IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) %j J,'£i.i-,-Jff I FLEURS DE LYS AND OTHER POEMS. ■■•■l-"l'll a£iEM.M FLEURS DE LYS AND OTHER POEMS. BY ARTHUR WEIR, B.A. S> He only is a pout who can find In sorrow happiness, in darkness light, Love everywhere, and lead Iiis fellow-kind By flowery paths towards life's sunny height. / MONTREAL ; E. M. RENOUF, PUBLISHER. 1887. 71C80 a« ^ € /k \l Enlcrcd according to Act of Parliament of Canada, by Aktiiur Wmr, in the ollicc ol tlic Minister of Agriculture, iji the year iSS?. / GAZETTE PHINTING CO., MONTREAL. M^riMr.: TO [R, WILLIAM AND ELIZABETH SOMERVILLE WEIR, HIS MOST SEVERE AND KINDLY CRITICS, THIS VOLUME IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED BY THEIR SON. ^ I Hii PREFACE. The name Fleurs de Lvs has been chosen for the Canadian Poems in tiie early portion of this book, because the scenes and incidents they describe belong to the Monarchial, or Fleur de Lys, period of France in Canada. The royal crest during the seventeenth century is depicted upon the cover. Many of these poems have ah-eady appeared in the columns of the Carnival and Jubilee S^ar, the Toronto IVeel', the University Gazette, and the Montreal Gazette, as well as in the Daily and \Veekly ^tar, and it is the kindly reception which they met with that has led the author to publish them in this more per- manent form. Some of the poems were written at twenty, and the latest at twenty-three, so that the author hopes the critics will consider this volume rather as a bud than as a flower, and will criticize it with the view to 1 ^^^^^^^^^^mmm VI PIlKFAdJ. aiding him to avoid faults in the future rather than to censuring him for errors of the j.resent and i)ast. To Mr. George Murray, of this cily, the author is deej.ly nidebted for encouragement when encourage- ment vvns most needed, and for much valuable assist- ance m the selection and revision of these verses for publication. It is hoped that the notes at the end of this book will throNV sufficient light upon the verses to make them perfectly intelligible to the reader. December, ist, 1-887. I CONTENTS. PAGE Ode for the Qjieen's Jubilee i Fleurs de Lys. The Captured Flag --...,.. „ Pere Brosse i, L'Ordre de Ben '>nips ,o Chatnplain -----... -,-% The Priest and the Minister 17 Pilot ., The Secret of the Saguenay t^j^ Jules' Letter ^g The Oak .-, Nelson's Appeal for Maisonneuve - - • - 48 Red Roses. To One Who Loves Red Roses ^^^ Three Sonnets -----._ r« Long Ago 60 At Chateauguav - - - - - . - 64 A Birthday - - -- ....^g The Lovers - -- ... --68 il Vlll The Sea Shell - A January Daj Remeiiibn.ncc - In Absence - Love Guides Us The Lover's Appeal CONTENTS. Other Poems. The Spirit Wife Rhodope's Shoe - Hope and Despair Carlctta Equality - - . . Lachine De Salaberry at Chateauguaj*' Tennyson - . _ At Rainbow Lake The Race - > . My Treasure - . . Welcominy^ the New Year A Greater Than He - Life in Nature Winter and Summer - Dauntless - - . A Child's Kiss - The Grave and the Tree A Mother's Jewels Notes - - . . 70 71 73 74 75 76 - Si 3« - 93 96 - 97 99 ■ 102 107 109 112 IJ7 120 124 126 129 134 139 ill FLEURS DE LYS AND OTHER POEMS. Ode for the Queen's Jubilee, 1837—1887. s I. A I LOR Williain is dead. And now Toll the great bells disconsolate. Lei the maiden have time for tears Ere yon set on her gentle brow England'' s glittering croivn of state. Heavy burden for eighteen years. Gra?it the maiden some iveeping space Ere on her youthful brow you place England's crown. Once her stately head it presses, Fifty years it must rest on her tresses Till their broivn Turns to white beneath King Time's caresses- Grant her iveeping space. I'i ODE FOR THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE. II. Set the crown Ofi the maideti's broWy And silence the bells disconsolate, i-eal ! Ye loud joy-bells, ?iow ; Over city and wold let your echoes reverberate. Peal / for the crowning of sfniles a?ia the death of tears, Peal ! for the crowning of hopes and the death f fears, Peal ! for a Queen ivho shall rule us for fifty years. The maiden is crowned with her glorious crown, Heavy tvith care; Yet it shall ftever burden her down Into despair. We will watch over her ivith our love, And our loyalty prove. We will bear, each, his share Of the worry, grief, and pain That may seek to mar her rei^^n. III. Blow ! ye silvery bugles, over the simny land, Our Qu en has yielded to iove. Ring out with merry clavgc", O ye bells! Ye mountaifis ! give the lauglwig bells reply. ODE FOR THE QUEER'S JUBILEE, Hark ! hoiv the joyous tumult sinks and sivells^ And beats against the sky In melody ! Mark how the billows of the mighty sea Toss their white arms in glee, And race along the strand, Joining their voices with the symphony ! Our Queen has yielded to love. Blow ! silvery bugles blow ! That all may know. IV. Toll ! toll ! ye deep-mouthed bells, Ansiver ! each thunderiftg gtm. Your cadence sadly tells Of a great life-work done. Death rules this changing earth, Through royal halls he stalks, And luith an awful mirth Man's fwblest efforts rwcks. He stills the busy brain, Tears loving souls apart^ And leaves alone to reign ODE FOR THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE. A Queeft ivith empty hcu.'t. UpOTt her lo7iely throfie She sits, and c%>er weeps, For him who, once her owfi, Now ived to heaven sleeps. Albert has fallen, conquered by Death's dart, A shado7V lies across her anguished heart. She dwells in loneliness that none can gauge ; In grief that only heaven can assuage. She tremble: afid her soul would fain depart, And beats with tireless wings against its cage. Oh ! live for us, dear Queen, Thou who for years hast been Our leader in all good, Live ! Live for us, Queen ! V. Ring ! ye loud bells, in deep, triwnphal tone, And bind x zone Around this earth of glorious melody ^ Till land and sea Awahen and, rejoicing, answer ye. Ah ! noble Queen ! who lookst around thee now ODE FOR TH/'J QUEEN'S JUIHLEE. On this great nation. Thy life, since first the circlet touched thy broio, IVas consecration Of self to us. Through half a century From darkness i?ito light ufe folloived thee. The poet., patriot^ warrior., statesman, sage Have given thee service long^ Lending their fiery youth and thoughtful age To tnake thy sceptre strong, And in the never-ending march of man To higher things, still England leads tlif van. VI. In fifty years what change ! The world is hound In close communion, and a sentence flies O'er half the earth ere yet the voice's sound Upon the calm air dies. Behold at Engl and' s feet her offspring pour Their bounteous store; To her each yields The first fruits of its virgin fields ; ,tv^-i.'-^iii:fi^ks!t'jt^ ! I ; 6 ODE FOR THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE, Each country tkroius Its hospitable portals open tvide To the great tide That fi'orn the dense-thro7iged 7nother cotcntry flows. New homes arise By rivers once unknowti, amojig 7vhose reeds The wild fowl fed, but now no longer divells. No more the bison feeds Upon the prairie, for the once drear plain Laughs in the sun and waves its golden grain. By a slender chain Ocean is linked to oceaft, and the hum Of labor in the wilderness foretells The greatness of a nation yet to come. In Southern seas Another nation grows by slow degrees^ In dreamy India, under tf'opic sun, Two hundred millions own an Empress' sway, And day by day New territories 2von Shed lustre on our Queen's half century. ^^%^1^M FLEURS DE LYS, i I THE CAPTURED FLAG, LOUDLY roared the English cannon, loudly thun- dered back our own, Pouring down a hail of iron from their battlements of stone, Giving Frontenac's ])roud message to the clustered British ships : " I will answer your commander only by my cannons' lips." Through the sulphurous smoke below us, on the Admiral's ship of war, Faintly gleamed the British ensign, as through cloud- wrack gleams a star, And above our noble fortress, on Cape Diamond's rugged crest — Like a crown upon a monarch, like an eagle in its nest — w . ^^ i w 10 THE CAPTURED FLAG. Streamed our silken flag emblazoned with the royal fleiir de lys, Flinging down a proud defiance to the rulers of the sea. As we saw it waving proudly, and beheld the crest it bore, Fiercely throbbed our hearts within us, and with bitter words we swore, While the azure sky was reeling at the thunder of our guns, We would strike that standard never, while Old France had gallant sons. Long and fiercely raged the struggle, oft our foes had sought to land. But with shot and steel we met them, met and drove them from the strand, Though they owned them not defeated, and the stately Union Jack, Streaming from the slender topmast, seemed to wave them proudly back. Louder rose the din of combat, tnicker rolled the battle smoke. ' f I THE CAPTURED FLAG. II Through whose murky folds the crimson tongues of thundering cannon broke, And the ensign sank and floated in the smoke-clouds on the breeze, As a wounded, fluttering sea-bird floats upon the stormy seas. While we looked upon it sinking, rising through the sea of smoke, Lo ! it shook, and bending