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 [The moon had tipped the housetops, and the wind 
 
 Sighed out in music to Italian skies 
 [Its last faint evening breath, and black outlined 
 1 saw the giant Campanile rise, 
 io shouldering up to heaven, and a spell 
 Jeemed on the voiceless watery waste to dwell. 
 
 Iwift as a thought and silent as a grave, 
 
 With smooth black sides and thin keen iron prows, 
 'he gondolas swept on, a thin -lipped wave 
 
 Of silver ribbon gleaming at their bows ; 
 >o swift and silent that their passage seemed 
 LS if men slumbering saw them when the}' dreamed. 
 
 Lnd so we crossed the narrow shining street 
 
 Where every block was mirrored, and we crept 
 
 ito long lanes where never hurrying feet 
 
 Awoke the sounding echoes as they slept ; 
 'here moss-grown terrace and gray crumbling wall 
 
 "he glories of tie vanished days recall : 
 
I 
 
 ! I , 
 
 And if you would see Venice as she is, 
 Wander by night in silence and alone 
 
 Among her towers and sculptured palaces, 
 And read the story she has writ in stone ; 
 
 Then, as you read, she will upon you cast 
 
 The fascination of her wondrous past. 
 
 Muse on, and let the silent gondolier 
 
 Wind at his will 'mid tortuous, twisting ways. 
 And broad lagoons, with waters wide and clear, 
 
 On whose unruffled breast the moonbeam plays ; 
 And move not, speak not, for the mystery 
 Of Venice there is with you on the sea. I 
 
 s 
 
 r 
 
 i 
 
 Pass, if you will, beneath the five great domes 
 
 Of old Saint Mark's; watch how the glittering heig^ 
 
 Soars in quick curves ; see how each sunbeam ro^ims 
 And fills the nave with soft pure amber light ; 
 
 This is the heart of Venice, and the tomb 
 
 Which folds her story in its sacred gloom. 
 
 So leave her sunlight, enter now her cells. 
 
 By frowning black-browed ports and massy bars/: 
 
 Where pestilence in foul dank vapor dwells, 
 
 Far, far from sun and day, from moon and stars 
 
 The only sound when whispering waters glide 
 
 In on the bosom of a sluggish tide. 
 
Then turn again into her solitudes,— 
 
 Things of to-day will faint and fade like smoke,— 
 Drift through the darkened nooks where silence broods, 
 
 Let memory fall upon you like a cloak ; 
 I Venice will rise around you as of old, 
 pecked out in marble, amethyst, and gold. 
 
 ways, 
 ?ar, 
 im plays; 
 
 iBut that was years ago ; to-day, the notes 
 J Of wild free song have left her silver streets ; 
 yler blazoned banner now no longer floats 
 
 In aureate folds, no more the sunrise greets ; 
 ;he lives but in a past, so strong and brave. 
 It serves alike for monument and grave. 
 
 es 
 
 ering heig'f 
 im roams 
 ' light ; 
 
 nassv bars I 
 
 1 and stars 
 de 
 
^bc Spirit of Sleep* 
 
 Alone on a shimmering molten tide, 
 With never a stir in the silent wood, 
 
 For slumber was hovering far and wide 
 
 O'er the drov/sy land and the voiceless flood. 
 
 Naught but the wash as my paddle dipped 
 
 In the foam-flecked pools 1 was gliding throUj"^ 
 
 And lines of hurrying ripples slipped 
 
 From the ivory bows of the White Canoe. 
 
 The hour was full of an infinite rest, 
 
 Of peace unfathomed, undreamt, unknown 
 
 By those who have turned from their mother's bro 
 To teeming cities and streets of stone. 
 
 Then out from the shore where the wavelets brok 
 A spectral shape 'mid the shadows dark 
 
 Swept silently on, and stroke by stroke 
 
 Drew up to my side in a spectral barque. .• 
 
 Her face was the face of an angel maid. 
 Her hair was black as the raven's wing. 
 
 An holy calm on her forehead played, 
 Such calm as only the angels bring : 
 
 6 
 
 
As snow on the crest of a hill is white, 
 
 Her wonderful craft had a pallid gleam ; 
 
 And so we two on that mystical night 
 
 Shot on like forms in a waking dream ; 
 
 And never a word she spake to me, 
 
 In thjir waxen lids her eyes were veiled, 
 
 But the thrust of her blade was steady and free, 
 As over the river we swiftly sailed. 
 
 So side by side, till a moonbeam shone 
 Like a bar of silver athwart the bay. 
 
 And the ghostly visitant paddled on 
 
 To its verge, and faded like mist away. 
 
 1 felt that the vision I saw was true 
 
 By the face of the troubled swirling deep, 
 
 And dreamt, as I lay in the White Canoe, 
 
 Of'my cruise with the " Spirit of Silent Sleep." 
 
!; I 
 
 1: ! 
 Ill 
 
 
 i 
 
 OL 
 
 Zbc SlcepiUQ 1barp. 
 
 Sleep now, my Harp, forever now no song ; 
 Minstrel, awake no more, back to the place 
 
 Of everlasting silence, till ere long- 
 Cold time thy very memory will efface. 
 
 Far in the glades and dells 1 made thy honie, 
 
 Strung each resounding chord beneath a pine, 
 
 Naught but free winds of heaven dared to roam 
 
 And wpke thy strong pure echoes, Harp of mine. 
 
 There came a hand, a small white hand, and crept 
 Across thy strings, and wooed each throbbing t 
 
 Till one by one the harmonies that slept 
 
 Burst forth in strains of Love, and Love alone : 
 
 Higher and fuller, till the very woods 
 
 Caught up that rhythmic burden, and they bore 
 The waves of melody which surged in floods 
 
 Ro'ind thee, O Harp, to swell, alas, no more ! 
 
 The small hand passed ; that all too sweet refrain 
 Sank sobbing into silence, every string 
 
 Lay trembling, mute, and slackened ; nor again 
 Can aught that long lost thrill of music bring. 
 
