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1 1

% ■

J-i'l

WIN-ON-AH :

THE FOREST LIGHT,

ANF»

OTHER POEMS.

J. R. RAMSi.

TOKONTO :

ADAM, STEVENSON ^k CO.,
BOOKSELLERS AND IMPORTERS,

1869.

W. ORMISTON, D. D.,

This Volume is fespecifully

Dedicated by the

AUTHOR.

( ' () X T K N 'I' S

|•A(;l^.

^!KAM nr,K 1

:i) HorsK 7

7(IIK lit

)NonA 31

;i»s OK SrKiN(; 32

; the woiise for that 34

; Angels 3(1

ir OF AK IcilTIIYOSAUUl'S 07

OK Fame 38

I 8!»

'im'Ml'HANT 41

i-:ATItI('E 4-J

iVFiEitE THE Dandelions Guew 43

i',

»ME IN Pompeii 4ti

4t)

ON C'emeteky 48

anadian Wuip-rooR-"\ViLi 52

iVest Flam nuo r»3

OS fi/i

3N OF Canada 5(;

:si) FiuEND 5it

ilOSE OF C^AKLYLE 51»

It &i

WiN-oNA

'he Hau
'he SiiEi

^i»VE AN I

'asso to

'he liLll

'he Desi

'OU'IIE Ni
'ISIT OF '
)N THE T

'he Temi
'he Ansa
jul'talit

'ANTE TP

'he Glai

?HE IjANI

allust's
jEna Lei
["he Ham
To Anna

loNO

[tne

'he AViLi
licn ovi

DllUiE
fOREWAll
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[0 A Rev
IROM mi
to a Lab

Ul'IPH

CONTENTS.

BlTTRRNESS

A Snow Storm

OOTOUEU

TiiK Wkddino Cakk

Old Steimikn

To A Baud [

To Alkxaniumi Goforth •

PoKMS FROM a former PURLICATION.

The Growth of what is Excellent ls Slow '

Swine [

The Little Frame House '

The Old Numuer Four rLOUoii.. ^

The Old Pine Canoe [

'Tis Better Not TO Know '

N o V E m n E R— ( A D I Ko i; )

Song

Burns

Septemrer

The Comet

WIN

WIN-ON-AH—

AND OTHER POHMS.

Preamhlr'.

/;N ENTLE Reader, »slioul,l the critic

^^ Think it worth hi.s while to ink you

AVheiicc thi.s second publication /

You will please to kindly answer,

Wlierelore should it be avoided I

Every man's imagination

Round some recreation linger-*;

And, unless his mind is evil,

Let him Ibllow his best feelings.

If with Livingstone thou wanderest,

Or in search of Sir John Franklin

Thou dost voyage; or dig ditches

For a living; or carve letters

Out of blocks for little children,

That their fancies may be filled uith

Ample feasts outspread by learning,

Do thou do so : mayest thou prosper

In thy labour, it is worthy,—

If no duty is neglected.

If on fire with scenes majtstic

Thou wouldst sketch, with brush and easel,

Lone Niagara's awful grandeur.

In the morning, noon or moonlight,

When bedecked in winter's jewels

Or enzoned by June's florescence.

Till thy soul is winged with beauty.

These are things to jje ci.nunended.

I'JiEAMllLE.

U thy luiiul iiiclincH to enter
In the fertile fiehli of fancy,
And tlioii .sendest invitations
To conj^'enial friends to join tliee,
Why sliouklst thou he asked to (scribhh*
An apologetic preface \
Should the oriole, or robin.
Or the grey wren give a reason
For their songs among the hlo.s.sonis i
Reason's not man's highest talent.
There are sacred facts for wliich wo
Cannot give the wliy or wherefore.
If thou dost dislike the dew-drop;
Or the sunshine; or the storm-shade;
Or gay l»irds; or blusliing rose-buds,
Pending from their leafy tendrils,
Soft in oriental lintels,
Vermil, green, or saffron tinted;
Or dost shun the lively laughter
Of the innocence of childhood.
When their glee is full upon them:
Go thy way — we part with pleasure —
We would not for all that's lovely
Harbor sucli a heartless critic.

But, if all these things delight thee;
If thou givest the cup of kindness
To the little one that's thirsty;
If thy daily toil is lionest.
And thy mind is in thy labour.
And thy motive is improvement;
Yea, if beauty, truth and goodness
Form the motto of thy mission,
We will join our wills together.
Ami rejoice in mutual meaning.
In the fellowship of freedom,
Which, when found, is so refreshing.

n'lX'OX-AlI—TJIE FnUKST IViUT,

Wtn-on-ah — The Forest Lifjht.

On the tvc of tlic Long Woods B.ittli', Tccnnisfli^ desired lii-t dan^'lit'r
Winunali to watch, from a }iill near theliattlc field, for the return of Jiis adoi»tcd
son, Kuiiishakn, a whito youth, wlio lind been to the Sioux for proniiMefl assiu-
tanco. Had Kumsliakn not jn'ovod ft traitor, tlie strife might n<pt have ended
in Ti'fiini'iili'-. d'.'fitli.

THE .sun retired liehind the hill:
Slowly the glowing gloljc grew still,
Dathed in strange hues ; a purple ha/o
Half moonlit, met the orient ga/e.
Fur as our mortal view could gain
Admission through th'! azure pi •,
Evening a soft suffusion spread,

A hoiy moumfulnjss on high,
A heavenly heauty overhead.
Such as the hrows of Seraphs shed

"When harping in the upper sky.

So, silently, AVin-on-ah came
To view her fathei-'s field of fame :
Thereon her hrothers from the west,
Prepared for victory, or rest.

Her foim was such as lancy sees
In grand ideal destinies.
Her eyes possessed that living light
Which kindles memory, as night
Is brightened by the dawn — a ray
Whose influence cannot Dass awav.
But words are worthless to express
The lofty light of loveliness.

Beside the Thames this youthful (faeen
Stood gazing on the sullen scene.
Among the shade, along the sliore.
Her people held the mirth of war:

IVIX-OX- AH—THE FOllEST LViHT.

With menace fierce, ami action wilJ,

That host the tedious night beguiled.

The scalp-lock, jasper-heatled spear,

And eagle plumes waved weirdly there.

In forest aisles afar around,

Bright watchfires scorched the ferny ground,

And flecked the boles, and formed a breeze

Which swayed the sombre cedar trees ;

They lit the waves that lurked below,

And gave the clouds a gloomy glow.

Forests on either hand arose;

Behind, the flood; before, their foes.

Each ancient chief, in daring bold,

Gave samples of the deeds of old.

TecunMch spake: "The hunting ground,

Beyond the rolling thunder souml,

Is opened by the Manitou

To those who dare the deeds we do.

Our fathers' spirits, from the sky.

Demand revenge liefore we tlie :

Appease them ! let the foe expire,

Like Cxiow by flame — ere morning lire

The wand'ring cloud o'er Huron's wave.

Give every murderer a grave.

Who dares not die ? who fears to givt;

This life, forever blest to live ?

The white man shall pollute the graves

And cheat the children of such braves !

For deeds of guilt and faith betrayed,

Their sunshine shall be full of shade.

The black hawk from his cloud will conic,

To sec our wrath the foe consume ;

And wheeling fearless round the sky,

Proclaim our country's victory.

The eagle on the withered tree,

That overlooks the watery waves,
Has folded up his wings to sec

Our gathering for to-morrow's giaves."

nriXOX-AII—TJIK FoJUCST LIHUT.

)uml,

ml,

And wlien the misty luurning luoke,
They met as liglitning meets the oak.
The Muliawk's war-wlioop, wild and clear,
Was M-elcome as a word of cheer :
As fast the flinty arrows flew,
Each on its deadly errand true.
Above, abroad, anear, alar.
Arose the cruel crash of wai-—
The .speedy stroke, the sudden ye
As foe grasped foe and dying fell.

As wan leaves scattered by tlu' \vi:; 1,
As fear forsakes an angry mind,
As sand before the sudden breeze.
As waves upon the windy seas.
So were the long delaying foes
Dispersed before Tecumseh's blows ;
80 came his comrades in their wrath,
To fill the foul demands of death.

i-S

ome,

L'S.

Win-oit-ah .'^aw her father's doom ;
And yet Kumshaka had not come.
Why tarried he? the moon had past -
His promise, waning to the west.

She watched in secret by the rock,
Feeling within her lieart the shock.
Dim in the gloom of life undone,
With all her future scarce ')egun ;
Then vanished, like a falli ig star,
On vengeance' ebon wings afar.

On Erie's shore there was a feast,
And he, her truant choice, was there,

R'?ceiving to his perjured breast
A form whose smile he should not share.

Win-on-ah by the water side,
Beheld him with his newer bride.

WIK-ON-AU—THE FOREST LIGHT.

Tlie maple grove.s, where Autumn came,
Were all aglow, agleam, aflame.
By azure brooks the sumac stood,
And tinged them with the hues of Mood-
Meet emblem of the mood witx/ ^
Her heart, made hateful by his sin.

She gathered up her strength v.ith all
Griefs subtle subterfuge and gall ;
And smiled deceitful o'er distress,
As wonnwood blooms in bitterness.
Soft were her steady words, and slow.
As moonless streams in midnight flow.
When falls the spotted ashen leaf ;
But in her accent was no grief :

"Light of the cl'anging cloud, this day
Hath fixed our nation's destiny.
There was no rider for thy horse,
Among our deathward-driven force.
We waited long, and did not know
What kept the arrow from thy bow.
Thy l>rethren battled by the hills,
Oppressed, but brave beneath their ills.
Our chief hath forded the dark stream :
His eyes upon the future beam !
How oft, amid the storm of war,
Thev turned and looked for thee afar ;
Nor thought this idleness could be
Fit recompense for fame to thee.
Where is the color of thy cheek ?
Has any come thy life to seek ?
Think not that I am here to claim
The life that stains my father's name I
Go to thy race, whose greater light
Can screen whatever is not right ;
Tell them Tecumseh's child can save
The wretch who filled her father's trrave."

THE II A r XT ED Ilnr'SE.

.1—

The Ilaioited Iloj/se

(A Medley.)

"A, jolly place in tiiups of oM,

But soinctliing ails it now."— Woitr>-;\voRTii.

OUR lite resembles a deserted dwellin;^ :
The heart's an eniLleni of a hauutud liall.
What vnll be from the first there's no furL*telliii<'- :
But disappointment happens unto all.

One summer morning, early in the season,
Before the meadow hay was fit to mow,

I sauntered forth without an aim or reason.
But just to woo tlie blossoms where they grow.

Full were the woods of music, and the meadows,
On either hand, low-waving in the breeze,

Were gaily over-flecked»with lights and shadows ;
And could you have seen the orchard trees.

The fragrant blossoms of the wild strawberry
Brought back the memory of bygone days,

Wherein I wandered witli the maidens merry,
Knee-deep in clover over l>reczy braes.

My pathway led me to an ancient mansion;

Forsaken, wherefore few remain to tell.
A river bounds this valley's green expansion

Of loveliness, and sorrow here did dwell.

The cricket sings his ditty unmolested,
Where lusty dancers held loud revelry;

The oxen of their yokes have been divesti; 1,
And all the harvesters have gone away.

8 THE HAIWTED WjUHE.

Yet tliey have left their hjiig-unused utensils
Against the gate, just where the work was done.

'Tis thus the peasant's plow, the painter's pencils,
The actor's robe, survive the fame they won.

'Twas Ijiiilt with tiers of stone in upward ranges,
Eiuhrowned and battered by the blasts of old,

Sceniinu; to muse upon the many changes
AVithin itself, where owls their pinions fold.

A mas.-rive house, by all, save years, forsaken ;

Like living eyes, lit by departing day,
Tlie panes look, when by winds the blinds are shaken

With sounds that warn the wanderer awav.

'i'lie mullein and the burdock fill the garden,
Their growth the gard'ner comes no more to mar;

They look like orphans who have lost their warden,
B^.ooming unblamed, for their sole neighbors are —

A jiair of antlers in an archway standin
A seat for rest at twilight on the lea,

A broken boat below the reedy landing,
A rusty scythe upon an apple tree.

With this worn scvthe some vanished hand did sever
The purple clover from the fields of green;

Another reaper gave him rest forever,

And many summers o'er his bed have been.

Perhaps lie held his curious speculation.

Political, how empires rise and fall :
Perhaps ambition filled his admiration,

Or learning lured him to her lovely hall.

Or having — who has not \ — dismissed for duty

Some chosen inclination, with a sigh
Oft mused upon the evanescent beauty —

Hope's sj-mbol — fading in the evening sky.

THE HAUNT ED HOUSE.

3 done.

ncils,

)n.

■ngcs,
old,

Id.

ire shaken

to mar;
• warden,
bors are —

Or when the horn — sweet music ! — called to supper,
He slowly came commenting, from the field,

On farming, and the quantity most proper
In hay or wheat for hilly land to yield.

Ht re whirled the spinning-wheel, that pleasant Imnimcr !

And graceful girls, in youthful beauty fair,
C'ume <\o\yn yon pathway to the stream in summer,

To Lathe, pick herrie?, or meet some one there.

On thi.s old heecli, half wasted by the weather.
Two names are carved by some enamored youth,

Sighing the while he fashioned t em together.
And dreamed of endless tejideniess and truth.

What happened them ? — "Wliat comes to all the living
In whose fond hearts Joy strives with Pain ?— two foes
Like two fierce angels, one of whom is giving
Sweet solace; one, a demon, dealing woes —

d did sever
n;

een.

luty

AViio, being stern and sturdy in his essence,
Soon baffles all the blessings of the best ;

And tho' young love stands longest in his presence,
Even love must vanish, vanqui.slied like the rest.

With "harvest-home"' this hall was often lighted.
Dancing, and music, and the ample board

]\Iade autumn cheerful, travellers benighted
Found welcome here and went away restored.

Now mournful winds among abandoned chambers

Resound the anthem of departed days.
Whose nights have come, like soot upon tlie embei-s

By the old hearth, which never more will blaze.

The dancers are dispersed, the music ended.
The laughter silent and the lovers gone.

With their sweet schemes, on which so much depended
And we are following after one by one.

10 THE IlArXTED Hi>USE.

Yea, we are fuUowiiig, smiling as we .^^iiffer,
Taking an active part in our o\mi pain:

While far around the misty waves grow rougher,
We fondly hope next m.)rn will lull the main.

We crush the craving cry of the heart's famine,
We hush the hurricane whose wreck is vears,

We hide the corpse which pains us to examine,
We close the tomh on hope, the empty Mers

Move, like the solemn clouds ahove the azuie,
Darkening life's pleasant mornings in the glade,

Thev haffle all our arts to seize or measure
Their mournful depths of loveliness or shade.

First they are tinted with the hues of heaven ;

But, like our hopes, their transieuu tints decay ;
As we o'er life, they o'er the earth are driven,

Our prospects die, their lustres pass away.

Leaving remembrance like a raven sitting
High on a dying yev tree's loftiest linil),

Whose withered leaves, upon the tempest flitting,
Bestrew the graves, whereon our eyes grow dim.

For who, of all predestined to inherit

Life's dreary dower, ever did obtain
The peace, the holy longing of the spirit,

Or even partly conquer human pain /

Those joys which the regretful spirit pities,
Because they went too s>\'iftly to the tomb,

Arc no less mournful than the mighty cities,
Pompeii, Herculanemn, or Rome.

Ah, w^ell ! though every life in shadow lingers,
Though long ere death can raise his hand to coimt

Our blasted years upon his bony fingers,
Hope's golden bowl lies broken at the fount;

77//; HArXTED lIoI'sK. \l

Though swift and suiv our early aii'us expin-,
As if 'twere liite's tirst purpose to destroy,

If may he hy such crushings we acquire
The ^^'inc of wisdom which comos not through joy.

So time to all repeats the painful story;

The farewell sun reflects the lieavcnlv hues;
From nights of frost the forest gathers glory,

A glory which the suns to M:>.y refuse —

Even to this mild Canadian scene and season,
Whose vales, voluptuous, dreamily repose

In ever-varying hues, for which sweet reason
I love this land of beauty and of snows.

lovely land 1 — surely it would he better
If we, like thee, our nature did renew

With a pure zone, like June's green flowery fetter —
beautiful world ! Iiathed in thy dawn of dew.

1 l(»ve through fore.-t avenut-s U, saunter,

Dream on the hills and trace the winding shore.
Familiar to the foot3te]>s of the hunter,
The silent race who visit them no more.

I love the lowly flower by the river,

The dawning, and the 'dorv of the west,

The wintry winds which make the woodlands shiver
Till drifts upheaved defv the furious blast.

There is a ra])ture in tempestuous weather,
A sjTnpathy with sutlering, which thrills

When mi<lniglit mists around the mountains gather,
And hoarse ^^inds howl among the moaning hills.

And the strong pines into the storm extending,
Bow down as with an offering to the dead,

A tribute to the tempest, softly sending

Snow-]^lumes unto the summers funeral bed.

12 THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

And when the gorgeous verdure is decaying,
Serene September, by the hills and swamps,

Reminds me of an Indian maid delaying;
Last of her race, among deserted camps.

Beyond the distance of a westward river
Her friends have gone forever past recall ;

Death put their days like arrows in his quiver,
Fast as the showers of sanguine foliage fall

From blushing boughs that .smile in silent slumber,
Tinged like a cloud at rest on twilight air,

Or a great golden harp whose heavenly nmnber
Is hushed, because the harper is at prayer.