downwards, as a tree be- neath a stroke, Hung one moment o'er the river, then precipitous!) fell Like proud Lucifer descending from high heaven into hell. As we saw it flutter downwards, till it reached the eager wave, Not Cape Diamond's loudest echo could have matched the cheer we gave ; Yet the English, still undaunted, sent an answering echo back : Though their flag had fallen conquered, still their fury did not slack, And with louder voice their cannon to our cannonade replied. Ii : I 1 12 THE VAPTUIiED FLAG. As their tattered ensign drifted slowly shoreward with the tide. There was one who saw it floating, and within his heart of fire, Beating in a Frenchman's bosom, rose at once a fierce desire, That the riven flag thus resting on the broad St. Lawrence tide Should, for years to come, betoken how France hum- bled England's pride. As the stag leaps down the mountain, with the baying hounds in chase, So the hero, swift descending, sought Cape Diamond's rugged base. And within the water, whitened by the bullets' deadly hail, Springing, swam towards the ensign with a stroke that could not fail. From the shore and from the fortress we looked on with bated breath, For around him closer, closer, fell the messengers of death. THE CA nrriiED fla a. 13 And as nearer, ever nearer, to the floating flag he drew, Tliickcr round his head undaunted still the English bullets flew. He has reached and seized the trophy. Ah ! what cheering rent the skies, Mingled with deep English curses, as he shoreward brought his prize ! Slov/ly, slowlv, almost sinking, still he struggled to the land. And we hurried down to meet him, as he reached the welcome strand. Proudly up the rock we bore him, with the flag that he had won, And that night the English vessels left us with the setting sun. mm " i' i V: ' Pi: RE BROSSE. , ,„ . m HE had been with the Indians all the day, But sat with us at eve, Chatting and laughing in his genial wayj Till came the hour to leave ; And then he rose, we with him, for we loved Our good old parish priest, Who all his lifetime in our midst had moved At death-bed and at feast. He raised his hand for silence, and each head Was bowed as though in prayer, Er.pectant of his blessing, but instead He stood in silence there. Thrice he essayed to speak, and thrice in vain, And then his voice came back, Vibrating in a deep, triumphal strain That it was wont to lack. mUE UliOSSU. '* My children, we must part. My task is done. God calls me to His rest, And though my labors seem scarce yet begun, Surely He kiioweth best. I have grown old in laboring for Him, My hair with age is white, My footsteps feeble, and my eyesight dim — But all shall change to-night. JS '' When strikes the hour of twelve, my weary soul On earth shall cease to dwell, As sign of which the chapel bell shall toll Its slow funereal knell. Then seek me, if you will, and you shall find Upon the altar stair The prison-house my soul will leave behind, Kneeling as though in prayer. ** Seek, then, Pere Compain, on the Isle aux Coudres, Nor fear the rising gale, For Heaven will guide you through the angry flood, And it shall not prevail. PEHE lilWSSE. He will be waiting for you on the sands, Amid the morning gloom, To be your comrade, and with kindly hands Consign me to my tomb," He ceased, and left us, as though turned to stone, All motionless and still : And faintly fell his footsteps, as alone He slowly climbed the hill. Then we awoke, and all so wondrous seemed, His words so strange at best. We almost fancied we had slept and dreamed That he had been our guest. We turned unto our merriment anew, With some kind thoughts for him ; Yet as the hour of midnight nearer drew. And waxed the hearth fire dim, A silence fell upon us, and in fear We stopped and held our breath. As though more clearly through the gloom to hear The promised knell of death. PJ-.'RE BROSSE. 1 7 There had been somethiivj; in his f\ice that ni!j:ht That thrilled our iiearts with fear, An undefinable, mysterious h'ght, Which told us Heaven was near. He had a deeper lustre in his eyer,, His smile had seemed more bright, Till, looking in his face, all Paradise Seemed opened to our sight. Soon chimed the clock. And scarcely had it ceased, Than tolled the chapel bell, As though for some long-suffering soul released, Its slow funereal knell, And on its ebon wings the rising gale Swept landward from the sea, And mingled with the chapel bell's long wail Its own sad symphony. We found him lying lifeless, as he said, Before the altar, prone, Nor laid our sinful hands upon the dead. But left him there alone, f! i8 PJ^IiE BROSSE, And launched our frail canoe upon the tide, Not marvelling to behold Before our prow the billows fall aside, Like the Red Sea of old. On every hand the screaming waters flung Their great, white arms on high, And over all the thundering storm-clouds hung And battled in the sky. Yet fearless we sailed on, until when day Broke, panting, through the night, The fertile Isle aux Coudres before us lay, Its beach with breakers white. And there, upon that tempest-beaten strand, Waiting, Pere Compain stood And beckoned to us with uplifted hand Across the raging flood. No need to tell our errand, for that night P6re Brosse had sought his cell^ And told him all, then faded from his sight. Breathing a kind farewell. LORDRE DE BON TEMPS. WHEN Champlain with his faithful baud Came o'er the stormy wave To dwell within this lonely land, Their hearts were blithe as brave ; And Winter, by their mirth beguiled, Forgot his sterner mood; As by the prattling of a child A churl may be sul)dued. Among the company there came A dozen youths of rank, Who in their eager search for fame From no adventure shrank , But, with the lightness of their race That hardship laughs ru scorn. Pursued the pleasures of the chase 'Till night from early morn. i 1 { 1 ! V,'' 1. ~ . ■ B 1 B' Lii ' 1 1 1 20 L'OliDHE BE BON TEMPS. And soon their leader, full of mirth. And politic withal — Well knowing that no spot on earth Could hold them long in thrall, Unless into their company, Its duties and its sport, Were introduced the pageantry And etiquette of court — Enrolled them in a titled band, L Oi'dre de Bon 7ud, While the ivatchful ivorld ivas silent^ heeding not such childish loze, I poured forth for thee »iy heart-thoughts in a szaeet, unthinhing flood^ Like a hi) d that carols freely in the grove. •Hi And thou hcardst them, half unconscious of the import that they Iwrc, Till the years unlocked the chambers of th^ stainless, maiden heart And thou badest my songs be silent. They are silent ever- more, But their echoes from my soul will not depart. l\ Yet the love songs that I lilted in those by-gone childhood days, Surely, them thou wilt not silence, let them be a memory dear Of the hap^y days of childhood ivhen unchecked I sang thy praise, While with thee I looked to heaven and deemed it here. THREE SONNETS, THE MAIDEN. THE melody of birds is in licr voice. The lake is not more crystal than her eyes, In whose brown depths her soul still sleeping lies. With her soft curls the passionate zephyr toys, And whispers in her ear of coming joys. Upon her breast red rosebuds fall and rise. Kissing her snowy throat, and, lover-wise, Breathing forth sweetness till the fragrance cloys. (H Sometimes she thinks of love, but, oftener yet, Wooing but wearies her, and love's warm phrase Repels and frightens her. Then, like the sun At misty dawn, amid the fear and fret There rises in her heart at last some One, And all save love is banished by his rays. 58 THREE SONNETS. THE WIFE. There stands a jottage by a river side^ With rustic benches sloping eaves beneath, Amid a scene of mountain, stream and heath. A dainty garden, watered by the tide, On whose calm breast the queenly lilies ride. Is bright with many a purple pansy wreath. While here and there forbidden lion's teeth Uprear their golden crowns with stubborn pride. I See ! there she leans upon the little gate, Unchanged, save that her curls, once flowing free, Are closely coiled u]:)on her shapely head. And that her eyes look fcrth more thoughtfully. Hark to her sigh ! " Why tarries he so late ? " But mark her smile ! She hears his well-known tread. f THREE SONNETS. 