips of Autumn leave bright stain \\\\\\ every touch, and breezes clasp the spoil Marked by his kisses. The uncovering soil T jes dark and dry behind the plow again. Fruit-laden branches touch the grass below, And road-side flowers fade ; while bird and bee Take warning and the scentless fields desert. 'I'he season's work is done ; her days are slow ; And like a thankful soul she bends her knee Before that sleep which makes the heart ineit. WINDFALL. All night, around the barn with vagaries ; Through leafy roads where branches stoop and swing ; Through orchard-lanes where the bright apples cling : The fitful wind abated not of sighs. It filled the orchards with strange revelries, Wresting the branches with red fruitage strung ; A formless harvester who worked among The laden limbs, till dawn came to the skies. Bent with the fruit, green, golden, or ripe-red, In all the fertile orchard-field.s, no tree But gave a fruity shower to the earth. Now from the lanes ere yet the sunbeams spread, From every path and road-side meriily, Come the loud call, and ring of boyish mirth. C/nini^c. 27 CHANGE, The early crows slow down \\\c dyke-lands fly, A somhre troop upon the heels of dawn ; While fog-thiek hree/es dim the morning sky, Dark with the trailing skirts ot night just gone. The drowse of dawn clings to the early hours ; To the neglected scenes and gardens bare, So fragrant late with plenteousness of (lowers, So scant of bloom, and silent everywhere. The tide flows seaward as the day expands. And the slow Autumn waking fills the day ; And when the fallen flood rolls from the sands. There is no sign of languor or decay. The season reigns with the soft calm of rest, O'er the whole marshland in the sun's full rays. Each night that earlier floods the golden west. Each dallying dawn, comes with a newer phase. When from the west conies a soft flood of airs, And brims the land with subtle charms and sweet, Then Nature's tjuiet wanes with all her cares. And Autumn glorious roves with laughing feet. She lingers long with Night, and bends her eyes With every sun returning to the north, Expectant of the white-clad cavalries, And wan and wistful waits their coming forth. 38 CAn/ij^f. She stills the waking bud and reds the thorn, And dyes the forest with a single sweep ; She looks upon the eyes of languid Morn, And makes her coming late and ralm her sleep. Oft are the raging winds upon the plains, Breathing decay upon the dulling land ; And wafting fogs, like cold unfallen rains. Come with the tides upon the hirdless sand. The woods are stricken ; and the parting song Of birds yet lingers on the misty dawn. The lakes are wavtiess-black the hills among, ■ And stiller since the laughing loon has Hown. But with the night again, through all its hours, The waft of a cold wing sweeps o'er the woods ; And morning bree/.es thick with leafy showers. Strew field and forest, and bedeck the floods. Like thin-dra[)ed Poverty with bending form < _ Scarce hid beneath the tatters of her dress. Appear the willows moaning in the storm, Unpitied in their shivering nakedness. Chitnj^e. '9 Again the night's far sky is bright with stars, Hut a cold trance has stilled the hree/e's breath. Beneath the morn all stricken unawares Lies the whole land in sombre robe of death. What need of shade along these waysides now, Of arching boughs, and eye-delighting green ! No longer noon-day burns the laborer's brow ; Hare are the vacant fields of fruit and sheen. 'l"he harvest-day has left the orchards bare ; The nights are longer, and the moon runs low. The eager hunter for the chase preiwres, To seek the forest with the moon's full glow. The lofty hawk no longer meets the night, (Jutting the twilight with a noiseless wing. About the spire no swallow curves in flight. On calm, fruit-smelling airs of evening. The gloaming has no bat, the gloom is dead ; No dreaming bird trills short a midnight-lay. The heavens hang with frozen stars o'er head. And chill until the coming of the day. Where laughter rolls along the fro/en lake. The woods have lost the silence and the gloom. While youthful blood is ftowing joy will wake Beside the sign of death and touch of doom. 3© ' Absent. 'I"lu' time was good ; the land may calmly rest When Winter wanders through the silent ways. The warmth (»f life again will move her hreast, 'I'o waken and restore in other days. The seasons live their days of loss and gain, Mild .Spring like youth, and .Summer like a (jueen. Ripe Autumn has a brief and changeful reign Kre Winter's snowy mantle sweeps the green. 