By vague tradition vagi'ant ghosts have haunted
I'liis house for years — its only owners now ;

And many men have heard at midnight chanted,
Must plaintive songs, and mournful, uttered low.

'Tis said, by doubters, that this sound increases
When rude winds rub the branches of a tree

Against the shingles; — such a foolish thesis '
Has no foundation — ghosts the neighbors see.

I put much stress on many a ghostly story,
And relish every superstitious tale ;

It awes one to receive a guest from glory,
A IViend beloved it may be, out of bale.

Once too I had great faith in huiiian natiu-e —
Dreains — which th' imfinished future did dispel;

For though I hate an unconfiding creature.
My creed is changed, but why I cannot tell.

Because it would involvi a long digression,
And very likely mak'j tlic reader mad ;

'Tis best to shun the most remote expression
Of aught would make a kindred spirit sad.

THE IJAUyTEJj HOUiSE.

ps,

ver,

ElU

slmnber,
ir,

niber
!r.

Linted
iw;

lanted,
^recl low.

eases
I tree

rs pee.

•e —

d dispel ;

e,
tell.

ion
sad.

It is not wise to be too sentimental,
Although a fault that time will file away :

Our feelings are a sort of spiritual rental,
A tax on talent which we all must pay.

But viewing man's estranged and^fulse relation,
Tlie mental wealth we daily worse than waste,

Pains the full spirit for our crushed creation.
Good yt't, though by us all so oft defaced.

Fiends niiglit weep whene'er they fall to thinking
Of all we might be and of what we are !

Instead of soaring we are suffering, sinking.
Caught up in passion's whirlwinds— drifted far.

1 low carefully we plan to keep asunder

Our inward anguish from this outward show !
It takes a life to rectify cacli blunder,
^ Hence we excel in little else than woe.

Ah well I lest you perceive my theme's becoming

Discursive, let us back into the trail :
My vagrant fancy is forever humming

Yi'Aw theme to theme, as bees on floweis regale.

The neighbors say, when first the?e fields were settleu,
A man came from the land lieyoml the seas

To this blue stream— proud was this man, and titled,
With riches, learning and long pedigrees.

He had an only daughter, says traditicn,

All beautiful as only daughters are
In fiction, with the sweetest disposition

That ever crumpled linen anywhere.

'Twas care made her seem cold, and mute and clanish.
Like pride, who lords o'er all except regret ;

So friends %vent by as they are wont to vanish,
"When adverse angels all our aims upset.

14 Till-: lIAf.WTKl) IIOfSE.

O wuiuau! thou art hlaiucd for being Mamek'-s ;

Thy goodness i.s thy weaknes.^, and thy .snare :
calumny, tliy verdicts are so shameless

That lionor ache-* to curse thee, and make war

On slander, malice, and foul supposition ;

Those mean hell-raking hags whom I ahhot,
Sneak round on Satan's most infernal mission,

To mar the purity they know no more.

But musing on tlie melancholy kindne-s

Of those young hearts which were too glad to meet,
Suffuses vision with a lif^uid hlindness,

Because their happiness was incomplete —

For she was fair and full of fond affection :
The skies have scarce produced a purer lo^'e

Than heaved her snowy l)osom's warm perfection,
Filled her large eyes, or urged her feet to rove.

Her cheeks were like the light through rose leaves siftel
Expression pure, with hyacinthine hair ;

But O her eyes — e'en Raphael, the gifted,
"Would fail to fix the feeling living there.

Fond was she of a walk, and the reflections
Which come to lonely walks, hy hush or .shore :

There conscience seizes life's minute transactions,
And daily promises to sin no more.

Not that she sinned, hut it is heneficial

To meditate hetimes, and muse alone :
Church-prayers are pious, if not prejudicial.

But thoughts grow pure when near great Natun
throne —

Yet, misconstrue me not, congenial nature !

"We own thy mighty power to conquer ill ;
But in the mind of every human creature

There is a void some loftier love must fill ;

are ;
.' war

THE IIArSTKl) Hnlsi:.

Wliicii tciiclif.s that the AtheUt, cnntoiitling
With Christian faitii, has strewn vain whims a^'Voatl,

Forgetl'ul that wi-'ro all forever hlcnding
Th* unl'athonied lucts of nature ami of God;

lor,
ion,

Tliuugh reason, with the aniplot information
Earth gives, can scarcely prove what is to he

Beyond the awful verge of revelation,

Which faith, through death, will shortly let us .-ee

lad to meet.

love
■fection,
rove.

e leaves siftcl

)r sliore :

•^actions,

»So t^he turned rover hy this moving river,
Having few friends, and those illiterate ;

But, what is strange to me, her guardian never
Opposed her wandering from his garden gate !

Now who is this upon the moonlit water,
Whose supple strength inipels the swift canoe?

'Tis he from whom her father vainly hrought her,
Th' accepted one — eai-ly love and true!

early god of rapture and of roses,

Dost thou rememher hy the western stile

Where first we met / may whosoe'er opposes

Thy wondrous power "l)e choked in his own i)ile."

Yet we are sceptical about thy Itlindness;

For right into the heart thy darts are driven.
Which taught me th:it a little damsel's kindness

Can make this world seem a suhlunar heaven.

ial,

Ltreat Nature j

i-e!
■ill;
:e
fill;

'Twas in that season when the vales are \'ernal,
A pleasant shower had left the evening skies

As glorious as the gate of the eternal,
The pearly entrance into Paradise,

When Annah, — that name of names ! came sweetly

To \Hew the majesty l)y nature made.
And from that moment, though it passed so fleetly,

I can see sunshine in the midst of shade.

rn-

16 THE IIAIWTED HOUSE.

Full was her beauty of that mystic power
Wliich makes two hearts beat thrillingly or break;

Finding we couhl not live apart one hour
We fonned a paction for eacli otlier's sake —

Ihit interfering with a maitV.s allection,

Save to advise, is scarcely sensible ;
liecaiiHe she's bound to take her own direction

Tho' death stands at the door and I'oints to hell.

She went away with one who was her chosen ;

Her heart was breaking l)oth to stay and leave :
It id so hard to have one's feelings frozen

Between two foes, to both of whom we cleave.

She left a note upon the little table :
Over her father dark misgivings came

Soon as he saw it; first he was unable
To break the seal — who has not been the same I

Who has not stootl without the strength. to rally,
To read the answer which some beauty wrote i

Tis not unusual thus for mo to dally
With destiny enveloped in a note.

"Father, thy mansion I litive left,

Gone from thy home away :
"Twas hard to leave thee thus Ix-rclt,

'Twas harder still to stay.
I leave thee for my early friend —

wherefore do I live ?
One only hope my steps attend.

Forgiveness — 0, foi'give."

This he re-read till reason almost left his
Mind, too long torn by torture heretofore ;

As an aged tree, by lightning lately cleft, is
Found to have been long blighted at the core.

THE IIA VSTKb nui \sE. j 7

"He Hwon- a grayer or two," lie callcil Ibrliui.^es,
Ilf kicked the ilog", he iiifule the .scrvnnts run

On Several difFerent ways <l various courses,
But all in vain, the tendt-r (k'c'.l was dduc

Alter soiiii.' trying days of Ibrest travel,

At last they reached their lowly island home-
Time rolling on, as usual, to unravel
Joy's IVw irail threads froju griefs etirnal loom.

Poor livfd they, and uni»ardoncd; iov position '
Makes many parents mar their tilfspring's fate :

Years after this the hride obtained jiermission
Tc i 1 1 her father; but, alas ! too late.

Gone was he, gone the father ; and the lover,
When she returned ; all, save her ghost, are gone;

It sometimes comes the graves to niurmu'- over
Of the unfriendly father and the son.

I often wander at the twilight hour
Near this dim nook, but never stay at night.

They may not like to meet me in their bower,
And so I leave, through reverence, not through fright.

Tis gloaming now; great Sol leaves heaven's expansion ;

Uncertain shades move eerie down the dell :
A pre-engagement urges my attention,

So, for a little season, fare thee well.

THE SHELL.

The Shell.

'• The sun lauglis in his blue n.l>!-<."-0.ssiAN.

One vernal morning, mild and clear,
The oriental atmosphere
Flamed golden, saving there and here :
Clouds of pale crimson

Kindled a goodly dawn as e'er

Wild birds sang hymns on.

As dome great theme untold in rhyme,
So grandly Sol began to clinih
His azure dome to measure time,

High in mid-heaven :

• *

All underneath his smile sublime

Appeared forgiven. .

That holiday, remembered well,
Not feeling fit in crowds to dwell,
Up, pensive to the mountam dell,

Lonely I sped ;
But finding in the street this shell

Thus musing saitl :

To be where thou art is not good,
Commingling with the common mud ;
Thy hues, like roses in the bud,

Blush there to l)e :
Once bathed in ocean's ample flood,

The ancient sea.

THE SHELL.

The soft suffusion of tliy face
Proclaims a seutimoutal grace :
That thou art greatly out of pUici?

Thy lot is proof--
'Tis thus with all the tuneful race,

Neath heaven's blue roof.

Hadst thou to some green lane been taken.
Where from the foliage dews are shaken-
Winged harps l)y living hundreds waken

Those da^^^ls with glee —
Thy fate had been far less forsaken ;

But here, — ah me I

Let not thy gentle heart be hurt
Because we meet among the dirt ;
If we are forced with filth to fliif,

Not ours the wroug ;
It was not sent thee to pervert

T'lv wavv souff.

Let me expunge this outward stain,
(It does not mingle with the grain)
That thou mayest murmur of the main;

What there befel :
0, could I take thee back again,

And with thee dwell !

By '.'hat far island wert th(Ai bora?
Did Neuha have thee for her horn ?
Did Montezuma's host forlorn,

Sound their retreJlt
On thee, alas, that cruel morn.

By Cortez beat ?

Can it be possible that she,
Who dwelt beside the Indian sea,
Virginia — gazing on that lea

Which is her grave —
Ran down and from the tide took thee,

Rejoiced to save?

THE SHELL.

Thy iimnnured answer, mystic friend,

I cannot wholly comprehend ;

Yet some things in our nature blend ;

A lurking gift,
Whose holy longings upward tend,

Yet fail to lift.

Come to my dwelling in the garret,
What room is there I freely share it ;
(A 1)0011 begrudged is minus merit

And burns the hand)
There thou wilt find the great in spirit

Of our loved land.

Serene among the muses shining
S. Moodie, Wilkins, P. S Vining,
Friend Ilaney, capable of refining

Castalia's tank ;
Souls for whose Avork fame's not de-signing

Oblivion blank.

Shakspeaie and Bunyan both are there ;
Von Humboldt, with his hoary hair
Like thine own sea ; and Bums, the rare

First son of fame ;
John Milton, mounting Jacob's stair,

Blind unto blame.

Some who have long ago departed, . ,
Some by death's fickle lately thwarted,
Some who great schemes improving started,

, And lost the way.

Some minus money, broken-hearted,
Died Avaiting pay.

One struggled hard to help the needy,
Reclaim the sot, and clothe the seedy
Fit forthe Universal free day

Which will ensue ;
But thi^ huge world has grown so greedy

AVhat can one do ?

^^,

irit

signing
lere ;

i rare
ir,

rted,

g started,

;dy

»
1

greedy

THE SHELL.

All that we hope for ilou.s not happen.
Angels perverse (our deeds mis-shapen /)
Wrapt his high aims a shroud of crape in,

Making theni vain.
While ho, sole mounier of fate's rapine,

Stood hound hy pain.

He was transported by a spell,
When beauty's glance of glory fell
On his fine spirit — there to dwell

For ever more :
As from dim caves an ocean sliell

Heaved higli on .-^horc.

Bounding the lambs went o'er the leas,
Like foam upon the windy seas ;
The growing leaves on lofty trees

In dew stood glancing,
Waiting the music of the In-eeze

To sot them dancing.

But just as hu began to dream
His world- regenerating theme,
Disgusting disappointment's stieaui.

Above him ruslied :
Where storms, contending, scowl or gleam

His liar[t was IiusIrmI.

There was a time when men wcvc [>roiid
Along with liim to be alloweil :
E'en queenly beauty kindly bowed,

(His hat ascending).
But once beneath misfortune's cloud,

Beliold the ending!

Still — (though we merit melancholy.
In common with man's fall and folly)
When adverse tempests, drifting lowly,

Eclipse the skies ;
Some Sabl)atli i)rospects, sweet and holy.

Awake, arise.

. i

I '

THE HUELL.

We have a grand exliaustless store
Of large imprabticaLle lore ;
We can feel music long before

Tlie first note sounds ;
Far off we hear stormed ocean roar,

Lashing his bounds.

Sweeter to us the crickets sing

Than harps to hearts of harsher string :

Each flower's a very holy thing,

In color dressed.
Like bands of angels entering

Tlie realms of ri'st.

We can aftbrd to pity those

Who scorn a poet's joys and woes ;

Their earthly fancy never flows

From light supernal,
Where truth's millennial laurel grows

In youth eternal.

Though we are blamed when not to blame,
By those who deem we sing for fame,
We know tlie light, yet sufler shame :

Forced wrong by wrong,
E'en while we struggle to reclaim

The erring throng.

Think not, dear friend, thy lot is hard,
Because by pain from peace debarred,
Maimed, menaced, mutilated, marred,

Beyond a cure ;
Great pains produce a great reward,

If we are pure.

My fellow-suft'erer in distress,

Fame's phantom beams would blast, not bless,

If we fail dumbly to express

The light within,
The holy light of loveliness,

Because of sin.

THE HIIELL.

Lose not thy laith, look on heaven's scroll ;
How grand the midniglit orLits roll !
Think not the mind tliat has control

Of such a scene,
Can stain its honor, or extol

Anght that is mean.

Upon the time of trouble's spite

The muse can soar Ly second sight,

A'< through the cmhattled storms of night

Bursts heaven's red ray,
Till eartli is dehiged Avith a light.

Fairer tlian day.

So, bard of ocean and of time,

Come and commune in wordless rliyme,

About thv coral halls sublime,

I do beseech ;
Grant me some knowledge of that clime,

Beyond the beach.

For o'er an ocean we must sail.
Soon as we f[uit this adverse vale :
AVe semi, but no return of mail

Comes from that coa.-t :
It cannot be in death's dark gale

That all are lost.

LOrE AND LUCRE.

Love and Lucre.

^5lo\v li-scs worth by poverty ilcpressctl.— Johnson.

O thou inexorable Xw^, 'twere bliss to cur-it^ t'.icr. — Hewyskok.

:-f»* ;;v .

•iiir

Tli(,' children born of thee are sworl ami fire,

Red ruin, an-l the Itreaking ui> of laws.— Ti:nnv.son.

Chill penury repressed their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul. — Gnnv.

Mnuey auswcrcth all things.— Sulosion.

NOW, while cUiik clouds roll heavily with rain,
And yellow yarrow waves along the lane,
Let the tired team rest in the cosy shed —
The polished plongli is in its russet hod —
While forests bow before the coming gale.
Here we will muse as fancy tints the staU-,
The actual pageant passing day by day,
The joys that perish and the pains which stay.
Sweet is that season when our spirits feel
The wordless peace — so painful to conceal ;
When every passing beauty claims the eye ;
And one, far more than all beneath the sky,
To whom we bow instinctive, offering her
The "firstlings" of the heart, nor once demur —
A time that comes to all — what tho' unknown
This goddess be, each throb attests her throne;
And woe be unto him, yea, more than woe,
As many a grief-grooved brow and tomb can show.
Whose offering is repulsed; the sky for him
Is leaden-hued henceforth, and cold and dim.
Autumnal tints dwell on the drooping trees
Through all the year; and darkness throngs the breeze
With that high, mournful, unresigned regret
Which follows, and defies us to forget.

tUoi'. — He.vvysk'jk

IJU'K J XI) LUCRE.

That iiiaii is weak wIk^ thinks on liis lit'u's leaf

The fatal fang of .some especial grief

Has fixed itself forever; yet we know

There are deep channels where few waters How;

There are stern storms that howl alone at sea;

There are proud lieart-]iangs in prosperity;

There arc green glades clothed in continual glooms;

There are high hills where sunshine seldom comes;

There are gay harks that never gain the shore;

There are grand souls sin-stained for evermore;

And many sigh, '*Ali mc I not mine, not mine I

'Tis hard to hear, hut hitter to resigu:

The lips may laugh and yet the hosom hu

Sad as the shadows oC Clelhsemane."

or,

love ! fond folly, inlhienee undefineil,
Unhounded king o'er all of human kind,
Few are the odds if thou art cursed or Mcst,
Thy road to ruin's shorter than to rest;
Thy joys are hirth-day journeys to their giave,
Thy Idisses huhhh-. on the hreaking wave;
For love is suicide when liope is vain.
Compassion toiturc, and all ].'lea--uri' }.«;ii!!.
for a life uninihu'mx'd liy siuli things I
The outer story and iln- imicr stings ;

Still there are com])cn.-;ili»iiis : !V\v hut know
Some secret sources of delimits that lic-w
Into the eager sold. At times lifes sfa>
Lie calm as mercy's smile, or charity's,
And thousands turn when their anVciicu ilics,
And chant this ditty to a v.ealthifi [m'w.v.