59 THE MOTHER. Beneath the eaves there is another chair, And a bruised Hly lies upon the walk, With the bright drops still clinging to its stalk. Whose careless hand has dropped its treasure there? And whose small form does that frail settee bear? Whose are that wooden shepherdess and flock, That noble coach with steeds that never balk? And why the gate that tops ttie cottage-stair? I Ah ! he has now a rival for her love, A chu. by-cheeked, soft-fisted Don Juan, Who rules with iron hand in velvet glove Mother and sire, as only Baby can. See! there they romp, the mother and her boy. He on her shoulders perched and wild with joy. \w^ ^ tl LONG AGO. ' I * " THE sun was swimming in the purple tide, His golden locks far floating on the sea, When thou and I stole beachward, side by side, To say adieu and dream of joys to be. The ebbing \vaves were whispering to the strand Amid the rocks a tender, sweet good-bye — Ah ! Well that night could we two understand What bitter grief was in their ceaseless cry. M 9^- The salt wind blew across the rank marsh grass. And laid its chilling fingers on our pulse. Sea nettles lay in many a shapeless mass. Half hidden, in the garnet hills of dulse. The awkward crabs ran sideways from our path. And starfish sprawled face downward in the mud ; While, token of some bleak December's wrath, A wreck lay stranded high above the flood. ^ I LO^'G AGO. 6r Few were our words. Love speaks from heart to heart, Nor needs that rude inter])retcr the tongue. A iQ\N short hours and fate would bid us part, No more to stray tlie weedy rocks among. We dared not trust our bitter thoughts to speech, For speech had raised the lloodgates of our tears ; And so we walked in silence on the beach With the wild billows wailing in our ears. How beautiful thou wast ! Thy snowy gown, Whose rustle made sweet music, part revealed Thy perfect form. Thy thoughtful eyes and brown, Beneath their drooping lashes half concealed, Swam in a sea of tears. Thy tresses played Wild wanton with the wind, and kissed each cheek, That flushed and paled, till one had well nigh said ^J'hy very blood did think and love and speak. We sat within the shelter of the boat. That, buried m the sand for half its length, Before the black-browed storm no more would float Nor like a gull defy the tempest's strength. If \ ! ' '^ 62 LONG AGO. We spoke of pleasures past, of joys to be When we should meet again nor c. er part. I faltered forth my deathless love for chee, And in thy tearful silence read thy heart. ill We looked upon the setting of the sun ; We marked the summer twilight fade away ; We saw the star-worlds rising, one by one. And, stooping, kiss the surface of the bay. Then sitting in the moonlight, each by each, I bent and kissed away thy lingering tears ; While ever plunged the billows on the beach And sent their dreary cadence to our ears. The sun was swimming in the purple tide, His golden locks far floatin<^" on the sea. When I stole forth yestre'en and sat beside The stranded wreck to dream again of thee. Across my cheek I felt the marsh wind sweep. Still called the sea along the darkening shore. Again the changeless stars began to peep ; Naught save thyself had changed since days of yore. LOSO AGO. 63 ^i O ! happy period of my early youth . Vvlien Love was master, Reason but a slave, When friends seemed heroes, woman crystal truth, Success the certain portion of the brave : Come back, come back and give me ere I die The pure ideal of my life again ! In vain I plead. Time's snowy ashes lie Cold on the hearth-stone of my aged brain. (I, I HI • I AT CHATEAUGUAY. MEMORY gleams like a gem at night Through the gloom of to-day for me, Bringing dreams of a smnmer bright xVt Chatcauguay. Summer sleeps in the ripening corn, Sunlight glitters on wood and lea, Scent of flowers on the air is borne At Chateauguay. Swiftly rushes the river by, Through the lake to the far-off sea. Full of light as a maiden's eye, At Chateauguay. Stands a house by the river side, (Weeds upspring where the hearth should be), Only its tottering walls abide At Chateauguay. i AT CIIATEAiaVAY. 65 Birds are singing the live-long day, Trembling, stoopetli an aspen tree. Eager to hear what the wind will say At Chateaugiiay. Still the sunlight around me falls, Still in fancy I seem to see Two who stand on the crumbling walls At Chateauguay. Once more wanders a brown-eyed maid Up the rough, country road with me, Swinging her hat by its slender braid, At Chateauguay. Once for a moment more we stay Under the tattling aspen tree- Birds are sweetly lilting to-day At Chateauguay. Tree, thou art dear for that sweet tryst, Dear, for the maiden's sake, to me Is each spot that her feet have kissed At Chateauguay. -^ A BIRTHDAY. FIFTEEN years have come and gone, Maiden since thy large, brown eyes Opened first and looked upon Wintry English skie^ Fifteen treasure ships they were, Sailing on life's sunlit sea, Bearing frankincense and myrrh Sent from heaven to thee : • I Fifteen pilgrims, old and gray. Mounted upon moments fleet, Who have seen thee but to lay Pleasm'e at thy feet : Fifteen maids who, like a queen, Decked thee. Sweet, with beauty rare, Till the world hath never seen Maiden half so fair. ft A liiirniuAY. And a sixteenth year to-dav Brings a wreath of budding hours, Saying : '' Let not one decay ; All must grow to flowers." All have not the self-same needs ; Loving smiles are life to some, Others but by kindly deeds To perfection come. Some are quickened by a tear, Some by hopes and pleasures dead ; Take them, Bright Eyes, without fear, God is overhead. 67 if Ml !i i T//F. LOVERS. WiTFF silken tresses floating free, A dark-eyed maiden wanders Alone beside the murmuring sea, And of her lover ponders. The fisher boats at anchor ride, The summer moon is waking ; Its beams of silver on the tide In rippHng flakes are breaking. The golden sands in murmurs speak, Her dainty foot that presses, The salt sea wind upon her cheek Is lavish of caresses. Afar upon a winding stream A youth is softly rowing ; Above his head the star-worlds gleam, And bright the moon is glowing. ;j '•■ S|K, Tin: LovKiis. The trees are swaying to and fro, Their shadowy boughs extending, And leaf-ljorn music, sweet and low, Is with the night-wind blelldin<^ 69 Far off, where meadows kiss the streatn, A golden Hght is winking : Upon the waves its soft rays gleam. From crest to hollow sinkin<^ Upon the youth and maiden's heart The lamp of love is shining, Though distance holds them both apart. Their souls are intertwining. I I *i I i TJJi: SEA SHELL. > 'np^is a dainty shell, 'tis a fragile shell X At my feet that the wild '-;aves threw, And I send it thee, that its lips may tell In thine ear that my heart is true. It will tell thee how by the sunlit sea Pass the hours we were wont to share. On its pearl-pink lips is a kiss for thee That my own loving lips placed there. In a lady's hand it will snugly lie. 'Tis as thin as a red rose-leaf, Yet it holds the seagull's sorrowing ciy, And the roar of the tide-lashed reef. In its ivory cave, though the mighty sea May find room, and to spare, to move, Yet this same sea shell that I send to thee Is too small to contain my love. A JANUARY DAY. KING Winter sleeps. His daughter, Spring, His sceptre steals away, And, laughing, bids fair Nature bring For once a perfect day. Bright glows the sun in azure skies, And balmy blows the breeze, On gayer wing the sparrow flies. And softly sway the trees. The seasons run like some great stream That to the ocean flows, The waves that here in sunshine gleam Bound there in mountain snows : And, as where darkling waters steal, Drear walls of rock between, Yet in their depths a gem reveal That glows with sunny sheen. BMIV^P 'If i ' n It I 72 A JAJVUAJiY DAY. So in this blustering month that bears The banner of the year, Such days as this with bahiiy airs Amid the storms appear. It is but meet that thy birthday Should op3n bright and warm, And into darkness fade away Without a cloud or storm. I ih lit 1 . ,. II I REMEMBRANCE. ALONE I pace the path we walked last year, Dost thou remember it ? Then ever}'where The wheat-fields shimmered in the summer glare, But now the moonbeams sparkle, silver clear, On swollen stj cam and meadows dun and drear, While, with the myriad blossoms that they bear. The cherry trees perfume the evening air. And gaunt and cold the ruined house stands near. The aspens whisper to the passing breeze, I hear the night-hawk's scream, the pipe of frogs, The baying of the distant village dogs, The lapping waves, the rustle of the trees. And every sound is musical to me, For every sound is a sweet song jf thee. l: i-i: IN ABSENCE, "1 i 1 % 1 lij ^ 11 Sleep, dearest, sleep beside the murmuring sea ; Sleep, dearest, sleep, and briglit dreams compass thee. My sleepless thoughts a guard of love shall be Around thy couch and bid thee dream of me. Sleep, Bright Eyes, sleep. Sleep, dearest, sleep, the slumber of the pure ; Sleep, dearest, sleep, in angels' care secure. Evil itself thy beauty would allure To cease from ill and make thy joyance sure. Sleep, Bright Eyes, sleep. Sleep, dearest, sleep ; in slumber thou art mine ; Sleep, dearest, sleep ; our souls still intertwine. Yon radiant star that on thy couch doth shine Bears from my lips a kiss to lay on thine. Sleep, Bright Eyes, sleep. % wffti^l ipgyiiiiiifipiiiiP LOVE GUIDES US, T OVE guides our bark, and we hr.ve naught to fear. J~-/ We are the world ourselves, and as we ghde Upon the stream of life, if Love but steer, We care not how tempestuous the tide. Thy head leans on my shoulder, and my arm Is round thee clasped. Thine eyes upturn to mine, So full of faith the future feels their charm Blunting Fate's dart that threatens joy of thine. O Love ! thy tresses wind about my sense, Thy glances melt my soul, and thy ripe lips Seem morning roses, red and dewy, whence The bee of love a draught of nectar sips. Float on, float on upon the crystal tide. Our company these snowy swans that seem Our