 Sleep, no rude touch shall wake thee ; so forget 
 Thy pulsing death song, and the wild sweet pa 
 
 Would God it had not been, and 1 — but yet 
 God willed it, and to all comes sleep at last. 
 
 8 
 
 An. 
 lOr 
 
Zo (ID? ipipe. 
 
 Wake, sluniberer, too long the cloudy shrine 
 
 Of fair Nicotia forsaken sleeps, 
 While her dull priest, O briar brown of mine, 
 
 His fading red morocco cloister keeps. 
 
 Ah, now the incense rises; thus of yore 
 
 Did bold Sir Walter stride his heaving poop 
 
 In clouds of smoke, and scan the sea plains o'er 
 For Spanish galley, merchantman, or sloop. 
 
 Ah, amber lips, were human lips as true. 
 Did they but proffer solace such as this ! 
 
 Alas, alas, I turn again to woo 
 
 But thee alone with a fond lover's kiss. 
 
 Perhaps, who knows but fate in olden days 
 Bade all men love ; if passion was not ripe, 
 
 |And man shunned maid, she changed her hidden ways 
 And metamorphosed woman to a pipe ? 
 
 And hence our strange proclivities ; what touch 
 Can so unseal the subtle springs of thought. 
 
 Or marshal bygone days, or soothe so much 
 
 The wild weird phantoms of a brain o'er wrought ? 
 
 up, they come ! old faces, old desires. 
 Dead love, dead longing, through the vaporous mist 
 see them gather round the bowl's dull hres— 
 The lips which once as careless boys we kissed. 
 
 m 
 
 
 'A*- 
 
ill 
 
 All this, and more, forsake me not, old friend. 
 
 What though they say 'tis poison, take no heed, 
 Rank heresy will flourish to the end : — 
 
 I follow where the good brown briar may lead. 
 
 Sonnet 
 
 This, only this, to lie upon the lip 
 Of some bluff cliff, with you beside ; to feel 
 The kiss of heaven's own breath break loose and stea 
 
 From sandy dunes ; to hear the green surge dip 
 
 In thunderous ruin ; follow some white-winged ship 
 Into the twilight ; mark the stars unseal 
 Their thin aerial lids, and circling wheel 
 
 Around their pole, above the new moon's tip. 
 
 World-weary, I turn once again to draw 
 Life from the fount of life, and to abide 
 On the warm breast of her who all men bore ; 
 Nor turn in vain, if once these old eyes saw 
 Peace brood upon the flood, or caught the tide 
 Of shining sea creep up the long low shore. 
 
 'h 
 
 Is i\ 
 
 'o 
 
 ^0 
 
 10 
 
heed, 
 
 lead. 
 
 temptation- 
 
 ^el 
 
 se and ste;> 
 
 dip 
 ged ship 
 
 D. 
 
 :n bore 
 
 le tide 
 shore. 
 
 The Spirit of Sleep hau laid her hand 
 
 On the face of the river ; it silent lay ; 
 
 In the far-oflf west an aureate band 
 
 Of cloudlets wept o'er the dying day, 
 
 And the moon climbed up, as I paddled alone, 
 
 Up the star-studded height to her azure throne. 
 
 I The rapids were calling me soft and strong. 
 
 Their myriad voices all whispered, *' Come": — 
 
 [To only one toucli that mystical song 
 
 May swell, and must to all else be dumb ; 
 
 lYet of all the harmonies raised above 
 
 We find the echo in one chord. Love : — 
 
 A sable shadow athwart the night 
 
 Like the plume of a giant raven blew, 
 
 Till faint as a dream came the silver light 
 
 Of the moon in the clouds it was hastening through ; 
 
 Then an evil thought fluttered into my heart 
 
 And pierced my soul like a poisoned dart. 
 
 "Is it well that only you gained to lose, 
 
 To sip at the wine as the wine cup fell, 
 To bafHe all other, and find the ruse 
 7 Of a devilish mammon left naught but Hell ; 
 waste the music of life in vain 
 'hile destiny answered in one note, * Pain '? 
 
 n 
 
 II 
 
Lo, here is a bourne where the weary flee, 
 Unpierced, unfathomed, and sacred still ; 
 
 As silent as only the grave can be, 
 
 With its infinite secrets of woes and ill ; 
 
 Turn, turn again to thy mother's breast. 
 
 And find in her outstretched arms thy rest." 
 
 1 looked at the river, 'twas not so grim, 
 
 And the kiss of its ripples was not so cold ; 
 
 Deep, deep in its bosom the weeds were dim, 
 As down to its tryst with the sea it rolled, 
 
 And 1 said, '* It is well ; for, O River, with thee 
 
 I will cross the bar to eternity." 
 
 All horror of death it had fled afar ; 
 
 The waves said, " Welcome ; away ! away! " 
 When out of the dusk one thrice blessed star 
 
 Flung a beam of glory athwart the bay ; 
 I looked in the hurrying treacherous tide 
 And saw — the face of a suicide ! 
 
 u 
 
 m I 
 
 Oh, Thou, in the hollow of whose great hand 
 The streams of multitude worlds do lie. 
 
 Who rulest their storms with a magical wand, 
 And chainest the thunderbolt to the sky, 
 
 Lay the seal of Thy power on a mortal will. 
 
 And say to its sorrow, *' Peace, peace ; be still." 
 
 13 
 
a.S). 147- 
 
 )ld; 
 
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 hee 
 
 way 
 ir 
 
 ! ; 
 
 I " 
 
 nd 
 
 e, 
 .ad, 
 
 n, 
 
 still. 
 
 >> 
 
 A word from the Infinite came, 
 
 And breatli was bestowed upon clay ; 
 
 A spark from the Intlnite flame 
 
 Shone bright in his breast for a day ; 
 
 hi pursuit of the phantom of fame 
 
 The brown locks were turned into gray. 
 
 A whisper came out of the void : — 
 *^ The shadows of even are nigh, 
 
 Say, how has the time been employed ? 
 Naught else now is left but to die, 
 
 For of all that thou here hast enjoyed 
 Account must be rendered on high," 
 
 '* I have followed the voice in my heart. 
 Till my glory has filled all the land, 
 
 1 worship truth, beauty, and art. 
 