Lucre ! tlmu enchanter, cham}>ion, chief,
God of the monarch, merchant, miser, thief,
Mankind succuml> to thee; plehcs, princes, ))riest3,
Fools and philosophers flock to thy feasts.
^Lijestic power, to whom earth's Bacons how:
For whom hroad seas, e\X'n the grave, v.-e plow:

;]

LOVE AND LUCRE.

I %

There's not a monarch on this moving world
O'er whom so broad a banner is unfurled ;
None have such faithful followers ; who revere
Or hold their other gods so high, so dear !
Wisdom is weak, though large of heart and bold,
Unless her goodness is upheld by gold.
For liberal salaries learned men we find
"Who mend the mouldy morals of the mind.
The great majority, when all is said.
Deem even meanness merit if well paid.
What urged the Spaniards hither ? glory ! yea,
And what is mortal glory minus pay ?
What use is fame sans gold — whatever can
We do without its sanction and amen ?

Mammon, to thee I dedicate my strain.

Sire of success, celestial and j^rofane.

Once (blush O weakness) once i undertook

To write against thee an abusive book.

Thy pardon, if I said or sung a strain,

Or thought, wliich pierced thy mighty brow with pain

'Twas envy, that foul prompter of crushed pride,

Which urged me to dethrone thee and deride.

Great Mamn>on, let us worship, let us bare

Our thoughts to thee, for thou art ruler there.

Six days we follow after thee, six days

And nights — except when Cupid claims our praise —

And on the seventh day demurely creep

Up to the house of the Most High, and sleep. ^

'Tis thine to marry empires; second son
Of Time, thou hast thy brethren all outrun ;
E'en sable Death : obedient to thy sway.
His silent hounds release their shuddering prey ;
For Gain can buy up Death, and coin control
The unknown voyage of the vanished soul.
And thou canst bind the lover to his bride
Or sever him forever from her side —
Since Venus married Mammon 'tis decreed

LOVE AXD LUCRE.

The god of wt'dluck is tlu' god of jj;iv('i1.

Thou art the Liilhist in life's shij), and ni>ne

Can sail without thee; compass, keel auil sun,

Our hearts rejoice in heaps of tliee, and ([uaff

The wine of wealth, and all who win thee laugh.

There is no innate guilt in thee, gold,

More than in eve's l)right clouds which we Lehold

Rosy and beautiful, as they have rolled

Through all the unsung histories of old;

The fault's with us who falsely get or hold —

Thou'rt tinged hy us, as water l»y a sieve.

Our passions tarnish even what wo give;

And all thine ill conies through the lives we live.

Thy name is magic; necromancy dwells

Within thy coffers; nil that most excels

Is at thy heck and hidding; matrons leave

Poor mates, and to thy favourite followers cleave.

AVhat millions marry thee; thy smiles reclaim

The scraggy wryness of the wrinkled dame

Who hears thy ponderous purse ; 'gainst thee what chance

For poor young beauty, with its glorrous glance ?

War's thy weird holocaust; he wantonly

Whets his red knife, and nati(jns pass away,

Though empires watch the issue, still and stern.

Dreading the debt of Death, and angels mourn.

Beauty is bought by thee; the spirit's thirst

Tis thine to satiate, e'en the best or worst.

How much we owe to thee; ingratitude

To call thee evil's root, thou root of good.

By thee the student passes on his course,

By thee the worthy rise from much that's worse.

We clothe ourselves by thee; our very blood

Is bought by thee at market with our food ;

And since our brains are made of blood, and thought

Is born of brain, our minds by thee are bought.

'Tis wicked to deride thee : 'tis unbrave,

Because society's thy serving slave.

Thy cold avoidance of toil's nerve-strained strife

Has whetted many a suicidal knife,

Lni'K Ayi> Li:<'i:E.

Till Topla't's ;,Mtc.s iiru jiiiimied by those who stivam
The r(»ii(l to ruin —

Lol us chun^H; tlic thomc ;

I'V'U- riches cleave to ruin ; even son;^
Detests it, hoauty dwells not in its throng.
Loose-jninted tear, and hollow-hreastod care,
And disa])])ointmont mourn lo^^'cthcr there.

ljua.>t nut ol' sweet adversity and toil,

Ye who sit Xor;j;ed aloft and share the sjioij.

Your minds relaxed hy ease, can never know

The want that weakens everything hut woe.

I i'l'el for all, hut most for those I feel

Who l(K)se this linch-pin i»uL of F >rtun(;'s wlu'cl.

O youth, ere yet to [lenury resigned,

Print Shakes})eare'.s |)recc])t on th}' ]dastic miml:

'' Put money in thy purse," and it will he

A loadstone to entice pros])erity.;

Join the niajurity, get gain, or thou

Wilt find misfortune through thy vitals plough.

The rock of Sisyphus refers to cohi,

Bc-deviled like the Galilean swine.

That things should not he thus we'll not deny,

But these factis' defamation we defv.

The dread, the hurden, and the restless goad

Of Deht drags hosts down ruin's zig-zag road.

My curse upon theo, Poverty, my curse

Upon thy hide-hound, constipated purse !

Thy woes have withered millions, great and free.

By fierce, resistless, stern astringency.

Thy steps arc blight and murrain; madness takes

The mildew of his spirit from thy aches.

Thou hast no reverence in thee, no respect

For feelings — none are prone to thy neglect.

Thou unabortive incubus of doom,

Hinnom's ambassador, and virtue's tomb.

How can domestic kindness gladden more

Of Ol

Wiuu
^'Stra
Till
Short
My t

wiiic]

For la
Tlie s|
h oftt
By 111
liie w
The .-:
Some
Yet P
Wa-
Tllele

Lnl'K JXn fJ't'/UC.

Wlivii thy |,MUUt wolve-< liowl huii;j;iy at ihi' <l'»oi' '.
Uiuniuiiilieivd ho-<ts, ivt'u.-in;^' U) ha sIuvch,
Ungvieved, iinknelled, fill thy lorgdttiii graves;
Ami millions mouhU'iing now in lowly clay,
Have worn siul sniilos to hitlo tlu-ir diead deoay.
The cruel smile of friend.-', who oould not shun
Thy threadbare coat half-faded l>y the sun.
E'en lie whose bosom burned with lovi' to all.
Was forced to drink thy worniwoud's wilhciing gall:
He saw the dark gehenna spread before,
And struggled to return, but all is o'er.
Cold now, and prematurely ])aled in death.
The breast that never drew a debtles.s breath:
The human loves, the lieaven descended muse.
The horned hands, the labour-hardened thews;
The broken hope-*, great nature's lordliest friend !
Found in the grave at last grief's holy end.

human love ! We know thee; thou art strong—
To Mammon's minions mightier powers belong.

1 said, while standing near the scatfold high.
Of one crime-doomed, imi)enitent, to die :
•'ILild, prize ol' Death; before too late unfold
What bi(jke thy moral moorings from their hold l"
^•Stranger," he spake, "thy starting tears restrain,
Till I unroll mv downward vears again :

Short is the story, and my joumey too ;

My term is full, the debt of nature due.

Which in a few brief moments nmst be paid.

For lack of lucre and those hopes that fade.

The substance of my solitaiy tale

Is often told in silence to the gale. *

By my youth's home lived some kind friends, tho' poor :

Tlie wind foun<l man} an entrance rijund their door ;

The sickly parents toiled by turns to gain

Some scanty nourishment to strengthen pain ;

Yet Peace, the Peace which poverty allows,

Was stinted round, and centered in that house.

There tin- clean ]!oker leaned against the jamb,

LOVE AXD LUC HE.

[■^\-

There kiiKliicss mingled with connuhial culm ;

The j)inc-knot Ihuiiert played rouud the i'U:^ti(: iiMtin

At liide and seek among the gleeful gloom.

Joys they had seen — who cannot pay the same ?

One child was theirs ; hy her my sorrow came —

Pure, hashlul, faithful, beautiful and free,

With all her fondest fancies turned to me.

'Tis wrong to name her here ; my spirits ache,

E'en at this ending hour, for her sad sake.

Suffice to say, a richer rival came,

And I am here a criminal in shame,

For troubles came, till in my spirit's st(jrm

I cursed the folly that produced my f(jrni.

Punished with pain, pierced with more promised woe.

0, for her sake to shun th' abode below I

O, spare me from my memory ! 0, save,

Or it will blast my soul beyond the grave I

The future's blacky with ruin unresigned ;

But spare the past, I dare not look behind I"

Another instance : By a sylvan stream

Dwelt one whose fate it did a symb(jl seem ;

Fairer than day she was, or dewy dawn

Outspread by May upon a sunlit lawn ;

And he, her choice, had wealth in ships and cars;

And, seemingly, no clouds eclipse their stars —

But 'twas the same oUl tale of Whittier's lay :

" Maud Muller" in the meadow making hay.

Was left, because her d"v er was less than his

Who loved her — sucb. tins world's decision is —

Till down adversity's (lark Malestrom driven.

They went to spend their honeymoon in Heaven.

Tho' oft in lucre, and in love no less.

The bitterest curse is coupled with success ;

Impetuous Passion, with a zealous zest,

Woos this wild solace to his woeful breast.

But this unto thy children do thou teach :

Be honest in thy dealings, each to each,

Make what thou canst b^^ upright motives make,

And use it for some truth's celestial sake.

TARfSO TO LEOXOnj.

7\t,ssn to Leono)'(f.

THE 8UUS of miuiy yeui-.s luivu set
Since la.nt we badi; a lon^' adieu.
I tokl thee I could ne'er lbr},'et,
And M'hat I told thee then is true.

The might of manhood seemed in vain,
When forced thy fondnes.s to forsake ;

When told we ne'er might meet again,
I knew my heavy heart would l)reak.

I said, how shall I let thee go /

How shall I set my spirit free /
I know despair, hut do not know

How this great balefulness can he.

Tears are for tenderness to shed,

But not when torn from such as thou :

My very destiny is dead,

My faith forsakes the future now.

Through years of night my sjnrit bleeds

With thought — soon conquered, were I free I

But memory with thy kindness feeds
My solitary constancy,

I see thee in the dreams which flow

Back through the baffled years of youth ;

Yr ' when I wake, alas ! my woe
Exceeds the bitterness of truth.

■i>ff:i3s^~

THE niUEL'IRDS OF SPJtlXff.

The Bluehirds of SpriiKj.

Aiitl soiiictliin;,' earlier every vc.m'
Tlie siiigiTi;,' l)iril.s take wing.'"

J. R. LOWKLI..

HAIL, twinging syinool of the Spring !
AVitli all tliy flowery train.
To every viilley of our land
AVe welcome tliee again.

('.jme to the pine and maple tree,

To graves of willow come ;
The huds are weary waiting thee

To woo them into hloom.

Here is your very s^ame snug nest,

Built by the ancient harn,
Made soft with feathers from your hre.\<t,

And tiny hits of yarn.

Fill up the little nest with li)ve,

And all its wants relieve
Among the twilight-tinted grove

Slow-waving in the eve.

Fresh greenness and the I'ragrant (lower

Shall glorify the glade ;
And fruits abundantly will dowt-r

Thy SAveet domestic trade.

AVhen wintry tempests from the sky
Frowned on our landsoape lone.

We longed to see thy forms flit by
A- in the summers gone.

We longed to see the oriole here,

The robin and the jay,
Fly through the firmament an<l cheer

Our labour all the dav.

THE DESKnr.

And th«)U;^di irtiK'niliriUU't' of p.i-^l mirth

Will with tliy songs ret inn,
Si iiKuiy joys witli thcc have hirth

Heiiiemhraiice shall not niourn.

Tlu'U wi'h'oiae, synihul sweet of S])iing,

Witli thy congenial train ;
To every valley of ouv land

We Welcome thee again.

■^'=«*:-}«5^^

21ni Desert.

TNTO the desert of my lieart
J- J sometimes gaze awhile,
L']»on the ruins scattered there
Of many a stately pile.

Lo, at the very gate of life
A temple used to stand :
its walls are crumldetl into dust,
- Its dome i- in the -and.

its centre liigii wns lik.' unto
The deep blue dome i t day :

P.ards in its h.ilh of heavenly light,
Welt' w(.](")jr.' guests alway.

Now not a livirig mark remains
of tliat vast mansion there :

'i'lie wind IkjwIs dreary o'er those plains
Whicli formerly were fair.

Majestic fi-iends who eanu' nid planned
Improving schemes will: Mie,

Some went into a far-off laiH' ;
Some went into tl-.e --•(';'..

:-*

YOU'RE NOXE THE WORSE FOR THA T.

Toil re none the worse for that.

To G. Roberts.

I SAW that wealthy fool drive by,
With your 1)dove<l just now ;
But judging from her pensive eye,

She will not break her vow ;
Yet should she, one sweet truth we know,

Which peace can ne'er get at,
They who to grief's great college go
Are none the worse for that.

I know your troubles — trod that way

Since vanished sweet sixteen,
On many a sultry summer day.

The plough's hard shaft between.
But reason — banishing false fears —

Gave, when his conclave met,
The verdict of the vanished years,

You're none the woi-se iov that.

Most men have been Ijy Cupid's flame

Too deeply scorched to scoff ;
Yet it is best to have some aim

To wear those feelings off.
The headlong impulse of the heart

May plunge us in regret,
Till we would rather die than part —

We're none the worse for that.

And you who think your lot is haixi.

And doubtless it is so —
Upon your memory print this card :

The worthy meet most woe.

iT.

YOU'RE NONE THE WORSE FOR THA T.

At life's gi'eat feast of pain inirtake

Of what for all is set ;
Though your fond heart with anguish ache,

You're none the worse for that.

You suffer not alone, nor I ;

This autumn of hope's spring
Made the immortal Milton sigh,

And Bums — how sweetly ! sing :
In pain they saw the smoke upcurled

From their dead joys, and yet,
The moral glory of the world

Is none the worse for that.

Peace to their ashes, the great dead,

Who never got their due !
Their feet o'er flinty pathways fled,

Their works remain to vou:
Their poor old sinewy hands all day

Were tanned in labour's vat.
Building this beacon bv the wav,

You're none the worse for that.

And we who are abused by man,

(By woman much the same)
Captive in Cupid's very van.

Unknown to human fame,
If half is true what sages say,

A seal is on us set,
Whereon engraved we'll find some day,

You're none the worse for that.

-i^^g

I'ISIT OF THE ASOKL^.

Visit of the Angels.

ONE .Siiljljutli evening, from the land of light,
A li(jst of ang(ils ^vinged their earthward flight
Hither from far Valhalla's halls — they were
Weary of that lepose which we prefer.
Vast worlds on worlds, inhabited and high,
Songful, surrounded them fast wheeling by.
As stai 'u Spring, so they in glorious robes.

Sang glo,

.litJiems witli the choiring globes.

Then cai.i'^ i ushing sound among the shade ;

And lo, this oib, our dwelling, onward swayed :

Through lurid gloominess its wastes appear,

Barren and sterile, bleak, austerely sere.

Huge thunder-splintered i)innacle« and rocks

Frown on the ocean's unexhausted shocks,

Where every wave, heaved from its cavenied source,

(Clasped by the cloudy storm's tremendous f(jrce,

Exultant, suiged along the scowling sky

Or back into their ebon caves did flv.

Tearful, though faultless, tremblingly they reacli

The luneless loneness of the bloomless beach ;

And lighting on a city-bounding hill.

With their white wings lit up earth's living ill.

Upon this scene they gazed, while time rolled back

Death's woful scroll, exposing what we lack.

From earliest records of Ambition's stress,

Down to the Present's boastful restlesness —

Full of the plagues which pain the little span.

The sensual downfall of degenerate man ;

In i»iide or want, in avarice or strife.

In some dark form each man a foe to life ;

When contrite tears bediramed their tender eyes,

lieholding whence our rapid niins rise.

Time them assured that yet this living stream

Would turn, and move mild as a morning beam ;

And nun l)e knit by love to bravely bear

TJIE TEETH oF AX JOJ/TJIVOSAUm'S.

Each adverse Lmdeii, and alternate share.

Not h)ng they looked, not h)n|i,' liefore they knew

Tlieir home was hrighti*r far ahove the hlue;

Compared to tliis, wlure they lunl hitely beeii

Tlnice happy was ; hnt trehly (jur.-i*d this swne.

Tlie climate of the upper sky is fair ;

'Tis Sahhath afternoon fonvei- there.

The sun so dindy shines he slieds no shade

On any ohject ; all things are arravi'd

In their own merit : nierey hrightens some :

Wisdom awards an everlasting hloom.

Far thro' Valhalla's ante-mundane <lome

Deep ))ells pealed ]»raises and inoelainu'il them come.

•^f;^?^M-

On Seeing the Teeth of an lelithiosauvuH in
Brfrnnnis, BrofuJn:<<t/^ y.Y.

PERHAPS tluni hast strayed where the Mastedon neigheil
W'itli lordly Leviathans lone :
()r c launched the strong snake in the slime-oozing hrake,

By heat-heaving mountains of stone.
Wlu-n morning scarce broke through Cimmerian smoke,

And chaos unclaimed knew no sun :
That epoch of old, ere the star-choir extolled

The uncursed creatiim v»ell done.
Alas, that thy date, from Oblivion's strait,

Is washed by the torrent of time :
For then we might know why earth welters in woe,

With hells of unharvested crime.

