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 4:56 
 
MORNING SONGS 
 
 IN THE NIGHT 
 
 ' poems 
 
 1!Y 
 
 WALTER A. RATCLIFFE 
 
 WITH A I'KEKACE ItY 
 
 WILLIAM LOUW LIC.IITIIALL, M.A., F.K.S.L. 
 
 MONTR KAL 
 
 TORONTO: 
 WILLIAM BRIGGS 
 
 Wkslev Bl'ildin<;s 
 
 MoNTNKAi .: C. W. COA'lIiS. Halifax: S. F. HUKSITS. 
 
 1S97 
 

 69767 
 
 "■'^. 
 
 *t 
 
 KATrt. ^rrr^Lo A 
 
 Entbrbd accorlinK to Act of the Parlianiunt of Cana.la. in the year one 
 thousand eipfht hundred and ninety-seven, by Wwuam IJkigoh at the 
 Department of Agriculture. 
 
?67 
 
 "% 
 
 '1 
 
 TO THE MEMORY 
 
 Ol- III8 UKCENTLY nEI'ARTEn FRIEND 
 
 /IDrs. 1R. /ID. mUdon 
 
 OK IJSTOWEI,, ONT. 
 
 WHO FOK MORE THAN THREE YEARS WAS A MOTHER TO THE 
 
 AUTHOR, AXI> UNKER WHOSE ROOF MOSt OF 
 
 THESE "sO.NdS" WERE WRITTEN 
 
 THIS 1500K IS AFFECTIONATELY AM> REVERENTLY 
 
 DEDICATEIi l!Y 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 IjIstowel, Aprif, IS'J7. 
 

PREFACE. 
 
 WlTHlx tlu'so covers is to be found (Mie of the most 
 notahU' volumes of verse recently published in Caimda, 
 because probably no other (ieals so intensely yet simply 
 with the everyday probhuns of the soul and of suffV'rinj,' 
 humanity. The author, Walter A. Ratdiffe, of Listowel, 
 Ontario, has for years been cut oti' from the ordinaiy 
 pleasures of life by an unusually heavy affliction — haviiiy; 
 become almost totally blind and deaf. His only comnui- 
 nication with his few friends has been throu<j;h tlu^ ear 
 trumpet and the sympathetic touch and treatment. In 
 the sadness of his life his poetry has been to him a 
 .solace and an unburdeninj.?, and we catch the heart-throbs 
 in the singing of the caged linnet : 
 
 " If I should die to-night 
 
 No terror would affright ; 
 Xo <iuailiiig at the hillow.s' ceaseless ))ooin, 
 Xo boding fear of houndle.ss, rayless gloom, 
 
 And chill an<l damp of night. 
 
 But when the last warm light 
 Of life, a burned-out candle's glow. 
 Shines o'er the Heeted years, what would it show, 
 
 If I should die to-night ? " 
 
 Brooding such thoughts, he turns with a bond of deep 
 sympathy to the sufferings of the masses of mankind ; 
 sees them bear the fetters of ceaseless toil and reap only 
 a fraction t)f its fruits, while the wealtiiy revel in vastly 
 disproportionate lu.vury ; sees, in most countries, their 
 poverty made hopeless by great monopolies of land ; and 
 he sings of a coming era when these injustices and 
 
 / 
 
VI 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 
 ii 
 
 monopolies shall disappear, and mankind — and cspocially 
 th»; sons and daughters of his country — shall 1h) fnse : 
 
 "Free from the thraldom of gold, 
 Free from tho wurH of thoir creotlrt. 
 Free from tho terror of wunt. 
 Free with the freedom of Love." 
 
 His leanings find a remedy for much in a socialistic 
 order of society — perhaj)s too much, for how can any 
 legislation from without produce an ideal society without 
 a regeneration from within ? 
 
 Death and the future life are subjects of intense probing 
 by him ; not wild nor fanciful, but the piercings of a 
 thoughtful mind and balanced judgment : 
 
 " Like glow-worms that, in perfume-laden June, 
 A moment gleam where vines have hid the moon ; 
 Or, like the prismic hues on bubhlus fair, 
 A moment briglit, — a touch, a breath, then where? 
 Or like the wand'ring stars o'er heaven's face, 
 That flit as flits a smile, then melt in space : 
 We come and go, we know not whence or why. 
 And call it Life, this moment's laugh and sigh. 
 