'i'hese changes point to work that should he done, And tell the sower where he cast i^i vain, — Heginnings ^twCi if well or ill begun, < And with the thistle fiills the rii)ened grain. ABSENT. Art thou fled, my companion ? No echo remains in the shadows, Sombre and still in the wood, of thy warblings tender and strong — Where, by the lakes and valleys ; where, in the forest and meadows, May the lost singer be sought, without the monition of song ? Peace and its pleasure remain from thy lay of the eve and morning, (li\*n unasked, as the perfumes that flow and go wafting unknown. Haply, some soul has received it, darkened with pride and with .scorning, Sweetening the spirit forever, in a way that may never be shown. Beauty is swept from the flowers, and grain from the stalks that are broken ; Clhill is the breath of the breeze, tho' the sun shone a summer through. Yet, there is place in the heart for a word so long ago spoken ; Remembrances stay when the days go not back nor their labors undo. I Abstnt. .i' Harsh is the voice of the sea ; and the fo^ on its falls away from the shore as with curses, not to return. Well thou art silent and j;one, here calm in the tumult is drowning ; Tenuerness lost like childhood in manhood, sullen and strong. Many a heart like mine for thee perhaps is callinj^, I' or the places of light and song have hecome a solitude ; Where is thy summer of song that gladilened the sunbeams falling, Killing the air afar, and echoing from the wood ? Southward thy wing and thy warhle flit among l)ranches and flowers, Horn with a passion not dead, nor to sleej) with the enti of a song ; Never to pause while the seasons garner the minutes and hours. Frailest, and shyest of singers, shunning the dissonant throng, I Art thou forever gone : or soon to return to my hearing? Never were fields and woods like the floor of our sunmier skies. Teach me once more in the Spring ; teach me to utter unfearing. Sweet as thou singest ever, the songs that often rise. 3* k The Southern Voice. LEAFLESS. \ Kroni dawn to gloaming, and from dark to dawn, Dreams the unvoiced, declining Michaelmas. O'er all the orchards where a summer was 'I'he noon is full of peace, and loiters on. The branches stir not as the light airs run All day ; their stretching shadows slowly pass Through the curled surface of the faded grass, 'I'elling the hours of the cloudless sun. I'Yom some near branch, a crow invisible Breaks the warm silence with a mocking c:ry. And stirs the (luivering distance of the day. 'I'he startled noon awak;,'s as from a spell ; And from afar comes a soft melody. The melancholy cadence of a jay. ./ '^ THE SOUTHERN VOLCE. h . Into the silence of this mural close, ''Vom the great hollow day, the noises float : The unseen crows anear that mock and gloat ; The rustling passage of the tidal floes. In the dark south a voice of warning grow.s, ('ut by the mud-team driver's urging note ; And with increasing power the roaring note ( 'omes in, as of a beast that moans and lows. 1 The windless air is humid ; and at rest Are the dark heavens to their hazy edge. .;; V A wordless premonition, I can feel, v Of snow that has not come ; as of a guest \ J.ong looked for even now above the ridge The air is filled with flakes that .sj)in and reel. V ^ •V .; v^ "... . « s.:'- / V /;■ ''■• / ^•. • '>., .»"••;. . Canada. A HOMESTEAD. • , (Winter.) / , I found the fullest days of suniiner here Hetween these sloping meadow-hills and yon ; And came all heauty then from dawn to dawn, ^\'hether the tide was veiled, or flowing clear. 'J'o-day in snowy raiment nowise drear 'I'hou liest peaceful, as with hair undone, And every jewel aside : thou dreamest on Soon to be waked by the new-flowering year. Old trees and walks will never make thee old, J*'or years add beauty to a peaceful age. i Thou art amidst all change the same, and strong ; Crowning the whole broad view that lies outrolled : The mountain and the sea thy heritage To keep thee beautiful ;. to keep thee young. t CANADA. Thou land of [)romise, youthful and mature, Fair Canada of legend and of song, May destiny's bright star not guide thee wrong, But make thy page historic, fair and pure, i-ong shalt thy hardy brotherhood endure: As the sea fronted by thy mountains strong ; As the lakes are. thy gardens fair among ; ' So shall thy manhood be, both great and sure. Move like a champion to the front of war. To wrest from serfdom every neck in chains. Cling to the ancient good ; and to the new Cry out with welcome as it comes afar With love and strength : and in thy great domains (iive hand to all, but to thyself be true. W {' . .;■ .\»^;/^,'