.,.:,,

aaxUX the dark clouds wliich nun-tality shroud:^
Be wafted for ever away,
Our vision might count all that was since the fount
Of the light we denominate day.

THE TEMPLE OF FAME.

The Temple of Fame.

To MY Fatiiek.

THE residence of Fame has been described
By Pope who Ironi fount Helicon imbibed
Pure inspiration ; freshened by those springs,
Buoyant and bold, he spread his skyward wings
On visionary voyages, and brought
Much wisdom, hived in ample cells of thought ;
And when his thither flight from earth was done,
Tl.ey f 1 vued his head and called him Homer'.>

on.

Btiyond time's shore, upon a crystal hill
The structure stands ; far from all earthly ill.
The turrets high are hid in glory's blaze,
Which fairer grows the ftirther up we gaze.
Broad are the walls, bound firmly with the lo^t
Egyptian glue, embayed with beryl, embossed —
Resenibling fountains fretted o'er by frost.
Coliunns of polished porphyry engrained
With gold, the lofty balconies sustained : •
Branched in Corinthian arches to uphold
Broad beams of beryl, and roofs of glass and gold,
Wherefrom vast domes heave into the etenie,
As ocean icebergs in the sunbeams burn.
The fleecy clouds effulgent, float and glow
Forever there, majestically slow.

There Shelley dwells, rapt in millennial dreams,
Pale moonlit radiance round his resting beams,
Angelic music lures him fondly nigh.
And fancy fills him with congenial joy.
While florid Sol suff'uses all the west.
Moved by the scene he muses into rest.
But many more have gone, since Pope's release,
Into the temple of eternal peace.

THE AXSJVEB.

There Burns, liigli piie.-t of nature, prince of song,
Spreads his vast soul around, or joins the throng;
Or hand in liand with HighUmd Mary strays
By streams like Ayr o'er bonnie banks and braes.
Leave them by broomy heaths of fragrant shade,
"Where milkwhite thorns wave fair, but never fade,
Above that modest crimson tipped flower,
Whose deathless lustre decked their trysting bower.
There all the peace this earth his heart denied,
"With one who once was lost, is bv his side.
She gazes on the bard, while far around
His songs e.xtend to Fame's extremest bound,
Spread east and west, by trump and timbrel spread,
Soothe every soul, and cheer the cherished dead.
Harmonious hosts his daily steps pursue ;
To tune their harps is all he has to do.

-^«^B«-

The Answer.

MY friend, I cannot take thy hand,
And tell thee wliat will be :
The future is so dimly planned —

Who can his fate foresee \
But I more graves than thou have pa.st.

More epitaphs discerned,
And from the horoscopes they cast
Some precepts haply learned.

"We grasp at phantoms insecure,

And grieve when they are gone :
The disappointments we endure

Are oft from seeds we've sown.
We scatter flowers upon the stream,

To see them whirl away,
Then sigh above the symbol of

The joys which will not stay.

40 ^V//; AXSWEIl

1I(AV oil wt' luir.sL' within ouv hearts

Tlie irtult we clinrge to fate,
Tlieii seize tlie dram to soothe the cUirts

Which conscience can create ;
jjiit though we join the ganihlers game,

Or drink delirium's bowl,
There is an awful sense of sliame

Within a sensual soul.

No jiotion, powerful, of wine,

No deep oljlivi(nis drink.
Can ever (piench the gift divine,

Th' immortal gift, to think.
According to the depths we go

Dc» A n crime's degrading course,
While thought, reacting, luings us woe.

Or withers \vith remorse.

How lovely are the fresh green fields,

Lit by the morning sun.
When every dewy flower reveals

The Mork in darkness done ;
So from the shadows of distress

We, too, may rise ere long.
For sorrov,' is the warrior's <lress,

Which makes the wearer strong,

V>\\i there's a light we overhiok,

Or vaguely view in dreams —
As heavenly flames refracted crook

Low in the reedy streams —
That light a holy life supplies,

A how when fortunes frown.
That dies not when tlie tempest dies.

Nor with the sun goes down.

-«*e«^c^

ru:r'i\ / ijty rnii'MPiLixT.

BrufftHhf Triumphant.

rpIlERK'S lint a luoiv rqml^iw truth,
-*- T»i tlioso wlio love tlu'ir race,
Tlian to review earth's rearward years

Of ghjrv or dis^^race,
And find how oft mere hrutal force

All godlier iijifts <letile
To .some ahused uncertain pciwer

Le-s than a little wliile.

How oft the world has bi-cn laid waste

By demons had and hravc,
Thronep, cities, empires, learning's halls

Hurled hl(j(jd-surged to the grave.
All shameful shaites of mingling crime

Red history's juiges smear,
From I'ecords most remote of time,

E'en to the date most near.

Twas ever so with those grand souls.

Who strove to lift the load
Of ignorance and oppression's honds

From off the ho.sts thev uoad.
They strove to rear among mankind

Truth's temples pure and high,
Those martyrs to their fellow-men

Did desolately die.

Too late, too late, the laurel leaves

For Tasso'.s brows were twined ;
Spain starved her Homer, Scotia's hard

AVas to neglect consigored.
What kings enthroned have h,ved their kind

Like tlie mild sons of son^ :
Yet who in ruin's arid realm,

Received from men more wrono- i

'Um

42 DANTE TO BEATPJCE.

Great Daniel in the lions' den,

Golgotha's cross and pains,
The persecuted Christian host,

Columbus in his chains,
Galileo forced to veil the light

Of truth's celestial beam ;
What millions have neglected gone

Down time's insatiate stream.

Yet earth's first nations, even now,

Received with golden fame,
Yea, paid two splendid human shapes

For deeds surpassing shame.
God's servant, too, and statesman learned,

All eagerly stood by;
Each left his post while brutal force

Was hailed triumphantly.

Dante to Beatrice.

No song contains a tone of so much sweetness,
However sweet, as thy persuasive voice,
No (lower fresh from morning such completeness

Of beauty as thine own, my only choice.
Nay, the most lofty loveliness of spirit,

Made pure by prayer — too pure on earth to be —
E'en when high hopes were thine — is minus merit.
And fades, eclipsed afar, compared to thee.

Beneath the lamplight of the sleeping city,

In the pale moonlight of the pensive grove.
To all our trysts I sing the tender ditty.

And make our paths familiar with my lo^'e.
But thou ! alas, thou art not near to listen !

Thou never more mayst hear my harp again.
Nor watch with me eve's opal dew-drop glisten.

Nor list the nightingale's forlorn refrain.

WHERE THE UAXDEUOXS r;j:EJr.

lint fancy often fills thy vacant places—

Not vacant from my heart hnt from thy side—
Anil, as of yore, I jraze upon thy graces,

Till woe, soon wakened, proves that fancy lied.
Yet willingly I welcome the delusion,

I dare not say adieu, dear dreams, adieu !
My heart is torn too oft l.y truth's intrusion,

So welcome dreams— that those dreams a, ere true.

=^^:j)9f'S|ifc-

The (rlade where the Dandelions grew.

TTOW often when weary with lahcMir,
-^-*- The duty of man unto man.

We open the gates of remembrance.
Where infancy's rivulets ran.

Even now, while the sun over Huron
Gives evening a lovelier hue,

The spirit of nature reminds nie
Of the glade where the dandelions grew.

One beautiful morning in May-tinu\

When birds were preparing for June,
Some red willows waved in the breezes,

That rippled a little lagoon.
The sky was embellished with azure,

With flowers the landscape, and dew;
We chose our companions and wandered

To the glade where the dandelions grew.

The scene was celestially favored,

It baffled art's exquisite touch —
Ye scarcely could fancy how Eden

Surpassed it in loveliness much ;
The ferns and the pearl-tinted lilies

Bowed low by the waters of blue ;
When she gave me her beauty forever

In the glade where the dandelions grew.

WHEiiE rill-: /Kix/i/:L/'L\s a may.

Tli'iii^^h i»iiin iit'tcr \n\\\\ lins distuitod

Tlie heart tlmt was liiqtpit'st iht'ii,
I jeiiifiuljcr uur mirth whoii we sported

At hide and <^o seek in tlie <,deii:
The heaulii'ul twilight oi' lieaven

Bade nature a l»lu;diiii;^' adieu,
ICre we came i'rom the lake in tlie valley,

The glade where the dandclii)n< grew.

The cloud wliicli arose on that eve

Was the spray I'rom adver-^ity's wave,
lUit lier teuflerness made me helieve

111 a heaven this side of the grave;
And so lew are life's scenes of rejoicing.

That fancy (Udights to iiview
The tirst of the fields that were fragrant —

Tlie gladi' where the (himleliun-^ grew.

1 never ivtarned to that valley;

1 never can go there again;
The change that came over the real

Would make the ivmemhraiice a pain;
iiut (»l'ten look hack to its heauty.

And sigh o'er the sweetness we knew
As we sat by the hlackberry hushes,

In the '-lade where tli<^ <huidelions yrew.

And you who have much speculation,

Who struggle for la'ead or lor gain.
Till the Iteautiful love of your lioyhood

Has almost forsaken your hrain —
!']v«.n vou have vour moments romantic

In the crowd and the coimting-house too,
Some scene that is lovelier than lucre,

Some glade where the dandelions grew.

m^^\

THE LASE.

The L<'in'.

I lud nut lell .,„„ wli„h it is-v,H, l<„r.«-tl„-.„„t „f „i,i
T o» .g... K.nex.. an, the .u.u, ,l,;„a.u.l,nv. a 1 as, '

A.Kl t„ a stnuw- passi,,. :,,, „„ ,,„„.,.. .„„ 1„ «,„, " '

Up,,n .1,0 .wanl il„ H,„„v„y d,,,!,... ,„., ,,„„,, „,„„„ ,, .

pr2si:;":;t:s:;:K:=r,;;v::*

A".l In- the „a,,U.„ clg. ,1,. ,„„„, i. ,,„,„,, „,^. ,,';'" ''" •
It is not ,,,a„y voars ,„.„_, „.i,|, ,|,at ii,.„. ,„.,, ,,,,„|_

i.e.. I„.,t I told ,„y |ud«v.,«, a,„l na^-,. ,]„. ,,,,.„„ „|,v.

\V>ur vuico 1 s.o,„ to l,oav again ; [ .,. v„„ a . 1„ |„,v-
.0 vuy ,.a.tc.„. c,i; ,..,„, .,,,.«_„,, ,,„;„„., „,,,,,_ <-

U.t gnovoasly reality dispols the visi,„, . Ua,-

A. eanc-ly r I„..,k a,t.,„„l, a,„I n„.l y„u a,,M,„l h«v.

I W,- that ,,,..,, ,,r 1,,,,. ,aay la,,,h ,,, 1,,,,, ,,,,,,, ^,/
Iha „at„,.o,s lau. caa cl,a„... I,„.a„s,. a ,„ai<l.„-. .„„„;„„, .
BU >,.ucl, [ l,a,. „.ai„st ,.,y ],„,,., ,„at „„.„. ,ha„"tl,i. U ll
lu, »u„„:ll„„, else „ a!«, cha„K..I-a„a ,!,.„,.,, i. it y„„ (

;S m.lj u. ,v„„M have save,! oarsdves this achi,,. at tl„. I., h

r ...0 a,al aga,„ 1 t„n, to g„, a. olt.,, ..(„,, to ^ i™-

1 1.0.^0 .scone, whioh all the oo,„i„,. yea,. ,,,„ .a.e,. ,a, „v ,,.,k.w.

no«- .„.„„ hoi,o'.,g,xv,. aa.l gohloa have, ho^i,, to lade aa-l fall ■
At Irosty dawn the l,i,* ,,,,,eat thei,- n.on.nn.l „u,ste,- ,1 '
I too n,„,,t .,„g a «,d la,owoll-„„t only to this .oeno ' '
Not only to the h.ipoy ,,a-t, Imt all that nii^ht have I'een

BALLVHTH HOME IN POMPEII.

Salliist's Home in Pompeii.

BEHOLD, at Pompeii, in Sallust's home,
The relics of an orgie in a tomb !
The bosom of a dancing girl is pressed
'Gainst his, the bony framer of a jest.
The unbaked bread was in the oven left.
And in the fruit the knife by whi(;h 'twas cleft ;
The supper table charred, the wine jars dry.
And those v/ho came to dance remained to die.

It wounds our large assumption to survey
What folly death o'ercomes us at, what play !
The humble, and the men whom circumstance
Hath favoured — all are targets for death's lance —
All low alike at last ; and none can tell.
If this dust was a king, a cloAvn, a belle.
What alchpnist can take this brainless bone
And swear this bowed, this ached upon a throne !
Once this head's wit ran through the social room.
This bony cheek blushed beauty's bygone bloom.
0, could this skull — still eloquent in death.
For thought will rule beyond the bounds of breath-
Give us an index to th' immortal mind.
Of those who come to bless or curse mankind.

Lena Lee.

OUR active toils for good or bad
Are rounded off by sleep ;
And every human heart was made

To laugh, and love, and weep.
We laugh in life's young boundlessness,

We love when hearts agree.
We weep to lose some gift of grace
Like los'cly Lena Lee.

ft;

ce
Qce —

■ '3

LENA LEE.

Tliere's not a power that girds the soul

For great deeds or for hate,
That grasps with such supreme control

The storm-driven helm of fate,
As beauty ; if 'tis used for A\Tong,

AVoe unto future glee ;
For few but feel some golden thonf'

Like lovely Lena Lee.

Her Jot is lowly, and her hands

Are often tinged with toil;
Yet eager to undo the bands

Of penury's cruel coil —
Oh, kindness greater is than king

In virtue all agree;
Yet both are unpretending tilings

Like lovelv Lena Lee.

.'S

©• J

rone !

oom,

oom.

breath-
id.

The longest river's reedy race,

The seasons rolling by,
The whitest cloud compelled th*rough space,

The wandering sun on high.
The wings of time, the orbs of night,

The seraphim, sin free.
Find none in all their rounds of light

Like lovely Lena Lee.

Her words are ever pure and true,

For wisdom rules her mind ;
Her eyes are of the loveliest hue

'Tis possible to find ;
And yet the little violet flower,

Beneath a lonely tree,
Ls not more modest in its power

Than lovely Lena Lee.

fSJ«S

THE HAMILTON CEMETERY.

lite Hamilton Ccmeferf/.
June, 18G7.

A LOVELY place of loncliues?!, the spot
Whereon the warm sun lingers to illuiiu'
The residence of friends too soon forgot,

While flowers symbolic spread unseen perfuvr".
Ye scarce could think" that under all this hlooi

The worm is busy with the heautiful
Untroubled tenants of the tearless tomb ;
Feasting in fearful silence to annul
All that wc dread to be, e'en death's celestial lull.

Lo! to the east outrolls a living sheen

Of liquid a/.ure, tinted from on high,
Mottled with moving sails, engirt with grceji ; ■

And far around the sunlit landscapes lie.
Here love's lost links and broken dreams defy

The fondest bosom's yearning ; westward, lu!
A very Paradise regales the eye ; *

And dimly distant, where the daybcams glow,

Far over Flainbro' hills my ch.ildhood's rivers flow.

How oft in vouth I watched tliv wandering waves,
Blue stream ! and longed thine ending to explore.

Here thou hast led me to this land of graves —
Drifting my hopes into this dim no more,

Where mj'stery sleeps on death's horizon shore
Unroused by time — here the gay cricket sings

And beauties, with their iullowers, traverse o'er
Green paths by flowery graves when Sabbath llings
Soft floods of radiance round, from light's supeni.
springs.

'' Cook's PaiM<lise: so naiiied after a young oftu'er wlio nmio liorc on a lini.|
ing excursion, in an open boat from Niil^'iniu On lii.s return, licin.-c askeil v.l
he had been, he rci'licd :— " In P;'.r;i(lis!.'. "

THE HAMILTON CEMETERY.

Again this gfcuii Caiuuliau hill is da-l

111 fllloi'eseent leafy lovclincs- ;
These wild hinlssing as if tlu-y iiL-vcr had

So inaiiy siniiiy jiraises to i'xi)rcss.
O lor the peace of Nature! no distress

Hath scarified lier countenance, no pain
Corrodes her vital vigor — horn to l)less

Tlie liomestead of tlie h.-art which thirsts in ^•ain

For a!iy otlier lionie, save the celestial i»lain.

To meditate on ])eanty, to admire

The wonderful in forests, hv the shoiv.
In solitude, when twilight doth expire,

Hath l)eena joy of joydu-ness, a lore;
And if at times a face a]»peared, which wme —

Or seemed to wi-ai' — an index to .•ncli love,
"Twa.s sweet to follow such; l>ut evei'iiiore

Reality mine error did ihmuovi',

So fancy roams afar wher- reason wouhl not rose,

The.e grassy graves sl'CIu like the wavt,'-; cd' fate.

Forever anchored on thi^ win-onie straiiil.
Here Lickerings (_^\\(\ with earthly de.uht, and hate,

AVith all our little schemes in trouhlo planned.
The mother led her lirst-honi ^^\ the hand

At early morn, then parted, weeping here.
Where .summer smiles in slumher, li'ditlv fannetl

liy breezes from the upper atmosphere,

Among the-;e waving groves where war's green mound-
appear.

ath llings ^
^ht's super: j

%^M

c here oa a Imu'
icin,-,' nslifil wli' ;

TO JXXA. — SOXO.