mirrored souls, pure love personified- Float on, nor ever waken from our dream. » 1"i II THE LOVER'S APPEAL, 5* TELL me when you'll wed me ? Swedes ^, name tlie dav: Hope has well nigh tied me, Joy has slipped away. Dearest, why diis strange delay? Must I sigh till we are gray ? With a smile, " Wait awhile, We are young," you say. Do you know the reason Why the nightingale 'ilirough the drear night season Pipes her tuneful tale ? She was once, like you, a maid, THE LOVER'S APPEAL. M'ho her wedding da) delayed, And her swain, All in vain, For her favor prayed. She had been a maiden Fair to look iipon^ Sweet as breezes laden With the scent of dawn. But her lover prayed that she Rest not till eternity. Heavem heard, And this bird She was doomed to be. Can you read the moral, Of this mournful tale ? Sweetheart, if we quarrel, To a nightingale I will change you, though I weep. You shall sing and never sleep. With the owl You shall prowl Where the shades lie deep. 77 '- it' 7^ ^//A' LOVE IV S APPEAL. Tell me when you'll marry ; Darling, name the day : Do not longer tarry, Life slips flist away. Do not, like the nightingale, Live your harshness to bewail. At your feet I entreat — . Let my love prevail. I OTHER POEMS. ; 11 Hi ■ ■ THE SPIRIT WIFE. THE SACRIFICE. T^ ABni Ben Horad was a learned n an, IV Of gentle ways, who taught a pious flock, So small, at morn and eve :he sexton ran From door to door, an(J .vith a triple kno( k Summoned the faithful who were dwelling there 'lo kneel and seek the Lord in humble pra>er. The sexton had a daughter, than whom dreamed Man fairer none, and from whose great, dark eyes An angel soul in spotless radiance beamed, As shines a star from out the midnight skies. She loved the Rabbi with a maid's first love : He worshipped her well nigh like God above, 6 AS ,<\>. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^g/^% /^^' / C/j 1.0 I.I JfflM 112.5 12.2 L25 i 1.4 1.6 ^ ^ p* <^ /a vl '-^F-^ ^% ^i ;> ^. /S ^ w Hiotographic Sciences Corporation <^ ^^ .^i s \ ''S) m ■^ 4f> 6^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (7T6) 6'2-4503 ^ r^N^^ ^ K % i/l \ ^ SSP 82 THE SPIRIT WIFE. I! Whene'er by mortal sickness sorely pressed One of the little congregation lay, I'he sexton's mallet to the flock expressed With its sad knock his woe, and bade them pray ; And oft their intercession with the Lord Prev^ailed, and He the inv^alid restored. Late, late one night the sexton sought to sleep, But ere he sleot himthought he heard a sound That caused his heart to throb, his flesh to creep The ghostly knocking of his daily round— And, trembling, to his child he cried in fear : " Some one is dying, daughter, dost thou hear ? " She heard the sound and answered with a cry, Love teaching her • " Oh ! it is he, mine own : Rabbi Ben Horad is about to die — Oh ! father, haste ! life may not yet have flown ; Bid all our people pray, that God may hear, And ia His mercy turn a willing ear. I THE S PI HIT WIFE. 83 All through the night the faithful people prayed That their belov^'d Rabbi still might live ; And by their prayers the hand of death was stayed, Yet could their prayers no greater favor give; And so he lingered, while she watched tlie strife, With sir.king heart, waged between death and life. Then, as a last resort, from door to door Tiie young men went, that all who wished might give Some space of time out of their own life's store, That yielded to the Rabbi he might live. Some gave a year, a month a week, a day, But wheresoe'r they went none said them nay. At last they sought the maid and gravely asked : " What wilt thou give,. O maiden ? " and she cried— By his sad plight her deathless love unmasked— " Oh ! gladly for his sake I would have died : Take all my life and give it unto him." They wrote, but saw not, for their eyes were dim. 'si 84 THE SPIRIT WIFE. And lo ! the Rabbi lived ; but ere the earth Had thrice upturned its face to greet the sun, Huslied was the Httle congregation's mirth, For the sweet maiden's life its coarse had run ; And, decked with flowers, they bore her to her grave, He sobbing by whom she had died to save. THE SPIRIT SONG. Chaste^xed by grief, Ben Horad holier grew, And, uncomplaining, toiled from day to day. His sad, sweet smile his loving flock well knew, His kindly voice their sorrows charmed away; Yet, thougli he bowed before his iMaster's wifl, His heart was sad, for he was human still. By night or day, wherever he might stray. Through bustling city streets or lonely lane. One form he ever saw — a maiden gay ; One voice he heard— a soft, melodious strain : And oh ! the loneliness, to see and hear. Yet lack the tender touch of one so dear ! THE SPIRIT WfFE. §5 Long as he read into the silent night, The winking stars soft peeping in his room, While at his hand the dreamy, lambent hght Just lit his book and left all else in gloom. His study walls evanished, and in mist He saw the maid whose dead lips once he kissed : Yet dead no more, but his dear spirit wife. And still in heaven she sang the same glad strain She would have sung on earth had not her life Been given to him that he might live again, And as she sang he wept : " Ah ! woe is me, Who robbed her of her sweet futurity." There came a day when on the Rabbi's ears Fell the low moans of one in mortal pain. Slowly they died, as though dissolved in tears, While a weak infant's wail took up the strain. Sadly Ben Horad smiled, and raised his head : "She has been spared that agony," he said. 86 THE SPIRIT WIFE. Then all his sorrow died ; but not for long, For soon again the spirit voice he heard, Crof.ning all day a little cradle song, With happiness and love in every word. And as she sang he wept : " Ah ! woe is me, Who robbed her of her sweet maternity." Mi: Mr. i Once more he heard her moans, and once a^-ain Heard the young mother crooning o'er her child. And then came no more sorrow in the strain, Which had there been might him have reconciled, But as she sang he wept : "Ah ! woe is me Who robbed her of her sweet maturity." And still he read the Talmud, day and night, And still the years slipped by on noiseless wing. Then one day as he studied, lo ! the sprite, Till then long silent, recommenced to sinsr He sighed : " To-day she feasts her eldest boy, And I have robbed my darling of this joy." THE SPIRIT WIFE. 87 Again was silence, and again there fell Upon the Rabbi's ears the sweet refrain, With the glad tumult of a marriage bell, Now rising like a bird, now low again. " Her daughter weds," he said, '' Ah ! woe is me, Who robbed her of her sweet maternity." Year after year he lived, and children died Of age, whom he had dandled, until he, Worn with his grief, for death's oblivion sighed 3 But still he heard the same sweet melody, And could not die until the singing ceased. For by her life had his life been increased. Long flashed the lamp upon the sacred page, [pane, Long peeped the star-worlds through the orioled Long nightly, sat the white-haired, saintly sage And listened till at last the happy strain Died into ''iscord. *' God be thanked," he said- Next day they found him, smiling now— but dead. I ill R HO DOPE'S SHOE. IN Egypt Rhodope was born, And lived afar from king and court ; No jewels did the maid adorn ; She crowned herself with flowers in sport. Her hair was Hke a summer night, Her eyes like stars that twinkle low, Her voice like soft winds in their flight, When through the tremulous leaves they blow. She dwelt beside the sacred Nile, And in its waters every day. With but the sun to gaze and smile, ; Like any nymph was wont to play. While in the limpid stream she played ' One day, an eagle cleft the blue. And, hovering o'er the sporting maid, Upon the bank espied her shoe. 1^^ i It 110 DOPE'S SHOE, Loth to forget so sweet a sight, And lest his memory should grow dim, He sought tlie earth with sudden flight, And bore the shoe aloft with him. 89 He bore it far, and let it fall In the king's jmlace, where next d;xy So lily-frail, so strangely small, Within the palace-court it lay. The king was walking, wrapped in thought, Throughout his palace, up and down : Him had his councillors besought With some fair maid to share his crown. And he had searched the wide world through To find a princess he could love, Yet all in vain he sought to woo, His heart there was not one could move. Into the palace-court he went, Still wondering whom to make his bride, And as he strolled, eyes earthward bent. The wondrous tiny shoe he spied. ^^^ 1:1 m 1^1 90 lillO DOPE'S SHOE, Hi As leaps the sun to tropic skies, So sprang his heart unto its choice, Love sparkled brightly in his eyes, And thrilled triunii)hant in his voice. *' You bid me wed, I could not do. For lack of love, your bidding, Sirs. But find the maid who wore this shoe. And I will make my kingdom hers." They searched the palace from the ground Up to the towers, but in vain ; Nowhere was maiden to be found To own the shoe and share the reign. Then came a lad, who told in awe How just at dawn an eagle flew Above the town, and from its claw Dropped to the palace-yard the shoe. The wise men stroked their beards, and said : '' The gods have surely done this thing, That our beloved lord may wed A maiden meet for such a king." 1 / JiiioDorirs snoE. Then far and wide the heralds rode To find the king's God-chosen bride ; They chanced on Rhodope's abode, The overflowing Nile beside. She stood before the heralds twain, She fitted on the tiny shoe, And claimed it for her own again, And not till then their errand knew. The richest robes they offered her. But she refused them : " If my king In my coarse garb will deem me fliir, Then only will I take his ring," Before the king the maid they brought, And at his feet she bent the knee ; He gently raised her : " Nay, kneel not, O sweetheart ! I should kneel to thee, " Fair as a poet's dream thou art. Purer than lilies— Oh ! mine own, Since thou has won thy monarch's heart, 'Tis meet that thou shouldst share his throne." 