 *' The oriole's trilling in the poplar shade. 
 The pearly dew-drop on the thirsting blade. 
 Yon fairy form, sun-kiat at eve and free, 
 A snow-drift sailing in an azure sea, — 
 If these be vain, if these be worthless quite, 
 Then, only then, meseems thou saidst aright. 
 
 '♦ Far 'neath the restless wave an insect train. 
 Unseen, unheard, doth toil, yet not in vain ; 
 Each walls its little cell, and roofs it o'er. 
 Then others come and find foimdation sure 
 Whereon to build ; and thus tier over tier 
 Is rear'd as Time doth add year unto year ; 
 B^d who fir 1^1 wrought hin labor hath iiot done 
 Till thatjair reof looks forth upon the sun. 
 So we, mi/ friend, do build, or great or umall. 
 Till Error dies and Truth is all in all. " 
 
'^ 
 
 pkeJ'Acj:. 
 
 v\\ 
 
 111 style, the «iui<'t force of many of Mr. HiitclKTc's lines, 
 
 their freiiuent iuippiiiess of phnis • n>eta|>hor, as in those 
 
 just (juoted, Htrik le. Not that they often come very 
 
 near the word-wealth of the ai t-ptH'ts, the ex<iuisite niusie 
 of the lyrists, the fastidious culture of the classicists, or 
 the i)rofundity of the metaphysical specialist ; hut in clear 
 intellij,'cnce and plain ;,'ood taste they take excellent rank, 
 and few current volumes will be fouiul to contain so many 
 poems which leave the reader earnestly thijikinj,'. The 
 author has evidently a sure hohl «m hijj;her comfort, hut 
 it ought to he one source of happiiu'ss to him that he can 
 so vi;,'orously sing and teach as to be probably fullilling a 
 more useful place than the average individual of unim- 
 paired faculties, and that this little work will go <m 
 singing and teacliing long after him. Perhajts he has 
 been sentinelled at one of the outposts of misfortune to 
 show how bravely misfortune can be borne. 
 
 \V. I). LKiHTHALL. 
 
 " Ch(i>"iiir/(iir," WithnunnI, Moiitnal. 
 
f 
 
 i 
 
 m 
 
I 
 
 CONTHNTS. 
 
 Slf.NSKT 
 
 The IlivEH . . . . . 
 
 EVENINO AND MoilMNO . 
 
 The Comincj Kinudom . 
 
 CvNADA'h AlTl'MN . . 
 
 Victory . . . ... 
 
 Lai'rier 
 
 The River's Lehhon . . 
 The Storm is Over . . 
 
 The Sower 
 
 Man Was Not Made to Skih 
 Ancjels of Dawn . . . 
 There's a Glimmer . . 
 How Little We Know 
 
 MoOXLKlHT IN MeDONTE 
 
 In the Twiliuht . . . 
 In the Gloaminu . . . 
 >VAITINt; 
 
 ir. 
 
 i: 
 
 V.) 
 
 28 
 
 :u 
 
 39 
 
ll 
 
 hi 
 
 ilh 
 
 * CONTENTS. 
 
 KRK AN1> Now 
 
 In Mkmoriam 
 
 42 
 
 On thk St. Lawkknce 
 
 , 44 
 
 Jessik 
 
 m ^ 40 
 
 IHE Goldkn Pavemknt . „ 
 
 The New Yeau . ^' 
 
 48 
 
 To the Maiich Wind . 
 
 4f) 
 
 The Poor Man's IIekitaoe 
 
 Love . 
 
 52 
 
 Two Hani»s . 
 
 53 
 
 The Day is at Hand ' ' '^^ 
 
 This World Owes You Nothin(j . -,, 
 
 'H 
 
 ELL . . 
 
 ^. 59 
 
 ho\s OK Canada, Awake ! 
 
 To the Ki\(j . 
 
 „ 63 
 
 JliVERLASTINO \aVV. 
 
 o 65 
 
 hELEISHNESS . 
 
 67 
 
 Fair- Weather Friends 
 
 LooKiNfi Backward 
 
 ™ , t)9 
 
 iHEREs A Bright Day CoMiNu ng 
 
 Life's Stb:jam . 
 
 ,^ 74 
 
 Only Uxe at a Time 
 
 Who Would Not Die ? ' ' „^ 
 
 77 
 
 What Lies Beyond? 
 