To AniUi.

WilEN first I saw thy loveliness,
My heart took angel wing^^ ;
Ami wlien I heard thee speak, I ^aid.

Surely a seraph sings ;
But when I clasped thy lily hand.

And viewed thy radiant eyes,
I looked aronnd contused to see
If more had left- thr> skio^.

..*«:] i^- 5^-

s I

! 1

I ;

SoiKJ,

AMONG the vales a maiden dwells.
The noldest of the living,—

come and view her heauty, you
Who deem my song deceiving.

1 ttdl thee, friend, no art can blend
The smile of such a creature ;

Her cheeks defy the rose's dye,
Ab mind surpasses nature.

But conrc not near to interfere
Between me and her splendor ;

For, if she wills, through all life's ills.
Henceforth I shall defend her.

rU get a cot in some sweet s])ot,
Where nature smiles serenely,

For I would give a world to live
A life with one so (iueeuly.

JCXE.

Jiinv.

mllE .summer is rDuiin^^r^ ^vith liuiu>y 1)i't's liumming,

And hawtliorii trees Itlooiuiii,!^^ iu every green nook :
The wild l)irds are siuMinn, Ini- nature is Lringing
Fresli Jlovrer-; uii-sjirinMin^, j-na i,]-!,. j., {],j. i.i.j^q]^^

(jreen forests are wavin-' alnive the ^reen ]>nvinj,',
And gay clouds are ha\ ing a danee in the sky ;

When weary with llov.iiig tjiey unii to tlie growing
Bright (lowers, iH-diwing IVe.di <lfws iV<nu on hi-di

But now a dim -h..wer iv-cntn.^ with |h.v>-er
A puri)hyry tower of many strange hues ;

Formed chielly of sluidy eli'i-J.i^cnees fadv,
A skyey arcadi;!, a liom,. !',,!• f],,. nnis^'.

Then sweet smiling nature, with joy in each feature,
Half dumh, lik(^ -onic creature suhdned hy -urpiise.

Looks u]) to the azure in evident jilea-^ine.

And takes the greiit in-iiHire with tcirs in her eyes,

Xature, how neatly thy garments l.eiit ihee .'
summer, how sv.ceiiy thy coming can smile !

We know some fair creatures, with love-kindled features,
But heauty like N;!tuie's r;ni never heguilc.

The chililren are ([uittin,i; their spoils, for 'tis getting
The hour of the flitting of 1)irds into rc'st ;

And slily the lover goes stealthily over

The fields of red clover, to oiui he loves hest.

Hail, delicate greeting; smdi moments (jf meeting

Are ever too fleeting, too happy to last !
Hail reason and scieiice, in every appliance,

But love's first plliance is purest and Lest.

THE WILD CANADIAN WIIIP-POOIl-WILL.

For somehow its promise no sooner gooB from uh
Tlian clouds overcome us to vanisli no more,

Exce[)t when some vision with vivid precision,
lletuiiis, ill dciision, tlie joys tliat are o'er

Then Welcome, young smik'i', youth's pleasant heguilcr.
Ere Idight, the despoiler, shall wither thy hloom ;

A little while hunger, wlu'n passion grows stronger,
The great ironmonger called duty will conu\

When leading of lolly, <^t* passion unholy,
Or dark melancholy that lives in lost loves,

I said : 1 will master this Ibolish disaster ; —
I'ut my hcuit heats i'ast;'r than n-ason ajiproves.

t5*.l

The Wild Canadian Whijj-Poor-WllL

MY friends are those who love to hear
The songs that hll the atmosphere,
When under evening's da\\ ning star
Fanuliar landmarks lade afar ;
And vesper hears from every hill
Tlie AVild Canadian "Whip-poor-will.

'Tis sweet to hear an evening liell,
With all the feelings that ui)swell,
When fancy pictures manv a scene
Of joy that was, or might have been,
Since first we heard, heside the mill,
The Wild Canadian Whip-poor-will.

LL.

Will

SOXG.

But now that we are far awav,

That ditty hriiigs a iiieinory

Of wliat no song, or martial strain,

May over rej)roduce a,gain:

So memory hjves to cheri.-h still

Tlie AVild Canadian Whip-poor-will,

Again I view the vernal thorn,
Wliicli blossomed Ly the old log harn;
And hear that chorus break the hush
Of twilight in the sugar l)ush,
Whose dim old arbors echo still
The Wild Canadian AVhip-poor-will.

As luiman minstrels often >i"h
For things unutterably high,
As all men mourn some loss of li/ht,
And chant their dirges in the ni'dit.
So, haply, disappointments chill
The Wild Canadian Whip-poor-will.

Persuade me not the nightingale
Relates a more allurinu' tale
Among Italia's laurels old,
Where centuries of ruins mould ;
For we are free as on each hill
The Wild Canadian Whip-poor-will.

.<kli

Song.

Am.— ,•!/^>,^ U\da\

TTIGH over West Flambio the lieecy clouds tlow,
J--*- The rivers rejoice in the valleys below;

But there is a beauty far fa! 't- to see

It's O to belong to a 1)eiiig .Ike thee.

54 yi Din^uc.

[il Behold this l)i'i^dit Uind.'^capc', ^o lately the zone

Of summer, 'twill j^hortly be wintor'-s white throne ;
But thou caiir^t make summer wherever wc? he,
It's O to helouff to a heiii<' like thee.

■H

We'll steal out and .stroll where the >h(tre-heudeil stream
Leaps up in the light ol'lhe livin.L,' moonbeam,
To the bloom-tinted tryst of the old willow tree ;
It's O to 1)0 loved by a bciauty like thee.

I long to be near thee v.'hen weary with tf.iil,
I long to delay in the light of thy smile,
As a sailor looks out for his home I'rijm tlie .- ea ;
It'sO to bi'long to a beauty like thee.

'^.i <?■-•*

!! I

A Dijyc.

To Ei.i.KN.

MY sister, when I look upwi the vanished,
The voiceless past -where all my hopes lie dead,
I feel like one from his own kindred Inmished,
For Bome dark crime, to a far country fled.

There is no crime — vet a great shadow hovers.
Like mists wliich keep the mariner from shore —

Hiding the isles of peace which hope discovers
In early life, from me forever more.

ISo life's unanchored b'ark goes drifting vainly,
Where rude winds veer, and sullen waves roll high ;

And all my efforts have this ending mainly,
Warming to life the v.orm which will not die.

no ;

d stream

FOllEirAUXIXOS.

My aim M-a.'< onco to aid wlioiii furtuiio sliijliti'd,
My l)L'iit to 1)oiic'(it the trouMe-cni.^hed ;

The faith of those wlio trusted me is l>]i^^lited;
Whom I could teach liavc for uiy folly hlu^hed.

Hushed is the voice which then; is no foi-ettin^i.?,
Cold the kind hand Avhich might have led the way

Into the silent land of suns unsetting —
Leaving a weary wanderer astray.

Where was the use, liearl, in all thy hoping I
The l)owl is Lroken, and the fountain dry —

Poor l)lindcd Cyclops, roun<I his cavern groping
For some lost dooF, is liai)]iier than I.

Yet hlame not o\ni who has no right or liilc
To hope or happiness, la-re or to come :

Whose lofty longings end in the recital
Of dreary dirges o'er a dreadful doom.

lie dead,

re —

11 high ;

16.

Forewavnihfjs.

Q< AY is it superstitious fear,
^ If we believe, from Hades drear,
Some evil inlluence ni<dit and dav
Disturbs our better destiny ]
AVho with a finite mind can seize
The soul's intangibilities ?
There often moves across our path
The misty blasts of coining soath ;
Whose drear forewarn ings do diffuse
A shade o'er all we loathe to loose ;
And we are trouble I long before
Misfortune enters at the door.

THE I)OMrX[nX OF CAXAD.1.

E'en to the innooont they cuinc,
Those \vhisj»eriii;,rs ol' the spirit's (h)oiu —
Dim pliivntuijis, ])eaiing iileusiire's pall,
Most terrihly distinct withal.
Dark omens S(!ttlc on the soul,

DcCying reason's piercinj,' beam,
fn mental mists, like clouds that roll

Their shadinvs round an unseen stream,
To warn us as we move away
Amon,!:,' the thing's of yesterday.

-^*3«g]s^

The Doiiiinion of Canada.

BY every {,freen valley, dark forest and lake,
The sword in thy service we will not forsake :
The song of our hearths shall ho Freedom and thee;
A land has no home till its people arc free.

Behold the oppressors o[ Africa's child I
Their gains are pollute<l, their glory defiled,
Their country's a shaivihles from centre to sea ;
A land has no home till its people are free.

Thev sav our green vallevs to others helong ;
"We have not a Court and we have not a Song —
Best so (though 'tis false) than with bondmen to he ;
A land has no home till its people are free.

We're free from their servile transgression and stain.
Who barter their daughters like cattle for gain :
The laugh of a slave is a terrible glee !
A land has no home till its people are free.

Wo love thee, my country, with all that is thine.
Thy valleys of beauty, thy mountains of pine.
Because thou art free from thv lakes to the sea —
A land has no home till its poojde are free.

./ i:i:n:rji:.

Ari.si>, soiiu- great >\\v^k-y\ ivpL-at it to taitli,
All nations aiv lilcst l>y the ]»n»j/rL'ss ui worth ;
And ntlicrs may H-lldw a< .-omi a.^ tht-y .*(.'(•
A land has no ]i..nic til! its [aMiple aic IVcl'.

-**■?♦' 3

A Jii'vcric.

rpins iii<;ht tlic winds arc -atlu-rin- .-t..>rni.s,
-■- To sift tlicni over liill and li.'ino:
Fancy is fnll oC i)liantum rornis.
And tiiis dim r.K^ia,

The hacklog lia< grown l>lark with culd ;

A thicker sliade is on the Hoor:
Deeper and deejicr drifts aru rolled
Against tin- door.

What scene in tin's my I'ancy sees.

"Which makes my listening ]iulsfs thrill i
l^est, ra])id lancy, if yon jilrase,
Rest and he still.

'Tis Init this lading ]>ine-knot flame

Hath made that otlu'r tiame revive ;
Yet something syllahled her name,
As I do live.

There vras an old honse in a grove,

Sheltered by .storms, whene'er tlh-y blew.
There dwelt a damsel all did love,
And I did too.

Donbtful and .shy I went to wo(.i,

When life was ytnmg, yet longed to ie'arn;
And when np to the door I drew,

Wished to return.

58 A REVKnil-:.

»S<jnio blosfloius in the breezes swuu''

Ileiieatli the mo.><sy cottage gal)hj;
I the little crickets
As thev were f\\)\Q.

Aa lou'l the little crickets eung

Plca.secl she appeared — soft ringlet.^ plavoil

Iluund changing cheeks hy bludhei stained:
Auon the old lolks )»i;d\vard straved,
Jjiit we remained.

AVe s[)(jke of various things, and strove
To hide Avhat eacli desired to know —
Such is the evasiveness of love
In \U first glow.

Ajar of llowers was on the jamh,
L'pon the niantlepiece a clock;
She sat in sweet donie.^tic cahn,
Mending her fi-ock.

Twas harvest time, ami hemlock hough^

Bedecked tlie hearth where fire had Ijceu;
Some Itooks were there, and all the liouic
Was vciy clean.

O'er clover fields the moon-l)eanis gleamed,

The old dog howled out on the hill ;
Yet, to my heart the whole house seemed
Uncommon still.

But soon acquaintance grew apace,
In gossip of the neighbourhood ;
The hours began a rapid race,
By joy pursued.

Time's wheel hath certainly some flaw,

It rolls so fast when aU is well ;
Perhaps 'tis owing to some law
El-lip-tical.

TO A L'EJ'. rrJEXD.

51)

To a liiv. Friend.

T_Ti>^ ^Tow aj. pears liki- (•IciiU'lKc e'lithvulK-d.
-^-*- Wlio i.s so iL'unu'd tn lie to inakc our cUv
Lovely us earth In- joyl'iil June ciizuiifd ?

He sweeps all creeds IVuiii iiiiiiiuitalily,
As iii<,dit is banislii'd l.y the j^^i 1 of (hiy.

Till scoiriii-,' sce])tics 1)ow nl)aslicd to heaven,
Or nink like M'uves luivkMl I'lda ln,i,'li rocks in spray
Down to tlie depths wheiin.' tln-y have vaudy striven,
Whilst nudlitude- revere the .'^'ifts su L^randly given.

O fur a mind like his tu eojiipr* lur.d

The hidden and tlie hi^,di — of iioh"nes3
Earth's nohlest sample : eagi.'r to heiViend

The needy in the season of distress.
The soul's Shekinah in Douhl's wilderness,

Where Pain's dark paths hwav denser hour hv hour.
And every step is duwn, — wliu would not bless
The hand that lifts ami leads, with such kind power,
I'Vom out the arid waste whs're de;ah dwells to devour^

From flic prose of Ci I rljjle.

To A. G. Ramsay.

"VrOU wake to work, and do !iut shirk

■*■ AVhat duty hids you do :
The strength of life is in the strife,
Tho' dreadful storms ensue.

Improve the mind, and lie resigned
To what you cannot mend.

For time misspent hrings discontent
1 ud shapes a dreadful end.

GO FROM THE PROSE OF CARL VLB.

The in.sects sing uiiuu tlie wing

An hour, tlit'ii (lisa])i)t'ar:
They do their share : not any arc

In vain hy God sent here.

The little flower, the sunny hour,
The storms that blacken heaven.

The liopes that hh-ss, or liring distre.-i.s
Are all in kindnt-'.^s given.

How many a year this mundane sphere

lias waited for your lot;
One life on earth will stamp yuur worth,

So disappoint it not.

Then guide, aitho' fate's sullen lluc
Drives lierce against hope's prow ;

A time of hlooni will surely eonie y

If we but labour now.

There is no state, nor \u\v nor great,

From which we canmit rise.
If we but feel that human weal

Is sacred to our eves.

The strongest mind that moves mankind
' Might some weak idiot be,

But for the ])owc'r the present hour ^
Confers on vou and me.

Be great, it' thou wouhlst jticach or plough;

A day's work is a prayer :
Receive to give, and thou'lt receive

A more abundant share.

Paul says there's more, when life is o'er,

Of wages coming due,
If we will brave temptation's wave

To win the good and true.

TO A LADY.

To (I. Loxhj.

Mailain, 1 lio, a.s is my duty,
Ilonuiir tlio sliailow of vour .shoe lie.

-IIi.'i.i[iii:Art.

YOU are luucli like the iiiaid wIm delighted my fancy,
When beauty first kindled tlie delicate juv, —
She came to our harn-vard one eveninj.' with Xancv,
(Our milk-maid was Xancy when I was a I'oy.)

Her ch-^.'ks wore the shell-l/msh, her forehead like lilies,
Her step put the fawn of the forest to shame,

Iler voice was as glad as the hmnk in the valleys;
But praise of such beauty seeins foolish as Idame.

Bewildered I blushed before such a Ijeholder,
Having Iteen at a logging bee down on our farm :

A fork full of hay dangled over my slioulder,
An armful of provender under my arm.

Upturned were my pants and my hat was in tatters,
Slouclied over a countenance sooty and dim :

The hat was a felt one, so long from the hatter's
But little was left save the ribbon and rim.

Slie saw how it Wiis, and did kindly endeavour
To banish the pain of my l)oyish distress :

Then came the sweet truth which will linger forevur,
Tliat women of sense never slight a poor dress.

So sneer not at rags, for experience tauglr mc

That sensitive worth is so easily hurt ;
And honour in patches this parable brought me:

The meanest of men often wear the best shirt.

And there are so few that make goodness a duty,
My heart may 1)e broken but cannot forget ;

For she left round remembrance a halo of beauty,
Like light round a cloud when the sun is just set.

CALIPH OMAR.

|;
'I

Caliph Omar.

ONCE when the Caliph Omar came
To council with his men of fame,
Two Araljs leading, hound, a third,
Approached rotjuesting to he lieard:

" Brothers we are who hring our cauoc-
A father killed — (he ke])t thy laws) —
Whilst walking in the garden air ;
This culprit came and slew liini there,
Then lied, \\a followed far, and caught,
And hiiu f'tr retrihution hrouLrht."

"Answer," the Caliph Omar said:
The y-ung man calmly raised his head —
The Cvauty of his countenance
Was his most eloquent defence.
" My judg", what they have told is true.
And more, winch shall he known to vou.
I am a Bedouin, and the land
From whence 1 came is desert sand :
Uv) to your citv walls there came
Our ]K'aceful camel, young and tame :
He Itrowsed the Ijranches of a tree.
And this an old man chanced to see ;
He hurled a stone against its h^-ad
And crushed my little ])laymate dead.
Enraged I raised the self-same stone,
AVhich from my hand was swiftly thrown :
The hlow was deadly, uud I sought
Safety in ilight, hut here am brought."

" Thou hast confessed thy crime," replied
The Calij)!!, "let our laws decide:
Retaliation is the pain
From him whose father thou hast slain."

CALIPH OMAR.

" My doom is comt'," lie did reply ;

" But, one more deed l)efore I die.

My dying father in my care

Left a young brother; and the share

Of shekels which falls unto \nvA

Are hidden in the desert dim :

Low Luried in a place unknown

To any save myself alone.