 And my captives are counted as sand. 
 
 And earth to the uttermost part 
 
 Has bowed to the weight of my hand. 
 
 " A new faith came out of the East, 
 That spake of a child and a star, 
 
 And held that each shaveling priest 
 
 Was more mighty than emperors are, 
 
 That the power of Olympus had ceased, 
 And peace cometh but from afar. 
 
 13 
 
m 
 
 ** But I stamped on the insolent creed, 
 
 And drave the swine into the earth, 
 
 To abide with the dead, and to breed 
 
 Where the dead might look down on their birth 
 
 I planted so deeply their seed 
 
 That in harvest time there will be dearth. 
 
 
 ijl 
 II 
 
 ilil 
 Hi.! 
 
 **So now that the even is here, 
 
 And I go to my infinite home, 
 
 E'en Lethe can bring me no fear, 
 For rest lieth over its foam. 
 
 And a nation will write o'er my bier : 
 
 * He lived for his nation and Rome.' " 
 
 Inscrutable essence of Light, 
 
 Oh, Fount of unchangeable truth ! 
 
 This heathen, though blinded in sight 
 And bred in religion uncouth. 
 
 Obeyed his conception of right, 
 His inherited precepts of youth. 
 
 Are the sons of the night to be lost. 
 And salvation be kept for the day, 
 
 On the billows of ignorance tossed, 
 
 With no Pilot to lead them the way. 
 
 To show how the sea may be crossed. 
 To teach them to trust and to pray ? 
 
 lit! 
 
 H 
 
H nDeMterranean IRigbt 
 
 Across the olive slopes of hill and vale 
 
 The long blue shadows creep, 
 Heralds of twilight, now the loitering gale 
 
 Brings in its bosom sleep. 
 
 And in the East one star, refulgent, white, 
 
 That palpitates and glows 
 Above a brimming sea ; its argent light 
 
 Deepening ere morn to rose. 
 
 And out, far out, with never voice nor stir, 
 
 Illimitable lies 
 A still dead flood, nor ship nor mariner 
 
 On that vast mirror plies. 
 
 For all the stars are doubled, and the shore 
 
 Dips to a sister strand. 
 And cypress nods to cypress, leaning o'er 
 
 Semblance of other land. 
 
 Naught but the wash as laughing waters fall 
 
 From the gaunt, shaggy hills. 
 Or a lone night bird's plaintive lingering call 
 
 In some dusk thicket thrills. 
 
 And thus the blue vault o'er the dark world bends. 
 
 Smiles on her land and main, 
 Until this drowsy old earth wakes, and sends 
 
 Those smiles to heaven again. 
 
 15 
 
'!ili 
 
 J!l t 
 
 I !|li 
 
 So every long, cool, balmy night repeats : 
 '' He to whom nature's nurse 
 
 May lay his hand upon the heart that beats 
 Within a Universe." 
 
 Zbc ®I& St^lc of proposaK 
 
 Not so very long ago, 
 
 At the bottom of a lane, 
 Where the shallow waters flash and flicker by, 
 
 Near a stile antique and low. 
 
 Walked a simple village swain 
 And a maiden, not so simple, by her eye. 
 
 Oh, his thoughts were great and deep 
 As he pondered, pacing there : 
 
 " Shall I risk it all, and ask her by the stile ? " 
 And the maid, though half asleep. 
 Felt by something in the air 
 
 She had better keep awake a little while. 
 
 So he pondered on and on, 
 Till her patience nearly went, 
 
 She wished she were the man and not the maid ; 
 ** Oh, you stupid, silly John, 
 1 would jump at what you meant. 
 
 If you only were to stammer in the shade." 
 
 i6 
 
Then the stile's stiff, rusty bones 
 
 Gave a shiver and a shake, 
 A thrill of life ran through him like a flame, 
 
 And in quaint, old-fashioned tones 
 
 To the loitering- pair he spake, 
 Calling each astonished villager by name : 
 
 " Such a pretty pair c geese 
 
 I have never, never seen ; 
 Why this dallying on a question that's so plain ? 
 
 John take Sue, and live in peace, 
 
 With no bickering between 
 Man and wife. Now go, nor bother me again." 
 
 That was all he said ; and soon, 
 
 On that silent summer night. 
 Sue looked up at John, and John looked down at Sue, 
 
 Till the bashful, modest moon 
 
 In a cloudlet hid her light. 
 As along the leafy byway went the two. 
 
 maid ; 
 
 17 
 
! 
 
 I! 
 
 ii! 
 H 
 
 ilJH 
 
 ^be Sceher after peace. 
 
 *' Ah, v/here are the islands of infinite peace ? 
 And where are the isles of the blest ? " 
 Said a Soul, as it longed for life's battle to cease, 
 And sighed for the haven of rest ; 
 ** Come ! come! " said the Sea, with his cavernous lips, 
 " 1 will bear thee across to thy home 
 Far over my plains, where the white-winged ships 
 Like sheep all unshepherded roam." 
 
 So away to the South to a coral-ringed isle, 
 With the bosom of ocean like gold, 
 
 Where the summer eternally verdant did smile, 
 And the halcyon seasons unrolled ; 
 
 Where life was aflame with its color and stir, 
 With its purity, vigor, and glow ; 
 
 But the smoke of an altar rose high in the air, — 
 '' Not here,'* said the Soul, *' 1 must go." 
 
 Then away to the North, till aflash through the sprayj 
 An aurora gleamed vivid and white. 
 