 One in Two 
 
 yt) 
 
 They Met as Stran(5ers Meet gg 
 
 Who is Weak l 
 
 The Ford 
 
 , , ^ 83 
 
 If I Should Die To-niuht 
 
 ,„ 8o 
 
 When the Reaper Comes gy 
 
 The Squire and the Bees gg 
 
 Wanted, a Man on 
 
COM'EA'TS. xi 
 
 I'AOK 
 
 AnsWKHKIv T'KAVK.r 1>2 
 
 A Skkmon !*4 
 
 TnK Land Monoimh.isi 0<> 
 
 TuiTH, I'l'yioi.K AM) «Ji iiiK Mi; V>7 
 
 Not Am OH 
 
 Thoi Hast Not 1M» 
 
 NioiiT J(M) 
 
 LiKK 101 
 
 WlIKN I FoM. MV ilAM.s 102 
 
 Thk Soxti OK TUK Stoi;m KrN<i 10.'{ 
 
 Ox Lifk's Ockax 105 
 
 Thk A\VAKKMN(i 107 
 
 To Canada 109 
 
 Ft Mioht Havk IU:kn Ill 
 
 Life 113 
 
 To (tkandma 114 
 
 Tin: Frost 11»; 
 
 NOVEMI'.KK 118 
 
 Ox THE Shoue I Stood at Kven 120 
 
 A CUKISTMAS Soxc 122 
 
 Thou Loud Seest Mi; 12.'{ 
 
 The Old Yeau axd the New 124 
 
 Life's Battle-Fiei,d V2f> 
 
 A Yisiox OF Hem 128 
 
 Norma 131 
 
liif 
 
SUNSET. 
 
 TnK clam'rous, cjireful day is wpll-nigh doiip. 
 Al)ove tho lake's hri<j;ht bi'im th' unwearyiiig sun, 
 As one wlio would not (|uit a pathway biisfht, 
 S€'enis loit'i'inj;', loatli to leave the earth to-ni^ht. 
 The east hills hlush as maids when lovers woo; 
 A cha!i,<j;eful jtath of rulnes, j^old and blue, 
 Lies o'er the calm lake's gently heavins^ hi'east, 
 And slowly melts into the glowiiifj^ west. 
 The frog's shrill piping in the brook below, 
 The homeward cawing of the vagrant crow, 
 The lane-bar's clatter, and the cow-Im'H's song. 
 The soft winds sigh, the trailing vines among, — 
 All speak the hour when carking cares should cease ; 
 All speak th(» night's repos(>, the calm of peace. 
 
 T watch the spectral gloom o'er woodland fall ; 
 
 I list the whij)-poor -will's loud pensive call. 
 
 As brooding night stoops low, and yet more low, 
 
 My soul is pressed by mingled joy and woe ; 
 
 For pleasure lightly treads amid the pain. 
 
 As gleams the fitful sunshine through the rain. 
 
■"•> 
 
 14 SUNSET. 
 
 1 see the path of life, its ills recall, 
 Behold its sun decline, its shadows fall ; 
 I see dark pitfalls gape where men must tread ; 
 I see the stones that weary feet have bled. 
 All down his path a bandit robl)er band 
 Beset way-faring man on every hand, — 
 Dejection, Disappointment, dark Despair, 
 Misfortune multiplied, false Friendship fair, 
 Lov(> unrequited, fond Ambition crushed, 
 Hope so deferred that e'en her voice is hushed, — 
 All vex him till he hates his every breath. 
 And sighs impatient for the hand of Death. 
 
 Yet Death is overcome e'en at the grave, 
 
 For Life is queen and he her vassal-slave. 
 
 The woodland vet'rans t(jtter whore he breathes ; 
 
 But o'er their prostrate forms Life gently wreathes 
 
 With each returning spring green garlands fair. 
 
 And sows her sweet forget-me-nots with care. 
 
 'Gainst mortal foes, sweet Patience, work thy will ! 
 Shine, Star of Hope, across man's pathway still ! 
 For Life and Light his weary soul may crown, 
 When from the western hills his sun goes down. 
 
'■'M 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 Fak back among the woody hills, 
 
 In some secluded nook 
 Where springs give birth to limpid rills, 
 
 Was born a tiny brot)k, 
 From out whose banks forget-me-nots 
 
 And bright-eyed violets look. 
 
 It babbles down the steep incline, 
 It murmurs through the dale, 
 
 Here checkered by the sun and \ ine, 
 There rippled by the gale ; 
 
 Anon joined by some other brook 
 From out some other vale. 
 