But if j-ou cause my sudden death

Before I get him his hequeath,

Commander of the faithful, you

Must answer to the prophet true.

Grant me three davs ; l:)ut do nut fear."

"And who will be V(jur suretv liere?"

ALizriri, Omar's projiiict, .-.ud :

" ;My liJ'e is thine, in this youth's stead :

Although a stranger, I v/ill he

The captive I'edouin'H guarantee."

Three suns o'er the re;i desert rolled,

And yet the stranger came not Lack ;

The plaintiffs asked Alazon l)old

For Idood — tln.'ir vengence W(juld not slack ;

This his coiu])anions did deny ;

But Omar said, "Oiu' SL-er must o.^;

If at the sinking of the sun

The vouth delavs, hi;? davs are done,"

Lo, at that nnunent up he came
To answer hon(»r's dnNidfui claim.
"Tlie heat hath liindre<l me, out I
Am here, father — must I die?"

"Commander of the faithful," said
Alazon, "I liavc stood Ids stead.

BITTERNESS.

! m-

Inspired to confidence and grace
By beauty in a stranger's face :
No longer say there is nor worth,
Nor truth, nor honor upon earth."

All were astonished ; and the two
Who came to slay, their suit withdrew,
Clasping his hand ; while Omar gave
Full pardon, being glad to save.

^T».^

Bitternesn.

FROM Tin; I'RO.Si: OF DI.SIlAlILr.

lii

i i

"1 TEN weep but once, and then their tears

-^*-*- Contain the bitternes.s of year.-.

Bitter it is when first we leave

Our father's hearth, or when, at eve —

After long years in some far li\n<i,

By gambling hope's mdiappy hand

Returned — we feel a nameless dread,

O'ershadowing change, and kindred dead;

When all the freshness, early loved.

Has been for evermore removed.

Bitter is debt, but bitterer still

Is the accumulated ill.

To be neglected by the good,

Or by beloved ones misconstrued.

Bitter to muse on wasted Vdutli,

Or an exposure of untruth.

Bitter is faith when first l)eguiled,

Bitter to lose an only chiUl.

BITTEILS'ESS.

Bitter to thul no I'li^-uil to W-v],
Or weep in woo, or lau^'li in weal.
Bitter old age without rcspoot;
Tlie east wind of a child's nc^i^leit.
Bitter as death i-; the untruth
Of one we idolized in youth;
But more enilntterin,!^' than all,
Grief's ni(»st unniiti,L,'att'd L;all,
Mingles lier cup whose nuu'riago ])roves
The consort of a <lrunkard's l()\-es:
A hopeless lil'e, delight delayed,
Andjition crushed, 1)eiief hetrayed.
Love loving still with tlml Inud thirst
Which follov/s kindness when accur-ed.
bitterness l»c_ in<l cnnipare —
The secret woe which none cari .-han.'.
Intense as passion half dcniiMl,
Deprived of all it deified.
Then rest is tortui'e which denies
.Slee])"s death of wue to dreannncf e\'t's.
Then night assunns a tardy stay,
And autumn swiftlv follows ^lav;
Then lirst she feels the nothingness
Of self, and all that ?'• /.s, or ?.s.
Then woe could ^\^ eji nn <iii)j h;xii-i,
Since faith is shaken in the host.
Then first love's fond delu-ions die.
And life is left a living lie ;
Yet smiles deceitful o'er di>ness
As wormwood Idoonis in hitterness —
A dreadful feeling, cruel, C(dd,
When youth in all save years is (dd.
And taunting douhts, a dreaiy crevr
Cry, '.vho is constant, what is true
Among the lio}»es which move away.
Into the realms of ve.-terdav ?

■r

A SXOJr STORM AT X/O'IIT.

A Snoiv Sfoi-m at }d(jliL

(N. 'ir tlio ".Mount:iiii Vitw llouso," Ilainilt ;i.)

To IIakuv Iji'iiKiiuLi-'Ki;, V>. A.

"VrOW whiter hovers o'er tlie hill;
-^^ And coldiie^^s into crystal stone
Hath hushed the music oi' the rill:

From every hou'di the hirds have nnv,-:i.

igainst the rocks the diil'ts are driven,
And storms and winds ohstruct the way:

Dark clouds ohscure the scowling heaven,
And frown upon departing day.

Far off and dim the city li'^hts

Fade faintly through the striving stonn ;
Like liope which beckons from the heights,

And loaves the lonely heart U) liarni.

O for some power to break away
From this repulsive sullen scene I

So changed from childhood's sunny day,

From hope, and that which might have been.

Abridge thy dreary future, Time !

Or give us what we do not gain;
The heart is hardened into crime

By long accumulated pain.

Yet, source of nature, source of storms,

Of all that was or is to come.
Let us, before thine awful forms

Of trouble, be resigned and dumb.

OCTOnEIl

October.

To Mack. IK Zimmiikman.

rplIK ■winds arc hi.i<li, tlu forests sigh,
■J-- Dark I'nlling storms are stern ami saLlo,
The v.itliored weeds and corn-stalks dry
S\\;V' hv the aneient cottage gahle.

The l)hick cruv/ on llie l/iighted pine.
Calls holdly to the Hocks liigh Hying:

Tlie world suenis restle--;, and a sign
Oi' dinnie-s tells u- tiiiK- i- dying.

Far np, the blue Canailian crane

Slow sails thro' evening's crimson ciulain.

lie seeks the shady swales again,

"When m(»onlight makes the shores uuc' rtain.

Among the dark green orchard giass^

The sanguine sumac houghs are swinging,

The llowcrs are dead, and dirges pass

From brancli to hranch where leave- art.' clinging.

IIow wonderful, and dim, and drear.

Yet beautiful is all around us;
We call for joys that won't appear.

And mourn the cchos that cord'ound us.

Well, Well, 'tis better — if we laiew
One half we are so fierce for knowing,

Oui- world would lose its loveliest hue.
And Cupid (|uit his arrow throwing.

Let mercy's mystery mutc-ly pall

The future's cofiined corpses thickly ;

If from our eyes the fdm should fall.
O, close the cruel ciulain (prickly.

68 OX RECKIFIXG A VIEnS OF WEDDrXG CAKE.

On Receiving a Piece of Wedding Cake

ONCK I (lid scarcely deem that tlioii
Wouldst luive to send this slice so far:
The crust looks luscious, hut, somohow
I have no appetite to share.

A gold-riiuined wrajiper and contents.

Tied with a piece of silken twine,
''Mr. and Mrs.' cojnplimcnts,"

And this is all that mav be mine.

No need to tell me how the bride

"Looked lovely dressed in mauve and wliite;"
I learned that wanderin" bv her side,

And won her in the pale mo(mli4.jht.

'Tis said they travel on a tour

Until the honey-moon's away —
well, I wish them joy I'm sure !

We all must iournev far some dav.

Here is a ring, a wreath, a rose.
And some fond verses with them given —

O the sweet song I — I wished my foes.
When first I heard it, all in heaven.

Be still my heart, a piece of cake.
Enclosed in gold-edged rosy paper,

Shoiild not, in common reason, shake
Thy pulse to such a silly caper.

l^l

OLD STEPirEN.

Old Stephen.

A DlIKJE.

I am tlyin;,', V.'^y\A, dying.— Sua Ktiq-KAia:

T ET lal)or lay l>y till we sing of old Stephen,
^-^ A song lie deserves and a spell at the muse;
The I'aults of his life may y(ju never helieve in,
Xor his will) recounts them — hut do as you chooso.

Old Stqthen helieved it was wrong to he solter —
Alas I 'tis the creed of too many we know —

His heart was not hard like the clod in Oetoher,
He often got liigh to keep memory low.

I knew of his orchard — wherein, a mere urchin,

I often delayed with my satchel until
The school-master taught me tlie weight of his bircli, in

The school-house that -^tood hy the tree on the hill.

That school, where I dn-aded to go as to ])rison,
With tasks still unlearned when the hell did recall

Our steps to the class, ami the taw s and the lesson :
S(mie ])icture maps hung on the ]H'ncil-marked wall.

Tho' fame like an eagle o'er loftv Ben Lomond,
(A thing quite unlikely) in future should rise,

I'll mind -where I carved his young daughter's cognomen
Beneath the Idue light of her heautiful eves.

His portrait resemlded the picture of Pluto,

Which hung hy the door of my grandfathers hall ;

His head was an orange tinge, countenance ditto.
Rut LTood was the heart that heat under it all.

=f-^.

70 TO A JUIiD.

•

So iK'iU.'i'l'ul was lie tlmt vnu t:(Hil<l iiut c-xvilc liiin,
So IcaniC'tl, lluit starNulion ol't stood at liis tloor;

So hoiH^st, that all nicii deliglited to cheat him;
The coiisecjiK'iu'e was, he dii-d |K'ili'ctly poor.

In the desolate boue-vavd thev buried his Ixidv —
The s]»irit had left it some evenings holore;

He died in liis rocking-chair, sijtjiing hot tuddv :
The toddy got spilled on the dining-room lioor.

No more will the dinner-horn call him ti» suj»pcr.
No more will the harn lloor resound to his Ihiil,

No more ride hi.s horse with a grist to tlie ho])per,
Nor tend to the sugar-hush ovei* the swale.

Kegret is uot givat for the loss of the lowly :
The poor are exi)ected to give up their breath :

He paid unto nature the debt of his folly,
And took a receipt from the angel of death.

Yet i'ate nuUces us ponder, for once he was pure ;

His childhood, dear reader, was eherishi'd like thine
"We all can sail down Tnuuoralitv's sewer,

V 7

Or sing with the seraphs forever divine.

To a Bard.

Tho g'lii'.v and thf uotliiiig of a ii,imi'.--TJYiuiN.

rpHOUGH thou wert born obscurely "iow,
J- And pride keeps down the cry of woe:
Though from the li]>s of keen distress
Didst thou receive thy natal kiss:
Yea, though thou dwellest where pains prevail,
With bitter stint and sordid l>ale,
Not in such scenes of solace shorn.
Was thine immortal being l)orn.

TO A BAUli.

U)or ;
II ;

ly —

ilv:
ioor.

per.
Hail,
.per,

111

ke thine

Tii'tu tdu couldst .sell thy .«oul, and be
By .slavery from pain set free;
But not for fame do.st tliou endure
The blijjdit of those wlio ai" not juire;
For thou canf^t scorn the oonitliest tlirone.s
Where servile slavery L,Mi('ves and f^roans.

In liilierty's exultant lli-ht

Tis thine to soar celestially,
Thronj^h fertile lirniaments of lij^dit,

Ileaven'.s .sacred scenery to f^iee.

The niusc a holy niansinu stands,
Uplniilded l)v Alnii'ditv hands,

O'er Hell's etenie antijiodes —
A beacon li<^dit its beams have been

To all Avho sail life's sullen sea^.
iJues not the j,dory of the east
O'er-canopy a costlier least
Than ever screened a crowned kinif
In Folly's foul administering ]

Tin; beauty df a thousand wuilds,
And every point of light that purls
Eternal boundlessness of space,
Lit with illimitable grace.
With music came that crimson morn,
When this terrestrial globe was born;
And, since thy s(ml outlasts this earth,
Perchance they chanted at its birth:
Be this thy inspiration's wing,
And thus unto thv sidrit sinL':

ail,

As thou wouldst live hereafter, live !
(Jive whate'er thou hast to give;
When ruin round thy brethren raves.
Aid them o'er the adverse waves.

TO A. (luFuUTll.

ff I hiiVL' cliantftl \\\\i\\. is wroiiLf,
Or woven folJy with my ^uw^
Or caused one kindred liiiniun heart
From what it h»ve.sto keep a]»art,
Then shako I'rom out thy ^hiss, O Tiiin',
Oblivion's a-lies an my rhymi'.

To Aled'niidcr (^(tforf/t.

rnllK sprinj^' returns; l»y the ohl mill
J- l"'itrlli issues the rejuiciiiL,' rill.
The liirds are ht-re, and every tree
Is rohed in green to greet their glee,
Midst soft warm vapurs, early shijwers,
Red-glinting dews, and Mushing llowors-
I wish their innocence were (turs.
How Leautif'ul is earth I — you
Whol)id us scorn it, teach untiue.
'Tis human sin thatchiuds our sky,
"And drags or drives us on to die:"
'Tis crinu,''s infenud (lag unfurled
Which sheds such shadows round our world;
Making life's path a thorny glade,
Crooked as falsehood when '.dVaid.
'Tis self-wioU'dit wr(m'f Avhich makes us mourn.
And mars whatever miglit a(h;)rn
The little hjft us here to hless
The human h(!art with ha])piness :
And every implement of ill
Seems hurled against an upward will ;
For deiith i^ in the world, and all

Its happiest spirits sigh
The delicate, the heautiful.

However dear, must die.
The fruitful trees in hloom arraved,

In vales of vivid green.
Fleck with manoeuvring light and shade

The grave of what has l)een.

PC)

POEMS Vinm A FORMER I'UIU.ICATION.

T/w (ii'uirth of Wliat is Edxrlk'nt ts Slow.

Ho sluw
Till' gpjwtli of wliiit is cxftllcnt; so Iwinl
'I'o attain iH-rffrfion in tins iictliir wmM. i'oui'kk.

"]\ Tl lililOXS of cvck's must liavc pinHod, invpaiin^'
XtX Tlie world, o'er Eden's j^'or^^'cous j^'ardcii Mooinod';
TFiousaiids luive lUH'ii, Oalileo-likc, lor dariii;^'

Tl. teach men truth, l»y lieaveiily lij^ht ilhimed.
The Lest have not 8uoceeded hest, hut perislied,

Like hrands liurledout upon tlie wintry snow;
And thousands more will fall who should he cherished,

For the j,n'owth of what is excellent is slow.

l\ej,Metted joys, lost years, a future darkened,

These are the phases of our destiny:
The lioliest hopes to which our hearts have hearkened,

Like fairest flowers, are first to la<le away.
The ^''addest hours of life oft deeply grieve us,

An<l leave most pain, wo know not why ; hut know
Thiit those we put most faitli in first deceive us,

For the growth of what is excellent is slow.

Yet he not haffled,thou who hast the yearning

For that which is essentially divine!
Be not discouraged at the slow retuniing

Of all thine earnest ettbrts, nor rei»ine.
The talent God has given thee is strengthened

While battling with adversity, although
The distance from thine olrject may seem lengthene.l,

Ft)r the growth of what is excellent is slow.

•i

74 SWJXE.

Tlo]uc'iiiber 'tis at night the stars are shining ;

In nigged regions richest fruitage tlirives ;
The furnace of affliction is refining ;

And double talent is his share who strives.
Among life's roses thorns are thickly blended ; ■

And in the tempest only shines the how —
Even while the shades are far o'er fate extended ;

For the growth of what is excellent is slow.

©^.•i£^-

Sivlne.

TIk; fuU-fi'd swinr return with eveiiiiiL' lioiiie. — IIoMtR.

BEHOLD the hog ! who has not heard the praise
Of all the birds that sing, or l)easts that graze ?
Yet, strange neglect, we seldom hear a word
In praise of pork or bacon, ham or lard.
Why should we show so much ingratitude,
To those whose flesh is universal food '?
Is this an ancient grudge remembered still,
'Gainst Satan's refuge running do^^^l the hill i
Wliy blame the modern hog for sins extinct i
Save in a few to our own ppecies linked, —
Some perpendicular porkers, men in shape,
Who meanly sneak in every ofiice gap —
Nerve-l)ent on gain — the power of grasping more —
With ceaseless toil "till life's poor play is o'er."

But truth will trium])h, and it ever should,
As pound fd glass will sj)arkle though in mud.
The hog shall have his due. Come, lofty muse,
Grant them the fame their fates so long refuse.
Come, sprightly visions, retribution come.
All things that «igh in scaig or blush in bloom.

SWINE. 75

The bull-i'r(i<^' ciuukiii^' in X\w dct'it lailUhmi,

Wliope smothered Ihundei's hreak the evening cahu.

The cowbell tinkling in the twiliglit shade,

The airy tinting ou the landscape laid,

The golden fruit uj)on the green sward sjiread.

From fertile boughs, ]>y fragrant breezes shed,

The perfumed air, the rose cloud high and t^till,

The stream-bound vale, the lonely whip-poor-will,

Whose vespers vibrate down the vested aisles —

Wliere i)ai"ting day on pen;-ive evening smiles;

Ye, shades and shai)es of slighted swine, appear!

Each with vour knife-docked tail, or half-slit ear.

Slow sauntering down the lane, with muddy heels.

To snuff frankincense from the buckwheat fields:

Or carrying straw l)efore an autumn storm,

To keep thy cozy sluml>ering jilaces warm ;

Or grunting restless round steep stacks of straw.

When chilly winds are easterly and raw ;

Come and confute your foes, force them to see

Who is the most to blame, themselves or thee.

A])peal to reason, and if none remains.

Appeal to appetite I there all have Itrains, .

They come ! they come ! ye gouiliKUKl-^ laise your eyee,

See do\ible rows of sausages arise !

From ham and eggs the soothing steam cumes wavy —

From mashed potatoes waiting for the gravy.

Sweet saliva-exciting elixir,

'Tis thine to make the hungry stomacli stir.

Then comes the dough-nutfi — boys can best divulge

How Santa Clans makes the new sock-heels bulge.