 Flooding glittering fields, where in terrible sway 
 Ruled winter's immutable might ; 
 
 Where mountainous high, to a star-studded sky. 
 Great bergs shouldered up through the snow ; 
 
 But a skeleton told of starvation hard by, — 
 " Not here," said the Soul, " I must go." 
 
 i8 
 
ase, 
 
 \ous lir^, i 
 
 O'er country and continent, desert and field, 
 
 In village, in city and town. 
 The Soul went a-roaming, but nothing could yield 
 
 The calm it would claim as its own ; 
 Though earth promised fair, 'twas but dross in the end, 
 
 Till the Soul did its wandering cease 
 [And returned to its God ; then the hand of a friend 
 
 Wrote above : *' Here one lieth in peace." 
 
 ships 
 
 nile, 
 
 ir, 
 air,— 
 
 the spray? 
 sway 
 
 id sky, 
 le snow ; 
 
 Sweet Servitu&e» 
 
 A captive who his fetters burst. 
 And stood inebriate at the first 
 
 Long breath of liberty, 
 Turned back from freedom to his cell, 
 Content in bondage still to dwell. 
 
 And 1, who smiled beneath my yoke 
 Till Fate its dear dominion broke 
 
 And set the prisoner free, 
 Would turn from very Heaven above 
 To kiss the chains I learned to love. 
 
 19 
 
®ccan6 Zlwain, 
 
 I : ill 
 
 Still as very death I rested 
 
 On the wave, 
 Watched the rollers verdant crested, 
 
 Like a grave, 
 In whose bosom friend and foeman. 
 Prince and peasant, knight and yeoman. 
 
 Lay the brave. 
 
 E.irth was silent, earth was sleeping. 
 
 Day was o'er, 
 Stars their lonely watch were keeping, 
 
 As of yore ; 
 All seemed dead their vigil under. 
 Save the dull and distant thunder 
 
 On the shore. 
 
 In the West the mist was clouding 
 
 All the sky. 
 Where the sun his, glory shrouding. 
 
 Dipped to die ; 
 And long arms of v/hite came stealing 
 From his tomb, the stars concealing, 
 
 Pale and high. 
 
 20 
 
^g:> 
 
 iing 
 idlng, 
 
 Closer, denser, folded round me, 
 
 Till I thought 
 God Himself could not have found me 
 
 If He soug:ht ; 
 Or a crimson villain hiding 
 in that fog might, there abiding. 
 
 Care for naught. 
 
 Then across another ocean. 
 
 Memory's sea, 
 Blind black billows of emotion 
 
 Came to me ; 
 Long deep surges born of passion, 
 Fated but to vainly dash on 
 
 Destiny. 
 
 Mystic surge on surge, all falling 
 
 On my brain. 
 Till the bygone years recalling 
 
 Back again 
 I re-lived the life I wasted. 
 Once more quail'ed its joys, and tasted 
 
 All its pain ; 
 
 And once more my love I buried, 
 
 Sadly kissed 
 Parting lips, and then the serried 
 
 Ranks of mist 
 Of Forgetfulness came rolling. 
 An unconciously consoling 
 
 Eucharist. 
 
 21 
 
; 
 
 Dead to life and dead to loving, 
 
 All beside, 
 Here, alone, my boat slow moving 
 
 With the tide. 
 To the Infinite from Finite, 
 To the slumbrous, drowsy twilight 
 
 Let me dide. 
 
 Pi 
 ill 
 
 % 
 
 ■ I: : 
 Mini 
 
 i ! 
 
 !!i! tili 
 
 Dijnamite BilL 
 
 " Know Henderson ? Yaas, — 
 
 Right there by the drill, 
 With the kink in his leg, 
 
 Thet's Dynamite Bill : 
 What's that you said ? 
 
 You're a jay of a bird 
 Ef you ain't never heard 
 
 Of Dynamite Bill ! 
 
 '* Jest five months ago. 
 
 We wuz near through the cut 
 Right close to the bridge, 
 
 When tht blame foreman put 
 A durn little Swede 
 
 To loadin' up holes. 
 And tcuchin' off fuse 
 
 With a chunk of hot coals. 
 
 22 
 
" Wall, the whistle had blowed, 
 
 I off to the shack 
 With Bill close behind, 
 
 When we stopped to look back ; 
 And right thar in the cut, 
 
 Still as if he wiiz dead, 
 Lay the Swede, and the rock 
 
 Next his face wuz all red. 
 
 (< 
 
 Two fuse on his left. 
 
 Beside whar he fell, 
 Were spittin' out fire 
 
 Like black snakes of hell ; 
 He had lit them, and turned 
 
 To the next hole, and tripped 
 On a boulder somehow. 
 
 And was stunned whar he slipped. 
 
 *' I froze ez I stood ; 
 
 Fur the poor little cuss 
 Were the pet of the camp , 
 
 And the devil's own fuss 
 Would be raised if the kid 
 
 Got mixed up in a blast : 
 Bill ripped out an oath,— 
 
 His first and 'lis last,— 
 
 23 
 
i I 
 
 m 
 
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 .11 
 
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 ! M' 
 
 *' Then 'fore I could stir 
 
 Dropped hi' coat and lit out 
 Fur the cut, with a whoop 
 
 And a sort of a shout, 
 Meant for God or the kid ; 
 
 And the fuse wuz low down 
 And soon thar would be 
 
 More blood on that stone. 
 
 *' Right up whar he lay 
 
 Sailed Bill, and he grabbed 
 The Swede by the arms ; 
 
 The next minute there stabbed. 
 Two pillars of flame 
 
 Up into the air, 
 All over the kid 
 
 And Bill Henderson there ! 
 
 *' When the smoke hed all cleared 
 
 I run to the place, 
 And found them both heaped 
 
 In mighty small space, — 
 The kid? Wall, he had 
 
 The inside of the track, 
 For the dynamite blowed 
 
 His consciousness back. 
 
 24 
 
" But Bill,— yes, his kg 
 
 Were a piirty long job, 
 And outside of the fracture 
 
 He'd one on the nob ; 
 So that's why we call him,-— 
 
 What's that ? No, indeed ; 
 Curse you and your money, 
 
 Keep that for the Swede." 
 
 a ^ale of tbe Drive* 
 
 Where the rapids madly swirl 
 Down the height, 
 
 And the flying billows hurl 
 Shreds of white 
 
 High in air, the woodsmen say. 
 
 That a spectre haunts the day 
 And the night. 
 