91 . , ■! pa HIIODOI>K\^ SHOE, The Wise men stroked their beards and said : ''The gods have surely done this thing." Then Rhodope the fair was wed, And ruled all Egypt with the king. nOPE AND DESPAIR, \/ou love file sun and ihe languid breeze I That gently kisses die rosebud's lips, And deliglit to see Hovv^ the dainty bee, Stilling his gauze-winged melodies Into the lily's chalice dips. I love the wind that unceasing roars, While cringe the trees from its wrath in vain, And the lightning-flash, And the thunder-crash, And skies, from whose Erebus depths outpours In slanting drifts the autumnal rain. ■-■I ,1:1 94 HOPE AND DESPAf/i. You sigh to hnd that tlie time is liere When leaves arefoHing from hush and tree ; Wlicn the flo\verets sweet Die beneath our feet, And feebly tetters the dying year Into the mists of eternity. To me the autumn is never drear, It bears the glory of hopes fulfilled. Though the flowers l3e dead, There are seeds instead, That, with the spring of the davvning year, With life will find all their being thrilled. You tread the wood, and the wind behold Tear down the leaves from the crackling bough Till they make a pall, As they thickly fall, To hide dead flowers. The air seems cold, No summer gladdens the forest now. HOPE AND DESPATR. 95 I tread the maze of the clianging wood, And though no light through the maples plays, Yet they glow each one, Like a rose-red sun, And drop their leaves, like a glittering flood Of warm sunbeams, in the woodland ways. -. oor human heart, in the year of life All seasons are, and it rests witii thee To enjoy them all, Or to drajje a pall 0"er withered hopes, and to be at strife With things that are, and no brightness see. CARLOTTA. POOR, lone CarloLta, Mexico's mad Queen, Babbling of him, amid thy vacant halls, Whose ears have long been heedless of thy calls \ Sad monument of pomp that once hath been, Thy staring eyes mark ever the same scene Of levelled muskets, and a corpse which falls, Dabbled in blood, beneath the city walls — Though twenty years have rolled their tides between. Not of this world thy vengeance ! They have passed, Traitor and victim, to the shadow -land. Not of this world tliy joy ; but, when at last Reason retur s in Paradise, its hand Shall join the shattered links of thi.-ught again, Save those that form this interval of pain. EQUALITY. MAD fools ! To tliink that men can be Made equal all, when God Made one well nigh divinity And one a soulless clod. Nowhere in Nature can we find Things equal, save in death, One man must rule with thoughtful mind, Ow^ serve with panting breath. The maples spread their foliage green To shade the grass below, Hills rise the lowly vales between Or streams would never flow. A million creatures find a home Within a droplet's sphere, And giants through the woodlands roam While quakes the land in fear. If I I ! f i 98 EQUALITY. A tiny fall in music breaks Against the mountain's base, While roars an avalanche and shakes The whole world in its race. One must be weak and one be stron- One huge, another small, To help this teeming world along, And make a home for all. ifi Equality is death, not life, In Nature and with man, And progress is but upward strife With some on^- in the van. LA CHINE. V/^^u named it better than 3^011 knew I Who called yon little town Lachine, Though through the lapse of years between The then and now, men jeered at you. You thought by it to find a way, Through voiceful woods and shimmering lakes, To where the calm Pacific breaks On weedy ledges at Cathay. In fancy you beheld yon tide Upbear a thousand argosies, Whose spicy odors filled the breeze, And floated far on every side. ' Twas but a wish-born dream, men said. And sneered that you were so unwise. Blind scoffers ! Would that they could rise A it^Y short moments from the dead. ii \ll^ 100 LACUINE. f H in To see how, through the power of man, Your vision is no more a dream, And learn that tliis majestic stream Is now the highway to Japan ! From year to year, with dauntless strides. O'er fertile plains your sons have pressed, Portaging from the East to West, Between the two great ocean tides. And in their trail they drew a chain Of steel across the virgin land, Uniting with this slender band The eastern and the western main. Where once the bison roamed, and woke The heavens with his thunderous tread, The tireless engine speeds instead, And tosses high its plumes of smoke. Like spider in a web, it creeps On filmy bridge, o'er sparkling streams, Or chasms where the sunlight gleams Part-way, and dies amid the deeps. It scales the rugged, snow-clad peaks, And looks afar on East and West, Then, like an eagle from its nest, Darts down, and through the valley shrieks. It was not formed by Nature's hand, This sun-ward highway to Japan ; O'er mountain-range and prairie, man Has forced the path his genius planned. And Commerce, universal king. Has followed with unnumbered needs, And scatters everywhere the seeds Of towns that in a night upspring. In tumult strange the air abounds. The whirr of birds is dying out. The swart mechanic's lusty shout Amid the clang of iron sounds. And streams, that once unbroken ran, Now on their outspread scroll reveal. Written by many a sliding keel, The lordly signature of man lOI n, m DE SA LABERRY A T CHA TEA UG UA V. T TT T^E are scarcely one to seven, V V But oui" cause is just ; • Help us in our trial, heaven ! Keep the ford we must. Swiftly through the reeds and rushes Pours the Outarde flood, Turned by sunset's rosy flushes To a stream of blood. Sprinkled with the hues of slaughter, Wave the forest troes Gently o'er the sparkling water. In the autumn breeze. Strange that Nature should remind us Of the coming fight ! Let it come — it will but find us Battling for the right. DE SA LA BERR Y AT CIL I TEA UG UA Y. Never shall the land that gave us Birth be held a thrall: Ere the Stars and Stripes enslave us, Death shall have us all ! 103 Quickly in this silent dingle Raise the al^afis, Near where Outarde waters mingle With the Chateauguay. Hasten, Night, across the meadows, Kiss the streams to sleep, Wrap us in thy cloak of shadows, Bid the stars not peep. Night has passed; the birds, awaking. Greet the dawning day. Wherefore are our foemen making Such a long delay ? Hark ! at last they come ; now, steady ! Wait the signal gun. When I fire, fire you. Now ! ready? Fire ! Ah ! lads, well done ! i f I i| I.l ' r 14 104 J^E SALABEIiliV AT CIIATEAUGUAY. Like a vaulted wave that shatters On a rocky coast, And in mist and salt spray scatters, Breaks the mighty host. Like the wave, that swift returning Bursts upon the strand, Falls the foe, with hatred burning, On our little band. We are scarcely one to seven, But our cause is just ; Help us in our trial, heaven ! Keep the ford we must. Fall the shot-clipped leaves about us Like the summer rain ; Charge the bitter foes to rout us Ever and again. Quarter never asked nor given, Still we beat them back. Though our slender ranks are riven With each fierce attack. ; ) > DE SALAUEHU Y AT CUA TEA UOUA Y. Long the fearful battle rages, Death his harvest reaps — He will Hve in history's pages In the grave who sleeps. Round us, stronger, ever stronger, Sweeps the hostile horde j If the strife continue longer, We shall lose the ford. We are scarcely one to seven, But our cause is just ; Help us in our trial, heaven ! Keep the ford we w?/j/ / Hope ! The fox, when worn with running. Subtlety must use: Let us strive to win by cunning What by force we lose. Bugler, seek the forest border Whence our friends should come; For attack, sound loud the order, Beat upon the drum. .- „^^ 105 ill m ! 