Great commerce, scorning paltry views of caste.
Floats bacon loads along the watery waste:
To dicker with for what is needed home.
Or to su]>ply the sailors as they roam
Bv i'ar olf isles, in oriental seas.
Where 9}>ices waft unfailing fi'agrancies.

76 HIVINE.

(0 fields, green fields, the fields of orient ppring,
Wliere crimson birds all day and insects sing) ;
Laden with silks her ships recross the main,
And sighing damsels learn to smile again.

'Tis said, and trnly, that our food contains
The various properties of various brains.
Byron called bacon amatory food;
Hence its great influence for Ir.d oi good.
However this may V)e, one fact is sure,
That to the good and pure all things are pure.

Some hide-bound l)lunderer.s ^yi a purblind school,
Who think th' omniverous animal, man, a fool,
Maintain the bleet millennium ?oon would greet
This piuse-mad world, if man did eat no meat;
That earth would be (juick purged from all distress,
And luotherly love come by the first exjiress.

'Tis not in eating part, or eating all,

Will i)urify our morals, heart or gall.

How meat nuikes mind no mortal known can tell ;

And since we in such stupid ignorance dwell,

E'en let it rest with our uncertain sins.

Till proved where pork-mind ends or beef's begins.

For almost any creed a man can choose,

Will leave his mind one-sided in its views,

Especially when judging the unblest,

Who sin outside the sect which he thinks best.

No universal rule will suit all cases.

Our stomachs differ, as our fates or faces.

A moderate use of all things under heaven

Is the best precept that the learned have given.

One worthy truth life teaches every hour.

That temperance gives us health, and health gives power.

Not so the dram, one universal curse

Sends its partakers to the hopeless hearse.

We leave the argument on reason's shelf —

Let every stumach eivili/.e itself.

But Mr. Bull, Lonl John, would sutlV-r ni..st

Keenly, deprived of liis diuniai roust.

One beeflesR week M'ould fade Cxreat Biitaiu'. bl.^om,
And probably blacken history years to co«n,e.
I'heir warriors could not tight, nor ^ilors sail;—
All their internal mechanism fail;—
But give them beef, half-cooked, and I enga^'e
Lord J. will fold hi.s arms and smile at Fenian ra.-»*.

In every ])os,sibie clime where food is lound,
Do hungry swine-herds graze or root the ground.
By bowery banyan trees, or towery i)alms,
Persistently :.e cultivates his hams:
As per.se vering and prolific still

As Scotia's sons, thriving in good ur ill.

But v.liLi. the season wanes into the fall.

Then comes the saddest, bloodiest sight (d" all !

The big fat barrow, in his sty of straw,

Must die— 'tis life's inevitable law.

The long knife lets the life-blood from his breint,

Or the quick rifle gives his spirit rest.

Sad fate, but certain ; let him rest in peace ;

And let the l)ig Ijoys sop his bacon grease.

Hale lads hard laboring, in the autumn air,

Require a huge amount of healthy fare ;

Else they will sally forth, beneath the moon,

To roast the corn or slay the sly racoon.

Now the same pots that stewed his nibs of com,
His pea and pumpkin provender at morn,
Contain a boiling flood to scald his hair.
Ere from the scaffold hangs his bacon bare.
No more for him to root the flowery mead,
Or come \vith upcurled narrative to feed;
No more to stand the barn-yard bars outside,
Squealing for entrance at the eventide.

78 sirix/-:

No more to husk tlie yellow coni for him,
In fine October, when tlic days are dim
Vet beautiful in haziness, and still,
Yea happy as a hungry swine at swill.

Vfho has not seen on Indian summer day-;

A youthful party husking yellow maize ?

When crimson Autumn comes with copious horn

To crown the furrows with abundant corn,

When restless Sol rolls eastern niirht awav,

And pearly dews gleam in the early day ;

Only such clonds as torrid heats restrain,

Move their vast glory o'er the gaudy plain ;

When thistle beards triumphant ride the breeze,

And golden sunbeams kindle golden trees ;

When purpling clusters, as the winds abound,

Trail their long tendrils o'er the dark green ground.

Then rosy romping girls and boys agree

To help each other at the huskirig bee.

There laughter too conies, "holding both his sides,-'"'

Frec^uently thence are chosen future brides.

From the choice band up wakes the general cheer.

As blushijig beauty finds the ruby ear.

As her white hands disrobe the gracious grain,

None but her bosom knows her tender pain.

Her tingling cheeks, suffused, alone would prove

The crimson symbol prophesying love.

Yet sly refusing that he should redeem

The forfeit pledge, with many a modest scream —

Pretended pontings over stolen kisses

From make-believe-resistin^' ready misses —

O earlv gladness! bv wliatever name

We call thee, thou art holier than fame ;

Or all the joys that nsit us in vain.

Among the passing years of hairlening pain.

i*i^

'/'///; LITTLE FRAME IfnrsF.

,jy

The Little Frame House at tlie foot of the Hill.

TTOW oftt'ii there conie.s to the .spirit, when lonely, .
^^ iSomc picture of beauty to gladden our toil : "
Some rose of wrecked prospects left blossoming only,

In thistles and thorns of adversity's soil.
And fadelessly ftmcy retains the reflection,

As rocks that are rolled in the midst of a rill,
Yet few things can equal in sweet recollection

The little frame house at the foot of the hill.

A meadow of green has a stream running through it.

Where speckled fish sport, and the birds sing thci:' song
In groves whose red Ijranches at autumn bestrew i!,

And fleck the blue waters that wander alon_.
But 'tis not all these that most beauty abides in.

It is not the mead with its flowery rill
That sweetens remembrance, but she who residr^ in

The little frame house at the foot of the hill.

Her song is as sweet as the song of the robin

That sings by the stream, on the still summer < ve
Her heart is the purest that ever did tlnob in

A beautiful breast, for the love it relieves ;'
Her words are the kindest that ever connected

Two fates Avith that magical sentence, I will :
No wonder my heart for its Mecca selected

The little frame house at the foot of the hill.

Sol, shed the glow of thy beautiful glory I

Rise mornings of light, and beam evenings <.f ]h;u
Come flowers with music to make her life's story

A heart full of love, every day to increase.
Let him, the one choice of her soul, be unswer\ ir.g

In that which gives life its most exquisite tin ill :
Sweet destinies fail not in kindlv observiu'^

The little frame house at the ioo{ of the hill.

THE <,IJ) SCMBEll FOf'i; PLOU'Uf.

The Old Number Fo'.fr PJomjJi.

LAST time I ivtunied to my fiithcr'ri plantation,
The light of the lan(lsca})e was vividly green:
The breezx's were full of the sweet exhalation

Of flowers and song, and the sky was serene.
My .M]>irit rejoiced in the beauty of summer,

And fancy took flights unattem]»ted before;
But suddenly sank when I saw a new-comer
Had taken th.e ])lace of tjie Old Number Four.

My joy was dispelled l)y the shadows oj' sorrow,

As all the reverses arose into view.
Since guiding that plough with its share like an arrow,

Its iron-l)ound beam, and its handles of blue.
For oft in the fields, when the crimson of morning

Made golden the mists on night's shadowy shore.
When wood-robins welcomed the daylight returning,

I followed the furrow with. Old Number Four;

And all the dav blest with the thrilling reflection

That soon as the eventide slowly drew near,
By chance I would meet with the blushing perfection

Of goMen-haired Anna, the tenderly dear;
And wander with her, in the glory a sharer,

'Neath roseate skies round June'.s floweiy floor,
Till earth seemed to fade and the heavens come nearer

The fields that were furrowed by Old Number Four

Perhaps, after all, 'tis this rose of our sjnrits

Plucked out of life's wormwood, yet gathered in ^■ain,
That gives tlu' old plough such a halo of merits,

Being mingled with joys that return not again ;
My heart fondly looks from life's wearisome change^,

And beats for the beauty that blest it of yoi'e.
And loves to contemplate, wherever it langes,

The rapture connected with Old Number Four.

THE OLD PIXE CAXOE.

TJie Old Pine Canoe.

To MY Brothf.r.

"VrOU leiueniber tlie days that have h)ng ago failed
-*- From hills that stand high in the sun's breezy beams;
The Hower-spangled shore by the cedar tree shaded,

And the Inndgewhere we fished in the many-curved streama.
You remember the boat turned all grav bv the weather,

That often we sailed into where the grapes grew:
^Xc climbed to the tops of the tall vines together,

And watched the waves cradle the old pine canoe.

But where is the gloiy ambition projected,

\Vlien gailywe roved o'er the water-bound scene i
Where now is the gladness that bright scene reflected,

Ah, where is the boat that we moored on the green?
The spirit of change has all si; -ntlv taken

The charm that we loved fmni the objects we knew:
The beauty has lied, and our friends have forsaken

The scenes where we paddled the old pine canoe.

Never agairi will they come to rejoice us,

When evening's first sunbeams repose on the hill:
Never again will we hear their glad voices,

Save when the love<l echoes of memory thrill.
If we gather once more those the grave has not gathere<J,

To join in the joys we were wont to pursue,
We could not forget all the sorrows that withered

The days since we sailed in the old pine canoe.

Farewell to the tair waving valley forever.

Farewell to the flowers that grew by the shore,
Farewell to the course of the blue winding river,

Farewell to the scenes that can gladden no more !
The spring will return, and the season of roses ;

The forest and valleys their verdure rt-new.
But the friends of those scenes that our memory shows us,

Havt; past down time's stream like the old pine canoe.

&♦

TIS UETTER XOT TO k'XOH'.

» n

Ti.i better not to know.

(i:. 11. DoNNEUJCY.)

WHO ever {'ornu'.d yreal plans in yt^itli,
Of miglity things to do,
01" wi<duni, fortuno, fame and power,

To aid tlie good and true I
Who ever wished to bless his race,

To raise the poor and low /
Snch patriot hearts have lelt some paiji>^,
'Tis better not to know.

Has bright temptation lured thee on

To its fair gleaming goal,
Till harsh remorse to greater sins

Cioads on thy harrowed soul ?
Hopes wrecked by rocks along life's stream

For evermore laid low,
There are some moments in such scenes

'Tis l.ietter not to know.

We ploil all feeldy on through fate,

Dumb, wretched, tempted, blind:
Forbid to hope, and by remorse

Forbid to look behind.
Resigned to the uncertainty

Of evervthing but woe;
With doubts forboding future pain,

'Tis l)ett*'r not to know.

Tunmltuous passions surge the soul,

And fitful visions tlash —
Grief-chilled, and fever-scorched by turns,

'Neath pain's all-torturing lash.
Desiring death, if but for change;

Yet dreading hence to go;
For in that sleep what dreams may come,

"Tis better not to know.

'TIS BETTER XOT T" EXoir.

For in that dim l\itunlv —

All liazy lone and far —
Upon whose threshold Silence sits,

And holds death's door ajar
For souls to enter at all hours,

While from his house none go,
There may he secrets hidden there

'TLs better not to kmnv.

The lun<j;ing after hidden lure,

The thirst for unknown things.
The fearful yearnings to explore

The future's mystic springs ;
The blighted hai)pini>s, and all.

All that we must forego,
Through want of wisdom's light, percli iin'e

'Tis better not to kiKiw.

But wisdom makes us wi>r;hy Iumvcu,

And knowledge gives us po\\cr ;
And holy science Hoods the soul,

As with a gcdden shower;
And nature's studies speak of Him

From whom they brightly flow;
Whose lightest joy outweighs those rnw.i

'Tis better not to know.

Then let us fathom every trutli

'Tis possil)le to fiml ;
To strengthen, bless and beautify

Man's truth-desiT'ing mind ;
Earth's lights and shades, and all the stars

That soul-exallins:' glow,
Can teach to bear the numerous ills

'Tis better nut to know.

«^§«'^:>*«-

Mj I 'KMniUl~A DIR'iK.

November. — A Dirge.

rpIlK ((111 oak ticc i.s living;

-*- The ftnnu-tiinuL'il brunch of centurk's is l>are;

Tlic biirk is riven tVoiu tlie trunk and Ivinu'

Distant and near:
The last lair rohc (jf summer leaves is llviusr,

Withered and sear.

l)e]»arting wild birds gather,
On the high branches, ere they haste away ;
Singing their huvwell to the frigid ether,

And fading day :
To sj)ort no more o'er withered mead or heather,

No lon'fer ''av.

CO*.

And sullenlv assumiii''
His throne, to vindicate the summer past,
Stern autumn stops the thunder's distant booming,

And lighthing's bhist,
While from the north the drearv clouds are comiu":.

Sombre and vast.

The little cricket's singing
Sounds lonely in the crisp and yellow leaves,
Like by-gonejtones of tenderness, iip-bringing

A thought that grieves —
A bell upon a ruined turret ringing

On Sabbath eves.

The tempest-loving raven.
Pilot of storms across the silent sky.
Soars loftily along the heaving heaven,

With doleful ciy,
Ut'ring lone dirges — thistle-beards arc driven

Where the winds sigh.

V soxo.

Ami yet Iutc is u tlowor,
Still lin;,'oring, l>y the chaiigiiif,' i'f'a:<(>n .■'iKVivd !
And a lone bird within a leallesis* howor—

Two tVicnd.-! who dared
To share the .shuih)ws of niisiortunc's huiir,

Thonv'li iniprejnire*].

Sonr/.

THE WAUM-HKAUTKD GRASP OF A W0R1<1N(J MAN's HANI).

IN changes and partings 'li.s pleasant to lind
The IViends we most value still constant and kind:
Oh ! sweet the reception tliat l)cauty can give,
Witli the soul-thrilling ]>res.sure that hids hope to live;
But the nohlest reception that niitnre has planned,
Is the warm-hearted gras]» of a working man's hand.

There is beauty in light, as the rainl>ow can prove;
There is glory in labor, and rapture in love:
There is valor in peace, and experience in years;
There is power in joy, and a magic in tears;
There is greatness in toil that too few understand,
And the warm-hearted gras[) of a working man's hand.

How piteous that those who do labor's least share,

Are caressed by earth's fools, and [»referr(Ml by the fair:

And life after life is to vanitv wrecked,

That reason would save if allowe<l to reflect;

But the holiest alliance by love ever fanned

Is the wai'm-hearted grasp of a working man's hand.

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( ,■ 6 ) 872-4S03

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BURKS.

Burns.

ALL hail to the birtli-clay that dawned on thy being !
A nation's best gift blessed her bosom that morn :
The generous glow of thy genius far-seeing,
Of nobleness, boldness, and manliness born.

The cloud of adversity gathered around thee,
And fortune seemed pinionea by poverty's cham,

Their Hinnom-like hopelessness failed to confound thee;
All chains for thy spirit were welded in vain.

Though cramped by obscurity's low occupation,
It seemed but to quicken thine intellect strong:

It served but to make thee the earth's admiration,
The glory and boast of a nation of f^ong.

By the lofty Ben Lomond, in ether projecting

His cavernous crags, where the cold breeze;* moan;

By the beautiful Ayr, in its bosom reflecting
The sun, moon and stars, as they shine or have shone;

Thy genius was quickened, sublimely reposing
Where fancies ecstatic at evening arise —

From grandeur and beauty, to mortals disclosing
Celestial reflections and heavenly dyes.

Bequeathing mankind what no time or detraction.
Or truth-testing changes can ever destroy —

A soul-soothing essence, a balm for dejection,
A tender assurance of innocent joy.

Thy songs have a power to strengthen the spirit,
To dissipate gloom in life's desolate hours:

What doubles the rapture of Cupid's quick merit
Like the might of thy music's most mystical ])owcrs ?

BL^KyS.

y being !
morn:

am,

imd thee;

:oan ;
shone;

Iwcrs ?

On the altar of Beauty cxhau..tk\^.^ devotion

Outpouring in favour of virtue and love !
All eloquent teachings of tender emotion :

How hard is the heart that thv tone.s cannot move I

For the strength of thy soul seized the subject.^ around thee,

And made thy creations posterity's praise;
Till the nations who gaze would rejoice to have crowned thee

With the palm hranch of peace and the laurer? green bay.^.

The might of thy passionate mind couM not j^lumbir.
But soared in the scenes of delight and despair:

Enwrapped in the rapture of hope's happy number,
Or wandering oppressed on the banks of the Ayr.

How often those dreams that delight in the di.<tan<'o
Are woefully marred, when adversity's force

Stops the feeling's fond flow, with a sullen resistance.
Like the .stream's wave rolled back by the storm from its

[course I

Yet it seemed of thy nature to gild life with glory,

With fancy to fashion what was not to be:
Uphoarding each hope and encouraging story,

That painted a future from misery free.

Light of the days that are ours no longer,

Remnant of raptme departed for aye,
Still grows the strength of thine influence stronger,

Gathering power as years pass away.

Time cannot extinguish the light f»t' thy genius

By nature conferred to ennoble mankind:
An antidote sent to exalt and to wean us

From follv's allurements that trammel the miml.

In the "Temple of Fame" the great Fergu-^son slumbers.
Where Campbell recorded a praiseworthy name.

Where Chcnibims chant cesthetical numbers:
But whose fame can equal the light of thy faint>

SEPTEMBER.

September.

ONCE more the maple leaves hegin to strew
The walks and streams :
There is a sadness in their transient hue,

Like twilight's beams —
Rich as the tintings fancy loves to view,
In life's fond dreams.