 If you ask a shanty man 
 
 Does he know 
 All the tale, his face of tan 
 
 Dull will glow ; 
 Half with pride and half with shame 
 He will mutter but the name, 
 *' Pierre Lozeau." 
 
 P^ 
 
 25 
 
mm 
 
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 Could the dripping alders speak, 
 Trembling there; 
 
 Could the cliffs their answer make, 
 Grim and bare ; 
 
 Could the river racing by 
 
 Whisper back, all would reply, 
 " Gallant Pierre." 
 
 Nigh four years ago this June, 
 
 Maybe five. 
 Forty thousand logs were run 
 
 In our drive, — 
 Logs two feet through at the butt. 
 Till the rapids with our cut 
 
 Were alive. 
 
 But the crafty river sank,— 
 
 Narrow grew. 
 Till, there, standing on the bank 
 
 Close to you. 
 All across it long black teeth 
 Of the sunken rocks beneath 
 
 Came in view. 
 
 Down the river came the logs. 
 Grinding there. 
 
 Like a pack of angry dogs 
 At a bear. 
 
 And the foaming billows tossed 
 
 Them like matches that were lost 
 In the air. 
 
 26 
 
At the bottom of the dip 
 
 All a cram, 
 Where a ledge's stony lip 
 
 Made a dam, 
 Sheer across from side to side 
 Tightened by the sweeping tide, 
 
 Formed the jam. 
 
 One long stick of Norway pine 
 
 Held the key ; 
 Breaking, it would break the line, 
 
 Set them free ; 
 But the stream's deep surges crashed 
 All their weight, and vainly gnashed 
 
 Hungrily. 
 
 Came our foreman, Jean Frechette, 
 
 And the scud 
 On his ruddy cheek was wet 
 
 From the flood ; 
 '' Who will break the jam ? " he said, 
 And from every cheek there fled 
 
 Coward's blood. 
 
 Then strode forward Pierre Lozeau, 
 
 Smiling, gay : 
 *' Monsieur Jean, here, I will go. 
 
 If I may." 
 So we watched him creeping out. 
 Crimson kerchief at his throat, 
 
 'Mid the spray. 
 
 27 
 
m 
 
 ; 
 
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 III 
 
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 - 
 
 mm 
 
 Now upon the key he stands, 
 
 Shone the flash 
 Of the axe in his strong hands, 
 
 Till a crash 
 Snapped the log, his swinging stroke 
 Gnawed the timber till it broke, — 
 
 Went to smash. 
 
 Nothing but a glimpse of red 
 
 Could we see ; 
 When we found him he was dead. 
 
 Smilingly : 
 By that cross of tamarac, 
 With the big pine at the back, 
 
 There lies he. 
 
 Down in Lower Canada, — 
 
 Far away, — 
 His old mother, Ursula, 
 
 Lives to-day ; 
 And she soon will follow him 
 To that other river's brim. 
 
 So they say : 
 
 Every morning, noon, and night. 
 
 Bowing low. 
 All her beads does she recite. 
 
 Reverent, slow 
 Whispers to the lifted Host, 
 One dear name she loves the most,- 
 
 " Pierre Lozeau." 
 
 28 
 
IDiUa V€etc, Xago M Como. 
 
 A long green avenue that rose 
 
 Twixt lines of pillared cypress trees, 
 
 Up to a grot where walls enclose 
 A marble sculptured Hercules, 
 
 Who tense in poisoned anguisli throws 
 Young Lycus to Euboean seas ; 
 
 And down where the straight vistas end, 
 
 A stretch of molten silver lake, 
 Whose waves their voice to heaven send. 
 
 And from that heaven their shadows take ; 
 For borrowed hues their music lend 
 
 When sunsets glow or mornings break. 
 
 And on its eastern side great hills 
 
 With vineyards clustering on their flanks. 
 All seamed and scarred with tortuous rills 
 
 That twist between steep olive banks ; 
 A giant armament that tills 
 
 Half heaven with marshalled ordered rar.ks. 
 
 To right, far in a deep cool glade 
 
 Of laurel, cedar, oak, and pine. 
 Across broad flecks of sun and shade 
 
 The wild rose and the ivy twine. 
 And down a long dim colonnade 
 
 Wanders Italian eglantine ; 
 
 29 
 
I ^w '* 
 
 I 
 
 To left, a mound of clustered green 
 Climbs sharply from a narrow vale, 
 
 With gray rocks thrusting up between 
 
 Tall chestnut groves, whose blossoms pale 
 
 Serve as a living odorous screen 
 
 Where hides the shy sweet nightingale. 
 
 And over all a clear blue sky 
 
 Where sunlit fields of glory sleep, 
 
 And bands of snowy cloudlets fly 
 
 Unshepherded like flocks of sheep ; 
 
 And borne on waves of song on high 
 The tuneful larks their vigils keep. 
 
 All this I saw one afternoon 
 
 At Villa d'Este, when the hours 
 
 In golden minutes fled so soon, 
 
 That ere 1 knew the verdant bowers 
 
 Lay still beneath a full fair moon, 
 
 And dew was trembling on the flowers. 
 
 I ml I 
 
 M 
 
 30 
 
Zbcn an^ IRow. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 '' There, that will do, now leave it so ; 
 You have wrought well and thoroughly, yet go 
 Before 1 hate you — gently, make no stir 
 Closing the gate, or you may waken her." 
 But as he went, that rugged laborer, 
 Baring his red brow, to my sorrow, said. 
 With half-averted eye, " God help you. Sir," 
 Took up his spade and left me with my dead. 
 
 All— is this all — this narrow wave -like mound 
 
 Upon the frozen ground — 
 All that is left of her, my very life ? 
 Perhaps 'twere better never to have known 
 Such short-lived joy, not to have called my own 
 What 1 have lost so soon— my wife, my wife. 
 
 Then the red sun in molten glory set. 
 
 And black night came and spread her dusky wings 
 
 O'er t^^ still earth, and birds and creeping things 
 
 Sank into silence deep ; 
 
 The whole world was asleep, 
 
 Save my numb brain, 
 
 Striving in vain 
 To cease its being and its woes forget. 
 