1 06 n/'j sA LA ni:nn y a t ciia t/ja va ua r. So our foes may think in error That our friends are nigh, And, disturbed by sudden terror, From the conflict fly. Through the wood the bugler dashes, Far beyond the fray — While the deadly musket flashes Point him on his way, Faintly o'er the din of battle, On the ear there fall From afar a drum's sharp rattle, And a bugle call. Through the forest, drawing nearer, Ring the bugle notes, And the drum-beat, quicker, clearer. On the calm air floats. Cheer 1 my lads, and cease from firing, Sheathe the blood-stained sword, For our foemen are retiring — We have kept the ford. TENNYSON, THE noble lion groweth old, The weiglit of years his eyesight dims, And strength deserts his migiity limbs, His once warm blood runs slow and cold. The sunlight of another day Slants through the jungle's tangled mass; He marks the shadows, but, alas ! Sees not the sun among them jtlay. His regal head lies buried deep Between his paws— his reign is o'er— His great voice stirs the world no more, And round his lair the jackals creep. They scent their prey, and, with the joy Of meaner natures, far and wide From deep obscurity they glide, The dying monarch to annoy. io8 TENNYSON. With naked fangs they circle round, A"d fiercely snarl, until once more The thicket quivers at his roar, And all the:/ paltry yelps are drowned. The woodland with his voice is thrilled, Though hope abandoned mars the strain But echoes cease, and then again With jackal barks the air is filled. "> Though dying, he is royal yet- Even now, earth doth not hold his peer Bark, jackals, bark ! ere dies the year The world your tumult will forget. i I AT RAINBOW LAKE. THERE is a spot, far from the world's uproar, Amid great mountains, Where softly sleeps a lake, to whose still shore Steal silvery fountains. That hide beneath the leafy underwood, And blend their voices with the solitude. Save where the beaver-meadow's olive sheen In sunlight glimmers, On every side, a mass of waving green, The forest shimmers And oft re-echoes with the black bear's tread, l^hat sil mces the song birds overhead. In' no AT RAINBOW LAKE. Here thickly droops the moss from patriarch trees, And loons fly wailing. Here king-birds' screams come hoarsely down the breeze And hawks are sailing Above the trees. Here Nature dwells alone, Of man unknowing, and to man unknown. i Smiling, she rises when the morning air, The dawn just breaking. Bids the still woodlands for the day prepare, And Life, awaking, Welcomes the Sun, whose bride, the Morn, is kissed And, blushing, lays aside her veil of mist. Here Nature with each passing hour reveals Peculiar graces : At noonday she grows languid, and then steals To shady places, And revels in their coolness, at her feet A stream, that fills with music her retreat. AT RAINBOW LAKE. At eve she comes, and, blushing like a maid, Unrobes in shadows. Bathes in the lake, and wanders through the glade And o'er the meadows. From her dank locks, wherever she doth pass, The diamond dew-drops dripping to the grass. And then she sleeps ; when o'er the lake's calm tide The Moon comes stealing, And draws from her the veil of night aside, Her charms revealing. While silent stars keep ceaseless watch above, And all the earth breathes peace and rest and love. Ill r4 THE RACE. i: A GIRLISH voice like a silver bell Rang over the sparkling tide, "A race ! a race !" She was under the trees by the river-side, Down from whose boughs dark shadows fell, And hid her face. Four skiffs are out on the moonlit stream. And tiieir oars like bars -f silver gleam, As they dip and flash and kiss the river, As swallows do, till the moonbeams quiver. Then the ripples die, And the girlish cry Floats gaily again to the summer sky. THE RACE. "Ready? Go!" As the arrow springs from the straightened bow, The skiffs dart off for the distant goal : The oars are bent Hke blades of -teel, And the hissing waters, cleft in twain, Curl away astern in a feathery train, While girlish laughter, peal on peal, Rings over the river and over the shore, And from the inland the echoes roll. We hear the mysterious voice again. " We have won ! we have won I Will you race once more ?" "3 t The water drips in golden rain From the blade of the resting oar. Again we take our place, and again That clear voice wakes the shore : " Go ! " And we bend to our oars onr : more. And banks fly past, till the gleaming meadows Give place to the woods and their gloomy shadows. 8 il > I ! !■ liHI 114 THE RACE. Our skiff is steered by skilful ho -ids, Its rowers' arms are strong, But muscles are not iron bands To bear such conflict long. And hearts beat hard, and breath comes fast. And cheeks too hotly burn^ Before the welcome goal is passed — The rest two lengths astern. The evening air is growing chill, The moon is sinking low : The race is ours — across the wave We call, but nothing answers save The winds that gently blow, " Come race again." But all in vain — The silvery voice is still. MV TREASURE, ii ^ ^ -HAT do you gather?" the maiden said, Shaking her siinht curls at me — w '' See, these flowers I pkicked are dead, Ah! misery >» '•' What do you gather?" the mi'^er said, CHnking his gold, as he spoke to me— " I cannot sleep at night for dread Of thieves," said he. " What do you gather ? " the dreamer said, '' I dream dreams of what is to be ; Daylight comes, and my dreams are fled. Ah ! woe is me." '' What do you gather?" the young man said— "I seek fame for eternity, Toiling on while the world's abed, Alone,'' said he. i( I ii6 MY TREASURE. '' VVhat do I gather?" I laughing said, " Nothing at all save memory, Sweet as flowers, but never dead, Like thine, Rosie." " I have no fear of thieves." I said, ^' Daylight kills not my reverie, Fame will fmd I am snug abed, That comes to me." ** The past is my treasure, friends," I said, " Time but adds to my treasury, Happy moments are never fled Away from me." '' All one needs to be rich," I said, " Is to live that his past shall be Sweet in his thoughts, as a wild rose red, Eternally." ! WELCOMING THE NEW YEAR. WE gathered, a jovial party, Together on New Year's eve, To welcome the coming monarch And to see the old one leave. We chatted around the fireside, And wondered what time would bring : We had not a tear for the parting year. But longed for the coming king. For youth reaches ever forward, And drops from its eager clasp The realized gifts of fortune, Some phantom of hope to grasp. Soon a maiden spoke of the custom. Now lapsed in this age of prose, To open the door for the New Year The instant the Old Year goes ; ii8 WELCOMING TUK NEW YEAR. Then, leaving the door wide open, To stand in the silent street And, with a generous *' welcome," The entering guest to greet. It suited our youthful fancy. And, when the glad chimes began. From our cosy nook by the fireside* Down into the street we ran. And, far and near, we all could hear The great bells ringing out the year, And, as they tolled, the music rolled, Hoarse-sounding, over town and wold. "The year is dead," Gros Bourdon said, The clanging echoes quivering fled. And, far and wide, on every side, The bells to one another cried. The mountain woke, and from its cloak Shook off the echoes, stroke for stroke. Then silence fell on hill and bell, And echoes ceased to sink and swell. WELCOMING Til /'J XEW YEAH. 119 Standing beside the door wide open thrown, Her voice more musical than any bird's, And with a winning sweetness all its own, Our Queen thus winged her joyous thoughts with words : " Ring out, bells, ring ! Sing, mountain, sing ! The king is dead, long live the king ! Now fast, now slow ; now loud, now low. Send out your chimes across the snow. " Old Year, adieu ; welcome the New, The door stands open here for you. Come in, come in, the bells begin To falter in their merry din." Then, as the great bells ceased to swing, two broke A silver coin, for luck in days to come. And though no tender words of love they spoke. Yet hearts speak best when most the lips are dumb. A GREATER THAN HE, BABY sits upon tlie floor, Baby's scarce a twelvemonth old; Baby laughs, and ^oo-goos o'er Memories how a babe of yore Humbled Glooskap bold. I Glooskap was a man of might, Skilled in magic, huge of limb ; Giant, wizard, goblin, sprite. Ghost, witch, devil, imp of night All had fled from him. . Then he questioned : '' Can there be Further labors to be done ? Breathes there one to equal me, Who before me will not flee ? " Quoth a squaw : '' Yes, one." rn'fiiiiT A GliHATKH THAN HE. ** Name him," angry Glooskap cried, '' Bahy," said siic, " And be warned— If you meddle, woe betide All your glory, all your pride ! For you will be scorned." Baby sat upon the ground. Harming none, and sucked his thumb, Gazing with a look profound Upon Glooskap and around, Solon-wise, Sphinx-dumb. Glooskap never married was, So he thought, like all his kind, That he knew the nursery laws Wholly, and with ease could cause Service prompt and blind. 