 Thus fed by other streams, it grows 
 
 More quiet, still as free 
 As when a brook the river flows 
 
 Toward the bounding sea. 
 Resistless in its quiet might. 
 
 Yet not so full of glee. 
 
 i1 
 
16 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 VA 
 
 I \» 
 
 Here narrowed by approaching shores 
 
 Tn angry haste it leaps, 
 There silently it onward pours 
 
 Tn dark unbroken deeps, 
 Or loiters by some wid'ning lake 
 
 Where drooping willow weeps. 
 
 i '! 
 
 Just so our life ! Its youthful glee 
 
 Grows less as years speed on ; 
 The joyous laugh, from care so free, 
 
 Trust, known to youth alone, 
 And the pure heart of innocence, 
 
 Are all too quickly gone. 
 
 Soon trials of maturer years 
 
 Like narrowing banks are met, 
 And sapping sorrows, boding fears. 
 
 Life's onward stream to frf •, 
 How oft along its winding course 
 
 We pause in vain regret! 
 
 They forward glide, nor either know 
 
 What falls before them be. 
 No barrier long may hold them back, 
 
 They must, they will be free ; 
 Through sunshine and through cloud they seek 
 
 Their haven in the sea. 
 
 (U 
 
 .# 
 

 17 
 
 EVENING AND MORNING. 
 
 The great sun sinks with an angry flush ; 
 
 Like billows of smoke the dark clouds toss 
 And roll and surge till, a dusky pall, 
 
 They droop the roofless dome across. 
 The stars are hid, and the moon smiles not 
 
 Thro' the veil that is draped from the hemlocks' spires ; 
 The night- winds sleep in the hill-lands' heart ; 
 
 Hushed are the strains of their phantom lyres. 
 
 I 
 
 ^ ' c. 
 
 Out of the West the Snow-sprite comes ; 
 
 Light as the down of the thistle she soars, 
 Sifting her frozen flowers the while 
 j O'er Tvooded upland and treeless moors. 
 { For the knotted arms of the grim old trees 
 ^. Fair garlands her magic finger weaves ; 
 Each scar she hides with a wreath more fair 
 
 Than the shimmering folds of their spring-time leaves. 
 
 Then, when the night is nearly done, 
 i And the burdened pines forget to sigh. 
 And the cedars sleep with arms entwined, 
 The hoar-frost stoops from the starry sky : 
 
 B 
 
18 
 
 EVENING AND MORNING. 
 
 She breathes on the maple, the beech, tlie (juk, 
 And the trailing strands of the shatt<'red vines ; 
 
 And, gleeful at what the dawn will (ifr, ^i 
 She kisses the beards of the sombre pines. 
 
 'Tis done, and over the earth's white rim 
 
 Stretch the ruby fingers of smiling Dawn, 
 Till, a Midas, he touches each blossom and spray. 
 
 By lake and by river, on upland and lawn. 
 The woods awake with a murmur low ; 
 
 Higher the. great sun rides and higher, 
 Till the trees flash back his fervent glow 
 
 From a million points of frozen fire. 
 
 { I 
 
19 
 
 THE COMING KINGDOM. 
 
 I've sailed the dancing waters, 
 
 T'v(» trod the golden strand, 
 I've spoke the sons and daughters* 
 
 Of that enchanted land ; 
 I've drunken of her fountains. 
 
 The sweetest and the best ; 
 I've rambled o'er her mountains, 
 
 I've revelled in her rest. 
 
 Enslav^ing Superstition 
 
 Her sunny shore hath fled ; 
 Blind bowing to Tradition 
 
 Is dead — forever dejwl ; 
 Time-honored landmarks hoary, 
 
 With ivy overgrown. 
 Are buried with their glorj' 
 
 When truer guides are known. 
 
 Within her spacious borders 
 No needy man I found. 
 
 No aimless idle hoarders, 
 No gentle woman bound ; 
 
T« 
 
 20 
 
 THE COMING KINGDOM. 
 
 There Truth is more than treasure, 
 And Love the scales doth hold ; 
 
 There Mercy hath no measure, 
 And Man is more tlian Gold. 
 
 : r 
 
 No war-gofl ever nmtters 
 
 His hloofly mandate there ; 
 No battle banner flutters 
 
 Upon her balmy air ; 
 For nation loveth nation 
 
 As man his fellow can, 
 Her honor and salvation 
 
 The brotherhood of man. 
 