 31 
 
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 lifli 
 
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 And I, who ne'er before had uttered prayer, 
 Through bitter loneliness and stress of grief 
 Poured out my sorrow and my unbelief. 
 My cry ascended through the starlit air, 
 Up, up, until it reached the throne 
 
 Where One alone 
 Lists to His pleading children ; and 1 asked 
 Only to follow where those dear white feet 
 Had trod so late. Life was too sorely tasked 
 For me to live ; with her, all things were sweet. 
 Now she had gone my heart had gone with her, 
 
 And memory still. 
 
 In spite of all my will. 
 Thronged with sad thoughts the vacant atmospheiv\ 
 
 Home ! Home ! What mockery ! 
 
 1 stumbled thither in the gloom of night, 
 
 The flowers were gone lest they should vex my sight ; 
 
 But, ah, the fairest flower that ever blew — 
 
 God's loveliest creation — vanished too ! 
 
 Was it for this, 
 
 Such momentary bliss. 
 That clay was cursed with immortality ? 
 
 Alone once more, — 
 Haunted by wild imaginings, 1 heard 
 Her footstep on the stair ; her singing bird 
 
 32 
 
Drooped in its gilded prison ; by my side 
 
 I saw upon tiie floor 
 
 A glove she wore, 
 Still from the impress of her fingers swelling : 
 
 With reverence I lifted it, and, dwelling 
 With smiles that were half tears 
 Upon the sacred thing, my troubled fears 
 Grew lighter, and the cord about my heart 
 Was slackened by the sense of sympathy 
 That seemed to lie between that glove and me. 
 
 Then gentle sleep touched sorrow leaden -eyed, 
 Relaxed the tension of the weary brain : 
 
 In dream I walked again 
 With her, my wife, her beauty glorified 
 By some ethereal faculty ; she took 
 
 Me forth into the wild, 
 And, as a mother shows her little child. 
 She showed me mountain, valley, river, brook, 
 And all the wonders of this wondrous world, 
 How evermore unswervingly it hurled 
 Itself through myriads of other spheres, 
 And, one by one, the little fateful years 
 
 Dropped noiselessly into the sea 
 
 Of limitless eternity ; 
 
 33 
 
!l^ll,-< 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 I 
 
 V 
 
 flit 
 
 it 
 ! 
 
 And turning to me said, '* Husband of mine, 
 
 For such thou art, mine to the very end, 
 
 Thou see'st how far these marvellous things extend, 
 
 And how the great hand of the power divine 
 
 Doth govern all that is and is to be, 
 
 And how the mighty heart beats in the earth 
 
 That men call theirs, and no humanity 
 
 Can be, unless 'tis ordered from its birth ;. 
 
 Yet know the soul of man, 
 
 And his life's fleeting span, 
 Outweighs with God a giant universe ; 
 So live as thou would'st die : 1 wait for thee. 
 Thy guardian spirit, 1 ; be mindful, nurse 
 All loftier aspirations patiently. 
 For they shall bear thee up on angels' wings 
 To meet me here and end thy wanderings." 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Long years have pr ssed, and nov/ upon my head 
 
 The hoary crown of many a winter lies ; 
 
 My hour has come to join the silent dead 
 
 And her I loved so well. 'Neath other skies 
 
 The blossom nurtured here shall bloom and spread 
 
 Into the flower of grand realities. 
 
 34 
 
For oftentimes I feel the soft caress 
 Of shadowy hands adown my withered face, 
 And ghostly lips with ghostly kisses press 
 This wrinkled brow, and spirit arms embrace 
 This poor bent form, slow tottering to its doom ; 
 If still she loves, what joy beyond the tomb ! 
 
 Man that is born of woman has his day : 
 
 First in the cradling arms ; then crescent strength 
 
 Of budding childhood bids him seek his play 
 
 'Mid children of a larger growth ; at length 
 
 Incipient manhood rises, and in scorn 
 
 Breaks those sweet fetters it too long has worn. 
 
 So, on and on, into the restless sea. 
 
 Grasping at straws that mock but cannot save, 
 
 At strife with self and all humanity. 
 
 Sport of the wind, toy of the rising wave. 
 
 Till on the shore of dim eternity 
 
 Cast by the flood whose wrath he could not brave. 
 
 Twas thus with me, but now these glazing eyes 
 Have pierced the shadows of approaching night. 
 Have rested on the hills of Paradise, 
 And caught the vision of undreamt delight ; 
 Blind to the earth, these sightless orbs may scan 
 The glory that God keeps for dying man. 
 
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 35 
 
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 Listen, listen, voices calling, 
 Through life's evening softly falling. 
 Voices that I seem to know, 
 Accents heard once long ago, 
 Clearer, sweeter, purer far 
 Than the tones of mortals are ; 
 Hear ye not celestial lyres 
 Harping to the Cherub choirs ? 
 These the notes the shepherds heard 
 When earth's atmosphere was stirred . 
 By angelic melody 
 On the shores of Galilee. 
 Now they slacken, fainter yet— 
 Look ! the sun has nearly set : 
 Now he sinketh, watch and see 
 All the deathless soul in me 
 Put on Immortality. 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! Alas, these poor vain tears 
 Make but the parting harder. 'Tis but sleep ; 
 After the labors of a few short years 
 We look for rest and sleep, so do not weep ; 
 The barque that braves the tempest seeks at last 
 Its haven home when aP the gale has passed. 
 
 My wife ! My wife ! Her feet upon the strand 
 Of that bright shore, her arms outstretched to me 
 In loving welcome to that glorious land 
 Where sorrow dies and there is no more sea ; 
 Heart of my heart ! I come with thee to dwell, — 
 The morning broadens ; earth, fare\/ell ! farewell ! 
 
 .36 
 
Coloaeeo IRomano. 
 
 Slowly, at last, the pale and radiant Queen 
 
 , Tipped the faint blue hills of the drowsy East, 
 Treading her far aerial course between 
 
 Clusters of stars ; as some tall ghostly priest 
 To his high altar turns, 'mid many a light 
 And twinkling candle flame — so fell the night. 
 