121 Sweetly, the magician smiled. Like the summer sun, and said : '' Hither, Baby." But the child, By the sweet smile unbeguiled. Only shook his head. 122 A GREATER THAN HE. Like a bird anioni;- tlic trees, Singing, Glooskap spake onxe more : Bal)y listened to the glees, Sucked bis tbnnib, and sat at f\asc Still upon tbe lloor. Tbundering, tbe magician spoke : " Hitber, l^aby, I command !" Baby stirred not, only broke Into wailings tbat awoke All tbe desert land. Mystic song and magic spoil, Fit to raise tbe very dead. Fit to rule tbe imps tbat dwell In tbe deepest de[)tbs of Hell, Glooskap sang and said. All was vain. Upon tbe floor Baby sat, and beard eacb lay, Listened close, and called for more, Wben eacb mystic song was o'er, But did not obey. I vl GREATER THAN UE. 123 Then tlie ])afi1{Hl warrioi* wept ; And tlic baby in dcliglit, Sitting where a sunbeam slept, Lauglied and crowed, and crowing kepi, Till his foe took llight. f n II LIFE IN- NA TURE, LIFE grows not more nor less ; it is but force And only changes ; Expended here, it takes another course, And ever ranges Throughout this circling universe of ours, Now quickening man, now in his grave-grown flowers. Yet dwells life not alone in man and beast And budding flowers. It lurks in all things, from the very least Gleam in dark bowers Of the great sun, through stones, and sea, and air, Up to ourselves, in Nature everywhere. LIFE IN NATURE. Life differs from the soul. Tliis is beyond The realms of science ; God and mankind it joins in closest bond, And bids defiance To Death and Change. By faith alone confessed, It dwells within our bodies as a guest. The germ of life sleeps in the aged h'Us And stately rivers, And wakes into the life our hearts that thrills And in leaves quivers. The universe is one great reservoir From which man draws of thinking life his store. And, therefore, is it that the weary brain, That seeks communion With Nature in her haunts, finds strength again In that close union : She is our mother and the mind distressed Drinks a new draught oi life at lier loved breast. 125 ;,i! 11 ili |ti if! WINTER AND SUMMER. COME Winter, merry Winter, Rejoice while yet you may, For nearer, ever nearer, Fair Summer draws each day. And soon the tiny snowdrops Shall waken from their sleep, And, mossy banks from under, The modest violets peep. The apple trees shall scatter Their buds at Summer's feet, And with their fragrant odors Make every zephyr sweet ; While Nature, of wild roses. And lilies frail and white. Shall make a wreath for Summer, And crown her with delight. WINTER AND SUMMER. Fortli from the smiling heavens Shall fall the gentle rain, The earth shall feel her presence And welcome her with grain ; The birds shall come and twitter, And build amid the boughs, So Winter, merry Winter, While yet you may, carouse. 127 We love you, merry Winter, You and the joys you bring. And loud and long your praises Throughout the world we sing j But Summer, gentle Summer, Comes shyly through the glade, And draws all hearts to love her. So fair is she arrayed. We love the merry sleighing, The swinging snow shoe tramp. While in the clear, cold heavens The calm moon holds her lamp, 128 WTNTEIi AND SUMMER. We love the breathless coasting, The skating and the games Played amid shouts of laughter, Around the hearth-fire flames. I i! But Summer, winsome Summer, Hold^ greater stores of bliss, When all the land awakens, And blossoms at her kiss j We soon shall feel her presence. And breathe her perfumed breath, llien, Winter, dear old Winter, We will not i. lourn your death. DAUNTLESS. So he is dead. A strange, sad story clings About the memory of this mindless man ; A tale that strips war's ti.sel off, and brings Its horrors out, as only history can. Within a peaceful town he dwelt in youth, His sister's hero and his mother's pride — The soul of honor, the abode of truth, Beloved and reverenced on every side. He had a sweetheart, lovely as the day, A gentle maid, who knew not half his worth, Who loved the sunshine, and who shrank away . From sorrow, and forever followed mirth. They were hut young, and hope's mirage upreared In their warm hearts its rosy palaces ; They deemed them real, and longing, only feared Life was too short for all the promised bliss. . i ''l!i |i>ii ' •i = iJ ! . i 130 DAUNTLESS. And then came war, blood-spattered, cruel as hell, And clamored with its iron voice for life — Mother and sister and the weddinjLi-bell The hero left, and hastened to the strife. In vain he struck for liberty, and fell A captive, in his earliest affray ; Then, threatening death fierce Haynau bade him tell Where and how strong the patriot forces lay. " I will not tell,-' he cried, with eyes aflame, '•' Do what thou wilt with me, I will not bring Doom to my land, and soil my honored name : From these sealed lips thou shalt no secret wring." His captor only laughed. " He croweth well. Go, bring his mother and his sister here, And they shall die, if he refuse to tell !" The hero answered not, but paled with fear. The brutal soldiers to the brutish court Dragged the weak women, and they stood o'er- awed, Each to the other clinging for support, And praying in her misery to God. it. >> DAUNTLESS. The fell decree the shrinking creatures heard, And long in vain essayed to make reply For their weak speech could find no fitting word To bear the burden of their agony. Tears came at last. The brutal Haynau smiled But all too soon. Weeping, the mother said • '' Be not thy country's traitor, oh ! my child ! Too old am I the loss of life to dread." Then spake the sister : - Brother mine, be brave ! Life hath no charms, if with dishonor bought • Thmk not of us, our bleeding country save- Life is so short at best, death matters nau^dit " The hero made no answer, but he drove His nails into his palms, and choked for breath • His captor bade the soldiery remove The noble women-and they went to death. '' He hath a sweetheart," Haynau said again : " Go, bring her hither ; " and they brought her there, Weeping with fear, and wailing low with pain, Amid the golden ringlets of her hair. ^31 i - 132 J) A UXTLESS, Then from the eartli she si)rang, frenzied with fea'*, Into her lover's arms, and kissed his cheek, And strok'd his hair, and called him " love" and ''dear," And prayed him for her sake to yield and speak. He thrust her from him, clasped her yielding form In his lithe arms again, and then once more Repulsed her gently, and the deadly storm That raged within him smote him to the floor. Groping, he rose and spoke. None knew his voice : It sounded as though coming from a tomb. " Oh ! darling, it must be — I have no choice — Thou would'st not have me seal my country's doom? '■ Haynau made sign. " Away with her," he cried. They seized their prey, but life to her was sweet, And, bounding from the soldiers at her side, Screaming she crouched; and clasped her lover's feet. '' Oh ! for the love you b ^ar me, save my life ! Tell what he asks, and we will fly this place Into some unknown land, where all this strife Shall be forgotten in love's sweet embrace." DA UNTLESS. ^ZZ >» He made no answer save by bending low, And kissing her damp brow. I'hey raised their prize, And bore her to the door, as pale as snow. With all her soul outwelling from her eyes. But here she turned, calm in her death dospair, And iu a voice that trembled with its hate, " My dying curse be on you everywhere, I False love," she cried, " who send me to my fate." There was a silence, then a fusilade Of musketry, a woman's scream and moan, Then silence. That was all, and in the shade Of night the hero laughed. Reason had flow/i. FTi 'i \ i I i A CHILD'S KISS, SWEET is the maiden's kiss that tells The secret of her heart ; Holy the wife's — yet in them dwells Of earthliness a part ; While in a little child's warm kiss Is naught but heaven above, So sweet it is, so pure it is, So full of faith and love. 'Tis like a violet in May That knows nor fear nor harm, But cheers the wanderer on his way With its unconscious charm. *Tis like a bird that carols free, And thinks not of reward. But gives the world its melody Because it is a bard. THE GRA VE AND THE TREE. OF double depth they made her grave, And covered it with massive stone, And there, where silvery birc.ies wave. They left her sleeping all alone. These words were chiselled on her tomb : " This grave, bought for eternity, Even to and through the day of doom, And ever, shall unopened be." For years the passing stranger saw The epitaph of Caroline, And wondered, with a shuddering awe. That it could dare the wrath divine. Time is of God. He does not need To work his purpose in an hour : Years came and went, and then a seed. Borne downwards by a summer shower, il^ 4 } if il! i3^> 77//; (iiuvN AMi Tin: TliEi:. Fell goMtly (Ui llic sc.inty earth. Anions; the luMpnl-u]) stones tl.at lay, Ami soon a. tiny h'wvh had birth, And grew in stature day by day. The sun, tlu' showtM", the |>assinL!; wind. All helped the youthful tree to grow; Its liti'^ r0(>ts ran tar to find Sul)sistenee in the depihs below. Years passed, until at last the tree Sundered the stones, and made the grave Yawn wide, that hoped eternally The ravages o^ Time U) brave. Vain was the exereise of skill To seal the grave of Caroline ; And vain is every human will That strives to break the law divine. J iiif ill! i : ; s A MO TUER^S JEWELS. 'T^iiK(l.iu-Iu,.,(,r .