We knew that June's green hues from hill and glade

"Would disappear ;
But ah, we did not think their time to fade

Already here —
Behold, the trees are brilliantly arrayed

In Autumn's sere !

And every June seems shorter in its stay,

With all its pride!
Before the morning dew ha« passed away

'Tis eventide ;
We watch the flowers appear — another day.

And thev have died.

So pass we, one by one, health flushed, hope tirod,

In manhood's prime.
At any hour by desolate Death required,

In his dim clime :
Millions of figures, transiently attired.

Marching through time.

We misseil the rose.s' fragrace from the air,

When in our walks ;
We sought them where they gre,w but found naught there,

Save some lone stalks,
Some bright blue flowerets, aj.d a scanty share

Of hollyhocks.

rew

and glade

THE COMET.

Dark clouds anango their shadows loiuid the hill :

On every gale
Leiips forth the yellow leaves— the whip-poor-will

Has left the vale :
Long sable clouds of Idaok-hirds, singing shrill,

Slow southward sail.

The awful majesl of storms will come

And blight the green !
And all the grand array of summer bloom

Be no more seen :
Each day contains the universal (loom

Of what has been.

fired,

lught there,

The Comet.

T TRAVEL a road to a farther abode

J- Than thy wondering thoughts can wander :

My career in the sky is so ample and high,

The heavens intervening roll under.
The width of my spher*' encompass each year,

And cycle of tinu^ rolled together :
I gleam in the light of my musical flight,

O'er realms of eternity's ether.

O'er stars that were made when Jeho\ah arrayed

Creation's first dawning with fire ;
O'er each orbit and earth, thy Creator launched forth,

Through heaven that morning, and prior.
O'er amethyst thrones and the star-spangled zones

Of the Ruler of regions sublime ;
O'er forests and streams in the beautiful beams,

Whi<!h come from the color of time.

'Tis piteous to see what a little to thee
Makes greatness, and troubles thy reason.

In thy trebly cursed world which Jehovah hath hurled,
His footstool in space for a season.

',94

90 THE COMET.

Thy luw superstitions, thy vaulting ambition.^,
The wiles of the learned who have shaniniecl,

Mingling lies with their lore, until ignorance and w.ii-
Have peopled the realms of the damned.

Man'ji i)ride of an hour grows despotic in ]^ower,

Uprearing vast temples to sin,
Till Reason and Right, in their beautiful light,

Stand trembling but enter not in.
The excellent few who would teach what is true,

Have portions peculiarly hard :
The day will arrive when their wishes shall thrive,

With peaceful, abundant reward.

I'll bring thee a grace from the splendors of s]>ace,

A beam from the beauty of heaven ;
Then earth will assume such inilimited bloom

As angels of Paradise live in.
'Tis part of my mission to allume earth's condition,

To silence the wail of Death's stoiy ;
There's many a sphere in my spacious career.

Has grown out of gloom into glory.

There cometh a light to enkindle thy night,

To dissipate grovelling fear :
So sang they that morn when thy birth-place was b.)in,

With harps of each limitless sphere :
With harps that were given the angels iu heaven,

When Eden's first Sabbath shone clear :
These anthems that roll for the seraphim soul,

Would madden a mortal to hear.

Thou wilt bathe in an orb that will wliollv absorb

The shade that is ruled by the moon:
In light that surrounds will burst forth the grand sounds

Of heaven's whole concert in tune:
The just shall be filled with such glory as thrilled

The happy, in heaven that l^e:
The lightning prongs of their suft'ering wrongs

Shall smile like a sunrise at sea.

ami \v>u

er,

lit,

rue,

ihrivc,

inice,

lition,

w.is born,
iven,

.sori)

•illed

JNTEMPJSRANCE.

Mtcmprranre.

MOST liiiDiaii evils vv^.i-n uh cro they como,
But wino call render all objections dumb.
As when a wanderer in an unknown land,
Leaves the right road for one by pleasure plann'd,
How bright the flowers appear ! the trees, how fair :
All joys, long sought for, seem to flourish there ;
Where purpling clusters, when the winds abound,
Trail their long tendrils o'er the dark green ground.
Lo, any man whose spirit longs for liglit,
May enter there, those vistas are so 1 (right ;
But soon, how soon ! the cheerful scene is changed ;
Zig-zag the road through thorns and brambles range<l ;
Neglected guide-boards sink into the sand.
While barren deserts burn tlie blasted land :
Such fearful ruins hide his former way,
No human knows how far he /.t astray.
So when the soul leaves duty's dreary lieat.
For bacchanal delights and tlalliance sweet.
The mind for once seems full of pleasant things,
And the soul revels in the realm of kings.
With each red draught the veins 'heir youth renew,
And fancies all the fields of space review.
ye who say, " Wine l)rings us but despair,"
Know not the d readful fascinations there.
'Tis this that blinds the reason, blasts tlie sense.
And shuts the right hand of Omnipotence ;
This cheers the dreary drunkard's downward path,
This cheats his soul of all save woo and death ;
For sure re-action comes ; the nerves outworn,
Fiercely rebellious, natural blessings scorn.
Then where those scenes supernal ? liere but now ;
And thou, queenly pleasure, where art thou ?
Thy transport turned to torture, thy delight
To degradation turned, thy bloom to blight ;
Regret and shame like vultures haunt the scene,
And hinnoms of despair o'er what has been ;

INTEKPERAKCF.

There gamblers iiurKi their guilty hopes of gRtn ;
Ked guicide Ik there, and the insane.
Spirits immortal Htoeped in secret shamt*!
And foul disease that has not any name.

It muft. be in the annals of mankind,
That we are bom to our best interest blind ;
The moral sight, long fixed on themes untrup,
Musi lose the sense of right which once it knew,
Klse how could christians, sacred from offence,
KcHt till tliis plague-spot had departed hence.
(/Ould we but look upon this curse aright,
Mercy would hinder sleep until the blight
Were wholly banished soon. men of woitli,
Why art thou mute ? Why art thou mute, earth ?
The unabortive tjcast, the stones might rise.
Rebuking human inconsistencies.

When mad O'Neil, with his unholy host.
Approached for spoils upon our glorious coast.
The sons of those who bled for peace before,
Kose to a man and drove them from our shorn.
The stalwart offspring of the sturdy race
Of IJritons could not brook the great disgrace.
But in our midst a foe — by patriots nursed —
A ii)e insidious works, of all, the worst,
(The tlirest enemies are those within,
Yet sects, who fight on faith, assist this sin.)
By commerce nurtured, for the sake of gain,
By Legislation sanctioned, to profane.

We build expensive jails for the undone.
Yet leave the cause of all their crimes alone.
We grudge our tax, while silently consume
Whole holocusts of a continual hecatomb.
Across our land it sweeps like a simoon.
And thousands revel darkly to their doom.
Yea, thousands yearly reel along the path,
The self-same road their fathers took to death ;
From the proud palace, from the reeking cell,
From gin-holes, from abodes respectable,

INTEMPERANCE.

From learning's halls, from « wisdom's way " they rovf,

From holy hopes, and from tlie arms of love.

Alas, how must a mother's bosom bleed,—

Her best years gone — when sons no warningK hcoil I

The shrines on wliich to rest hor patient brow,

Like broken reeds — self-reeling to and fro.

wrinkled mothers — prematurely gray !
sisters, and those dearer far than they !
Alas for thine alfections, wliich will rise,
And prove thee kindred to the waitinfjf skies.
Alas for thy fond heart, so prone to break,
In silence o'er the miseries we make.

Yo who first guide the young, the uiigrown lio-it— •
Surehf thy want our help and warnimj most !
Wake eacli warm conscience on this fatal theme,
Before tlioy launcli on the alluring stream.

'Tis sad that we, er<! life is well begun —
How brief the stay ! liow ai)t to b(; undone !
Knowing that life's short lease is insecure,
Knowing we must immortally endure —
That we those high i)rerogatives of gain,
Exchange for earthly husks, and future pain ;
Exchange for dregs, a heritage? on high,
And day by <lay deliberatt^ly die.

What must the angels think of us, and thoii,
sin-slain Son of God ! with Thy sacred brow,
Thy purple hands outstretched to win and woo,
With all our sins Thy spirit piert^ed anew —
A sacrifice which does not seem to stay
The fearful fullness of our infamy,
And yet such power has evil, that wo know
The soul to be immortal bv its woe.

A LETTER.

'hRi

A Letter

Found in the ttreet, lappoiad to ba writMn by ona of tha OAoar'i Mtrrlad Widow* to a'lotbor, an
tba ramoTal of the SMb.

I answer as soon as I am able :

After our terrible loss,
My nerves are exceeding unstable ;

My husband complains I am cross ;
But fate has so coldly bereft us,

No motive remains to improve,
Alas ! since the Officers left us.

With only our husbands to love.

You need not curtail vour confession :

Let sympathy solace your pain ;
I often repeat your expression :

" Wo met a great loss in those men."
Ah me ! if we never had known them

We might have endured the old groove,
But now to fall back on our own men,

With only our husbands to love !

Those ladies who came to me (calling

On purpose to watch and to blame)
I nearly was fainting and falling,

So coldly they uttered his name f
I never could blame any woman

For letting her sentiments rove ;
! life is a task super-human,

With only one's husband to love.

It might have been borne if they never

Had jingled their swords on our street ;
But only to taste, then forever,

Fort'go the ambrosial treat ;
For wlio can replenish the pleasure

We lost on their sudden remove ?
No nectar remains in life's measure,

With only a husband to love.

How mean are the ways of civilians.

Compared to war's wonderful trade !
Those officers dissipate millions,

And are not of spending afraid.
The worst of their lot is, like seamen,

It c -instantly calls them to move.
And thus they make widows of women

With only a husband to love.

A LETTER.

The husband I married acts kindly,

He keeps every vow tliat he swore,
But wakes not my spirit so blindly

As one I intensely adore.
That one wears his buskin.; so sweetly !

He moves as a monarch should move !
0, life has departed completely.

With only our husbands to love !

Our children ! we love them all dearly;

Hut, wherefore deny the stern truth ?
Their startling developments yearly,

Increase our lon^ distance from youth.
Let nature those pledges present us.

Outnumbering the leaves in the grove,
Such troubles would fail to tonuent us

Like only a husband to love.

The last time I met my Apollo,

How lovely the valley, how green !
I wish every word I could follow

With which he transfigured that acem;.
My husband is pious and prosy.

Too tame arc his fancies to rove ;
My midniglits are dreary and dozy.

With only a husband to lovt;.

They say 'tis immoral to mingle

My thoughts with another man's fate ;
But often the soul remains single,

When bodies connubial mate.
He argues, and proves it with reason,

He calls up my feelings to prove,
" Fine wives with dull men make it treason

With only one husband to love."

He says that my nature is tender.

He says that my form is refined.
He says that my bust is so slender.

He says that my husband is blind ;
Fie says that our laws are a blunder.

He says our delights they reprove,
Ho says I 'm un blest, and no wonder :

With only one husband to love.

P. S. I will write to him often.

His letters relievo my long stay.
Their sacred communings can soften, '

The fate which has forced him away.
May be I can make some excuses

To meet him at London, by Jove,
We women have plenty of ruses,

With only one husband to love.

OPIMONS OF THE PRESS

(Qfnxiom of the |)tc05

OST OrSIlS •A.UTHOJK'fl S^fUaVIOUB >*UB]JIOA.'riOt4'H.

From Mm. tiiuNaniiu Mooillr.

Vour hook may tako its ntand upon the same sholf with MoQuoon,MoLauoh
linand SantcRtcr (mon of undoubted genius, wlio have done much to enrich tli«
liternturo of this country) , and lose nothing by the comparison.

From Kcv. W. Ormlxtoii, 11.11.

" The Canadian Lyre," a small volume uf poems, by J. 11. Ramsay, a j'oung
bard of great powers and promise. In style, simple and chaste ; in versificn
tion, smooth and musical ; in imagery, natural and national ; in Hontimonl
pure and elevating— those poems cannot fail at once to please and profit.

I gratefully accept thorn as an earnest of something still nobler to follow, an
cordially commend thorn to all truo lovers of poetry and patriotic pntr-nr f
Canadian literature.

From Kcv. Lnclilnu Taylor.

I have much pleasure in adding my testimony to that which iHlioro prosentti
with flo much comprehensiveness.

From ClinrleH HniigHlcr.

A host of similar attempts could be quoted to which it i.s vastly superior

From Hllllam Wye Hmith.

I think it is a happy thing for Canada that we have young men among u
who devote this highest of mental gifts— poetry— to the service of their countn
for it is serving our country, by teaching us to love her, her people and he
scenery, as much as though in arms on her behalf. His muse sometimes rise
to a height in eloquence which the novice may not hope to attain, as witnes
the following, whore be speaks of hope as a seraph :

To his own happy occupation singimt
The song begun in Ueaven before thi life
The hosts of holy worshipers ;

And again of a scene where—

The sacred, superhuman hue/i

Adorned each dim decli%'ity,
And shaped the intermingled views

As fair as Eden's landscapes be.

Had I the public ear at command, I should certainly have a '* proclamatio
poetic " made in your favor.

From Uie Hamilton ** Spectator."

His contributions have invariably been rhythmical and smooth in compoe
tion— pure and poetic in sontiment. For instance, here is a beautiful little lilt

His
Bntli
asb
rthi

Th<
im,

LilO^k-riONlS.

IcQuoon,MoLauch
much to onrloh tli«
son.

I. Ramsay, a youni
hasto ; in versiflcn
onal; in Hontimoiil
ic and prolit.
loblor to follow, un>
atriotic patr^nr f

i<<l) iHhoroprosentu

vastly superior-

unR men among u
iceof thoir country

ler people and Iu>
[)use 8ometime8 rise

to nttain, as witnes

lite

re a *' proclamatio

smooth in compofli

ON THE AUr/fOR'S PRKVlOrS PUiiLWATIOKS. 97

I KIlALIi NOT TKLIi.

I Hhall nut tt'll theo why the land

With so much Kladnt^MH rIuwh:
There is but one in all the world

My sacred jfocrot knowH.

(), she is t'airor than thu Mowers

Of roHy Juno or May—
Whrn ovory bird ia ninffinRUoar,

And ovory blossou) Ruy.

I asknd her oyca fo let their Imam.^

Mako lil'o Hupremnly Krand :
'i'fii'ir answer, Itko a iiood uf light,

FluHhod all thn tlowory I md.

'i'hn sunboams Rlancol among tho gnwi.i,
Warui-waviiu in tho brcezo ;

A new life gladdu • ' every bloom-
More vivid grew ih ' trees.

1 never had nw'^li faitli in gair'

Or wealth < oldcu lowci
Now even theoo seen' uo'My vain,

llcncel'oi ward, \'tu ilii.s hour.

f f<hall not toll thc^ why tho land

With HO much dory «lowa ;
There id but one in ail tho world

My sttorod secret knowt.

We must content uursolvtsfor tho i>rcdcnl, with unolhoi quotation :

A s k; ii .

Tid ftrango whatever makes \\a blost

Can mar tho blis-t it givets,
\\y planting in tho t^ <acr breast

The thorn that never loaves.

'Tifi strange, what gives us most delight

Can its own hope destroy,
And hurl the spirit from the height

Of its unfinished joy.

Why do our souls, with so much room

For bliss, yet gnevo ? ah I why
Do joys, like fragile flowers, bloom

To dazzle and to dio ?

From Ihe Hamilton **Uiiiiiier."

His language is generally bold, eloquent and musical ; he is imaginative and
Bntlmental, and gives evidence of genuine gonius. We aro glad this volume
as been published, as it is certainly a great addition to tho meagre literaturo
f this Province.

From the Owen $^)und ** Times."

The young bard is not afraid to see poetry in the Canadian landscape around

beautiful little lilt jn,^ ^^ ^c ^iojiox him for it.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS,

THE SPINNING WHEEL.

Here is the vale, the elm tree and tho oak

All leave- crowned still I
The old log bam— ah. it was here awoke

My heart's 6r8t thrill :
Here was life's sunniest spot, love's tender tone,

Hope's bliss made real,
All ruled by one whoso slaves were hearts, whoee throne

A spinning wheel.

'Twas on the wheat floor of thin same old barn

One morning, sho
Set me to hold u hank of tangled yarn,

And tangled me :
Yes, it was hero tho fairy came to sitin,

And I i/o reol
Tho long, lonif thread from lovo's coinmiuglcd akoin

Round fate's strango wheel.

All tho perfection sixteen Junes could shod

Was her sweet share :
Soft auburn glories cluster'd round her head—

Ahj »ho was fair!
Yet did not seem to know the thread she spun

iVith su much zeal
Was the beginning of a finer one

By that samo wheel.

Though I have been afar, my heart will pay

A reverence still,
E'en to that old neglected barn of grey

Beside tho hill.
And muoh as misery may interfere

With human weal.
In 'jiemory's pleasine solitude.^* I hear

The Kpinmng Wheel.

Front the **(*aiiuda KviiiigvU.Ht."

These poems furnish evidence of powers which, under due culture, would
not fail of achieving a high place in our country's early literature.

From Ihc New OrloaiiH "Tme Dclln."

There is a breathing of the fragrant meadows in his verses which is (luito
refreshing to tho literary palates of sun-baked city readers.

e throne

iin

e culture, would
ituro.

OS which is (inito