 And as the murmured monotone of prayer 
 Sinks into whispers to a Host on high, 
 
 So the great city's hum spread on the air 
 Fled out in music to the vaulted sky, 
 
 A silence borne of darkness like a cloak 
 
 Covered the earth, and naught but memory spoke. 
 
 Now long white shafts of silver glory fell 
 On each gray arch and ruined parapet, 
 
 Touched into life the crumbling citadel, 
 
 Where echoing evening zephyrs lingered yet. 
 
 And o'er that titan relic there was cast 
 
 The brooding spirit of its mighty past. 
 
 Was it a dream ? The galleries tenantless 
 
 Seemed full of life and shapes and stirring things, 
 
 Half human, half unreal ; I could but guess 
 
 At forms or figure ; half -hushed whisperings 
 
 Ran around the great ellipse, and a low moan 
 
 Of anguish thrilled me from its heart of stone. 
 
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 37 
 
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 IS I 
 
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 in the arena, stealthily and slow, 
 
 Stalked shapes of beasts, and all their jaws were 
 The white stars shone on high, and down below [red, 
 
 The living Pagan and their Christian dead ; 
 And laugh and song went on, while Roman eyes 
 Feasted on brothers in their agonies. 
 
 Then into thin attenuated air 
 
 The shades dissolved, but yet white faces peered 
 Into the night, still forms gave token where 
 
 Each grisly beast its giant outline reared ; 
 Bright were the hopes which warranted the price 
 Of such unutterable sacrifice ! 
 
 So the dream passed ; now nigh two thousand years 
 Have writ their tale upon ti^ose massy walls. 
 
 But still the memory of pangs and (ears 
 
 Their woeful blood-stained origin recalls ; 
 
 Not all in vain was life so madly spent, 
 
 Their altar once, is now their monument. 
 
 The moss-grown dens are wrapped in ivy now. 
 
 Along their bars no iron footfall rings ; 
 On the top wall, the Colosseum's brow, 
 
 The wild clear-throated Roman linnet sings"; 
 And traced by hands Divine in stars o'erhead : 
 " The living Christian and the Pagan dead." 
 
 38 
 
Zbc ^rappcr'6 Death* 
 
 A glade In a forest of beech and oak, 
 
 And a hurrying brook, which softly spoke 
 
 In ripples and eddies of field and fen, 
 
 And haunts unstained by the steps of men : 
 
 A little way back from the water's edge 
 
 A great pine clung to a rocky ledge. 
 
 And flung its shadow athwart a cross 
 
 Of rough-hewn wood, half covered in moss : 
 
 Here in the peace of the deep woods' breast 
 
 A worn old huntsman tak(!s his rest. 
 
 With naught but the wash of the wandering stream, 
 
 And the sigh of the wind through the maples' crest, 
 
 As the monotone of his endless dream. 
 
 Long, long ago, on an autumn morn. 
 On such a day was this old world born, 
 He woke, and felt with awaking start 
 flmi an ice-cold hand had gripped his heart ; 
 ho leed to ask what the warning meant. 
 No need to shrink from the message sent, 
 A grim smile grew on the grim, stern face ; 
 *'It has come," he said, '* 1 must find a place 
 In the dim cool woods where my lonely bed 
 Will be safe from the stranger's hand or tread.'* 
 
 39 
 
..ii 
 
 
 
 !?■ 1: 
 
 He rose, and took from their leathern sling 
 His rifle and pouch, half wondering 
 Was it habit or fate that he thus prepared 
 To hunt for his death ; so forth he fared. 
 Was it fancy or fact, as he reeled along, 
 That the wind had tempered its morning song. 
 Had hushed till its cadence was sad and slow. 
 Could the wind be sorry to see him go ? 
 Was it fanc^ hot that the maples shed 
 Their ruddiest i. ves on his bent gray head ? 
 That the Spirit of Life in the keen bright air 
 Breathed a sigh for the doomed heart beating there ? 
 
 At last, at last, for the tired feet found 
 A spot where the green turf clad the ground 
 In robes of velvet, the branches threw 
 Their strong thick arms 'gainst a sky of blue, 
 And the sweet brook sang, as it huiried by, ' 
 *' Ah, Life, dear Life, it is hard to die ! " 
 
 The trapper sank to his mother earth,— 
 No other he knew since his hour of birth, — 
 For Nature had taken the man aside 
 And showed him things to the world denied ; 
 In his simple way in his path he trod, 
 Lived up to his light ; left the rest to God. 
 
 40 
 
But mark; — in the bushes something stirred, 
 It was not the wind, nor was it a bird ; 
 They part, and down to the waters* side 
 A four -year buck, with his stately stride. 
 Stepped warily on, for a moment stayed 
 To sniff at the breeze which gently played 
 On the rivulet's face ; the golden sun 
 Just touched on his neck and fetlocks dun ; 
 He stood like a statue, motionless, mute. 
 An incarnate spirit of swift pursuit. 
 
 A glance from the trapper : — his glazing eye 
 Cleared bright in the socket, he knew not why ; 
 Steady and sure came the fluttering breath, 
 For the habits of life are strong in death, 
 The thin hand felt for the trigger again, 
 Unshaking and true as it once had been, 
 And the withered old cheek for a moment fell 
 On the long brown barrel he loved so well. 
 Crack ! and a ball to its billet sped, 
 Tiie deer at the trapper's feet lay dead, 
 And the trapper's soul to its Maker fled. 
 
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 We found him thus when the night had passed^ 
 The stock of his rifle held hard and fast, 
 The buck with a hole in his heart lay there ; 
 We buried them both, — with a silent prayer 
 That the Father of all, in His mercy, would 
 Take the soul of the trapper wild and rude 
 To the home of us all, and the cross we hewed, 
 To plant at his head, and left him so. 
 With the brooklet babbling sweet and low. 
 
 'I 
 
 ■III! 
 