-,, hiiiulrccl carls, X No jewels has with mine to mate, 'riiou^^li she may wear in flawless pearls The ransom ol" a mighty stale. Hers glitter for the world to see, But chill the breast where they rech"ne My jewels warmly compass me, And aJI their brilliancy is mine. My diamonds are my baby's eyes, His lips, sole rulues that I crave : They (-ame to me from Paradise, And not through labors of the slave. My darling's arms my necklace make, 'Tis J.ove that links his feeble hands, And ])eath, alone, that chain can break, And rob mc of those priceless bands. r' "'"'*"' — [ — r-- Ill ^ ill I EXPLANATORY NOTES. The Captured Flag. The incident described in tiiese verses tnnh r^io , • the unsuccessful sie<.e of OaehP t T^ , ^ ^ "^''"'"'^ Phi-r^,. • r * ^'^^'^'^^^ ^yAdmira Sir William .mm the ballad. Ph.pps was beaten off, leavint'with >e F,.enc„ the eannon of his troops and this ^ ^1^'" had oeen shot away, and which was picked up by ^ C,na d.an, who swam outafter it. A medal was struck in Fran e and a church erected in Qi.ebec, in honor of this Wcto" ' PfeRE BROSbE. A full accountof this pious legend will be found in Mr J. I.en,o,ne-s CAro„icles of ^e S,. Lu^.ence, page".' .4 .and .44. Father de La Brosse was, at the time of h^ death a pr.est at Tadousac, at the mouth of the Saguenay and about seventy miles below the Isle aux Coudres, whefe I 142 EXPLANATORY NOTES. he celebrated the first mass, in 1765. He died at midnight, on the nth April, 17S2, and, so says the legend, his death was preceded and followed by miraculous occurrences. He is said to have foretold it, and to have bidden his people seek Pere Compain on the Isle aux Coudres, and bring him to perform the funeral oHlces. There would be a storm, which they were not to heed, for he guaranteed them against harm, and they were to find Pere Compain awaiting them. All came true : P^re l3rossc was found dead at midnight with his head on the altar of his chancl ; the men set out, and thougli the waves rolled mountains high on every side, there was peace where their canoe floated. They found Pere Compain awaiting them, for he had been supernaturally informed of his colleague's death, and he went with them to Tadousac. All the bells of the missions wiiere P^re Brosse had labored are said to have been rung without hands that night. L'Ordre de Bon Temps. This company of Bon Vivants was formed in 1606, during the sojourn of Champlain and de Poutrincourt at Port Royal. An account of its organization and doings will be found in Parkman's Chaniflaiii and His Assotcatcs, Chapter iv. - . Champlain. ^ This poem is a resum^ of the life of him whom Park- man calls " The yEneas of a destined people." '* Yon fair town " alludes to Quebec, which Champlain founded July 3rd, 1608. His defiance of Admiral Kirkt took place in 1628, and was successful for a season, but a second sum- EXPLASA Ton Y NO TKS. M3 Inight, 3 death rences. people [ brinsf d be a •anteed iinpain id dead el ; tlie IS high floated, id been and he lissions en rung n I 606, court at i doings soicates. The Priest and the Minister. Pa,tn'l" X""!;/ i"'-""'-"-"''- °f "- thin, chapter of »:^~."rr;h';,:::: vtf ::t;:.r" '- T' P-ph,-ase. When de Men. wZ™:,, ' r^r ^U,! "■>» Lue cause of cease ess auarrels " r i,„ cnrd and the minister " savs r '• ™ '°™ """^ fists on qnesaon of h th ^i'"""'''"'"' " f^'" '« with their -re p,"!.., or lich'hi; L:"^;^^:'^^^'^ then, the cent? ZurL;- Ue'" 'T "I"""" °' '""^'"8 they were subordinltT "'"'' "'°"="'' ^^'™"^. m Park- Yon fair ied July place in nd sum- PlLOT. -a^rtorn:.":, 1:.:::^ itsiouix- ^^'•' "- to assist the brave ooioniL' in :^2''::^-Z^Z -vases. She and her offspring were invahlhie i: detect il! 144 luXI'LANATOn Y NOTES. ing ambuscades. An account of her usefi'l life will be found in Parkman's yesuitsin North America, chap, xviii. The Secret of the Saguenay. Although .^ne legend, and, perhaps, the best sub- stantiated one, asserts that Roberval was assassinated in Paris, there is another to the effect that, fired by the recitals of Cartier of untold wealth to be found in the Saguenay district, he sailed up the river of that name, and was never heard of again. This legend will be found in the Illustrated History of Canada. Jules' Letter. The date of this letter would be about 1670. From 1665 to 1673, bachelors in Canada underwent a martyrdom of great severity, and Jules' fear lest he find himself married in spite of himself is hardly an exaggeration. From 1665 to 1673, about one thousand girls were sent out from France to find husbands in Canada. Each couple married was given an ox, a cow, a pair of swins, a pair of fowls, two barrels of salted meat, and eleven crowns in money. Girls under sixteen and youths under twenty were given twenty livres when the\' married, and were encouraged to marry at fourteen and eighteen respectively, To such an extent was this rage for marriage carried that, it is said, a widow was married before her first husband's body had been consigned to the grave. Large bounties were paid to parents having from ten to fifteen children^ and the slightest sign of courtship between the unmarried officers and ladies of Qiiebecand Montreal, was chronicled (■-XPLAyATonr yoTijs. I 45 mce. in official document.s and transmitted to Fra ^^^^^^ Pf '-^'culars, the reader is referred to Parkman" J/ie Old he^'imc in Canada, chapter xiii. For 8 The Oak. The two villages referred to are Ilocheia-a and Ville Mane, now Montreal. The latter place wa: founded by Mausc.nneuve, in 164:. In Sir William Dawson's FoJil Men V, a picture of Hochelaga as seen by Cartier, with an OAk tree near it. This oak is sketched' from one in the McGill University grounds, and it needs but a little stretch ot the imagination to consider them identical, though actually this is not so. The poem traces the history of Montreal from its foundation up to the present time. Jacques Cartier's visit was made in October, j 535 when he was well received by the Hochelagans. When Cham- plam came, in 1611, Hochelaga had disappeared. The reference to the flood occurs again in "Nelson's Appeal for Maisonneuve." The incident took place in 1642 and Maisonneuve actually fulfilled his vow and bore a heavy cross to the mountain top, where it was planted pollard, with seventeen Frenchmen and fiftv Indians by heroic self-sacrifice, in 1660, saved Canada from destruction by the Iroquois. Vaudreuil surrendered Canada to the English on September 8th, 1760 He had been driven to Montreal, and was surrounded by 17,000 men, under General Amherst. The Americans took Montreal in 1775, and were defeated at Chateau- guay, October 26th, 1813, and at Chrysler's Farm November xith, of the same year. In both cases, the Canadians were greatly outnumbered 10 146 EXP LA NA TOR Y NO TES. Nelson's Appeal for Maisonneuve. This is supposed to be spoken by Horatio, Lord NeUon, whose statue, standing on Jacques Cartier Square, by the magnificenc river St. Lawrence, is, with the exception of the bronze image of our Qjueen, the only one in the city of Montreal. In five years, Montreal will see its 250th anniversary. Shall it be said that we have forgotten its founder, when that day comes,' The pages of Parkman may again be referred to fo'- an explanation of any points in this poem. The yesuifs in North America, chapter XV., contain^ a long account of the foundation of Montreal, and subsequent pages chronicle the life of Maisonneuve. The Spirit Wife. This is a free paraphrase of a prose tale by Israel G. Owen. Lachine. Misled by the information given him by the Indians, and also by the size of the St. Lawrence, Jnr"[Mrfc i/r,,..^.. gave to Lachine its present name, thinking that by it a western passage to China was possible. The Canadian Pacific Railway has furnished this passage by land, and now a large portion of China's merchandise comes over- land to Montreal for shipment to Europe. De Salaberry at Chateauguay. During the Anglo-American War of 1812, the brunt of the fighting fell upon the Canadian Volunteers, and one of their most notable exploits is that which I have striven to portray in this poem. Hearing of the advance of the I I M SalU EXPLAXA TOR Y SOTES. 147 Americans, De SuUiberry, with 400 Voltigeurs, entrenched himself at the junction of the Chateauguav and Outarde rivers, not many miles from Montreal. On ilio morning of October the 26th, this little band of heroes was attacked by 3,500 Americans. In spite of the most determined bravery, the Canadians would have been overcome by sheer force of numbers, but for the ruse described in the poem, assisted by u rapid discharge of musketry from new ambuscades. The Americans withdrew, and Lower Canada was saved. Tfnxysox. This poem was written shortly after the appearance of '• Sixty Years After," by Lord Tennyson, and while the critics on both sides of the Atlantic were, for the most part, tearing him to pieces. ' A Gkeater Than He. Glooskap is to the Penobscot Indians much what Hiawatha was to those of Longfellow's wonderful poem. He is supposed to be making arrows in a long hut, waiting for the time, when, like Barbarossa, he shall come to save his countrymen. The only time *-hat he was defeated was when he strove to conquer a baby. The story will be found in C. G. Leland's Algcnquin Les[ends. Dauntless. This is a true episode of the Hungarian rebellion of 1849. The young man's name was Ferenz Renyi, and he died recently in the asylum at Buda-Pesth. Haynau was attacked in Barclay's Brewery, London, in 1850, for cruel- ties of this kind, and barely escaped with his life from the infuriated employes.