 42 
 
fll>e:nor^» 
 
 Oh, Memory ! sweet servitor of Time, 
 
 Why stirrest thou among the slumbering graves ? 
 Turn errant footsteps to a fairer clime 
 
 Than that of buried love ; oblivious waves 
 Long years have surged above it, chill and deep ; 
 Turn, Memory, and let the dead love sleep. 
 
 For thou hast glimmerings every day more dim, 
 Of life half shadowed by the lapse of years, 
 
 An echo like the echo of an hymn 
 
 In some far fane still strikes thy drowsy ears ; 
 
 More than a reminiscence, and not less 
 
 Than a sure pledge of coming happiness. 
 
 Are our souls wanderers ?• Do they but rest 
 A point of time within us, till the clay 
 
 Moulders to dust ; then to some other breast 
 Winging invisible their silent way, 
 
 Take new abodes ? Oh, Soul, if thou couldst tell 
 
 Whose was the heart wherein thou last didst dwell ! 
 
 
 Thou hadst existence ere this gray old earth 
 Rolled out of chaos ; knewest before our birth 
 That somewhere was a wider, nobler sphere 
 Than we inhabit here ; 
 
 43 
 
Hi 
 
 \m 
 
 i& . 
 
 Where we were nearer heaven, and the skies 
 Came not between us and our Paradise ; 
 Where speech was music, every word a song, 
 And life was sweet, and love was true and long ; 
 Where might was gentle, weakness was endued 
 With very strength from its decrepitude ; 
 When every sense was active, pure, and free, 
 And fancy mounted through eternity. 
 
 Down to this dull earth, oh, my Soul, and find 
 That it can forge no fetters for the mind ; 
 We can bend circumstances to our will 
 And make them serve us ; we are masters still 
 Of more good than we wot of ; we must rise 
 Superior to material things of clay. 
 Forgetting most things, in the few be wise. 
 And, since night cometh, take heed for the day. 
 
 |1| 
 
 Our lives are cramped through our own littleness, 
 And too fast bound by custom and the stress 
 Of what we deem necessity, we tread 
 Where trod our sires, and, lo, our sires are dead ! 
 
 To every life its object ; if we die, 
 
 With ends all unaccomplished, still we know 
 The mark in heaven was <not set too high, 
 
 But feeble purpose sped the shaft too low. 
 
 44 
 
lt>opageiu\ 
 
 See, by yonder pine he stands, 
 In his tasselled tuque of blue, 
 
 With the paddle in his hand. 
 Watching that far-off canoe, 
 
 Marie his ruddy, sun-kissed face/ 
 
 One of a soon-vanished race : 
 Voyageur. 
 
 All the strength of solitude 
 
 Lurks within those steady eyes 
 
 Nurtured in a cradle rude, 
 'Neath a canopy of skies. 
 
 He has ever deeply quaffed 
 
 Nature's clearest, sweetest draught : 
 Voyageur. 
 
 See, upon his quiet brow 
 
 Graven furrows deeply lie, 
 
 Nature sets upon him now 
 Signet of nobility, 
 
 Drawn from waters, sky, and soil, 
 
 All the dignity of toil : 
 Voyageur. 
 
 '^•- 
 
 45 
 
ii 
 
 ■ ■ 
 
 
 
 She has taken him aside 
 
 To her teeming, throbbing breast, 
 Led him safely, far and wide, 
 
 'Mid the deserts of the West, 
 And at last revealed to him 
 All her secrets faint and dim : 
 Voyageur. 
 
 He could tell of brimming lakes 
 
 Rimmed by purple mountain tips. 
 
 Where alone an echo wakes 
 As his speeding paddle dips. 
 
 Glassy pools and voiceless floods. 
 
 Scion of the trackless woods : 
 Voyageur. 
 
 He could guide you like a flash 
 
 Down some rapids' ragged verge, 
 
 Where the whirling eddies crash. 
 And the racing billows surge ; 
 
 Nerves of iron, wrists of steel. 
 
 Never yet did tremor feel : 
 Voyageur. 
 
 Leave him to his luring life. 
 
 To his peaceful starlit dreams, 
 
 To existence without strife, 
 
 To his forest and his streams ; 
 
 So a long farewell to thee. 
 
 Simple manhood, wild and free : 
 Voyageur. 
 
 46 
 
(Bob Here. 
 
 I passed a city of the silent dead, 
 With all its lifted monuments, o'erhead 
 
 Stooped vaulted blue. 
 Ragged with cloud wind-rifted all the sky, 
 And, radiant Queen of midnight mystery, 
 
 The moon peered through. 
 
 Above was life ; beneath, the worn-out shell 
 Of souls too fugitive on earth to dwell. 
 
 Born but for tears ; 
 And daisies blossomed from the slumbering breast 
 That once had pulsed with hope, but now at rest 
 
 For long, long years. 
 
 They were but pledges, that, when man has bowed 
 And kissed the cup, his life in love bestowed 
 
 Will burst in bloom. 
 And Immortality its measure find, 
 in full development of soul and mind. 
 
 Beyond the tomb. 
 
 So, peace, heart, peace ; a breath, and it is done ; 
 For who can say ** I see to-morrow's sun " 
 
 Ere morning breaks ? 
 Bide thy short hour ; the Guiding Hand will keep 
 Its vigil over thee, till, after sleep, 
 
 Thy soul awakes. 
 
 47 
 
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 Take, friend, the lines, though phrase and rhynic| 
 
 Lack subtle turning, finer skill. 
 Expression of a thought sublime. 
 
 Record of deed sublimer still ; 
 
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 if something of that pure deep tone 
 The west wind whispers to a pine 
 
 When all its tasselled top is blown 
 Be woven in a song of mine ; 
 
 Or, if I catch the peace that sleeps 
 In starry depths, or silver lake, 
 
 When the white moon her vigil keeps. 
 And all the Northern Lights awake ; 
 
 Or, if one kindly thought be stirred. 
 
 One moment's rest be found from pain, 
 
 If memory lingers on one word. 
 It has not all been writ in vain. 
 
 
d rhynic 
 
 pain,