 The gray old world rolls onward 
 
 Through all the changing years, 
 And upward, ever upward. 
 
 Through sacrifice and tears ; 
 ^^'hat others sowed in sorrow 
 
 We garner while they sleep, 
 And labor for to-morrow 
 
 That others, too, may reap. 
 
 That land is straight before us : 
 
 Oh, hail her, Star of Morn ! 
 Come, join the joyous chorus 
 
 Of sons to Freedom born. 
 Come, help each burdened nation 
 
 From sorrow find surcease 
 In world-wide federation. 
 
 An everlasting peace. 
 
it 
 
 CANADA'S A UTUMN. 
 
 ^4. 
 
 Autumn, sturdy Autumn, 
 Princf of all the sfiisDiis, 
 Very soul of j^'liulru'ss, 
 Thou art ever \vt;lcoirie 
 For tlie joy thou hiingest. 
 
 Summer saw thee comiiijjf. 
 Lovingly she loitered, 
 Walked with tliee till even, 
 Tho' thy feet we lieartl not ; 
 Then when sunset arrows 
 Quivered in the tree-tops, 
 With a sigh she left us, 
 Leaving thee her sceptre. 
 
 Not till on the morrow 
 Knew we of thy coming ; 
 Then the lordly maple 
 W^aved aloft thy standard. 
 
 Now in thee, Autumn, 
 Clad in all thy glory, 
 Clad in brilliant beauty. 
 See we Joy unceasing. 
 
22 
 
 CANADA'S AUTUMN, 
 
 Tliinc's ii jifh'iiiiiinj,' ^lory, 
 Ilc^Nil poiiip Hiid Nplcndor ; 
 All thy host is kiii;j[htly ; 
 All thr hoary f,'iHiit 
 Moimrchs of the j^rccnwocKl, 
 Miiisliallt'd in thy honor, 
 Tn their flowing airnor, 
 Flasji their ^ladsoiiK' j^reetiri^ 
 From each glen and hill-top : 
 
 Crimson, gold and purple. 
 Green and shimnM^rinji^ silver. 
 All ]i,'ive hack tlu! sunshine 
 Of thy joyous smilinj,'. 
 
 And the bow of heav«'n. 
 Thousand-tinted rainbow, 
 Is the arch triumphal 
 Tln-ough which thou art marching. 
 
 In the golden sunrise 
 And the purple even, 
 lUse from off thy altars 
 Hmoke of burning incense, 
 Till the earth is shrouded | 
 
 In a veil of amber. 
 Strains of dreamy nmsie, 
 As of some sweet anthem 
 By thy choir, hidden 
 In the forest's bosom, 
 Float adown the valley. 
 Dying on the hill-tops. 
 
 Plenty thou hast brought us ; 
 Joy is with thy bounty ; 
 We would have thee tarry, — 
 Hasten not to leave us. 
 
 \ I 
 
'% 
 
 i 
 
 VICTOltY. 
 
 SlNT., ye luiylity hills, iti «'lionis ! 
 
 Sitij,', ye torrents free urul strong! 
 (ilccful rills, in silv'ry tn'ljjes, 
 
 Swell tlx* universal sonj? — 
 Not of triumph over P'lrty, 
 
 Hut of triumph over Wron^' ! 
 
 tSinji, ye sons of this our country ! 
 
 Shout aloud from wave to wave ! 
 Tyranny and foul corruption 
 
 Now are sleeping' in their j^rave. 
 Cana«la hath loudly spoken : 
 
 Truth and justice she will have. 
 
 Wake to ^reet the j^olden (hiwnin^ 
 That shall follow twilij^ht f,'ray ; 
 
 liuHtles now the breeze of morning, - 
 Lo ! our nif,'ht has rolled away ! 
 
 Worthy sons of worthy sires, 
 Welcome in the fuller day, 
 
 When no mandate of tlie many 
 Shall oppress the feebler few ; 
 
 Wlien the worthy shall he honored, 
 And the weak receive his due, 
 
 And the bosom of the nation 
 Harbor only what is true. 
 
I' 
 
 24 
 
 11 ^l! 
 
 LAUKIER. 
 
 Stout heart and free, more glorious in defeat 
 
 Than they v/ho triumph o'er eternal right, 
 Upon the scroll of Fame, where patriots meet, 
 
 Thy name is writ, a deathless name of light. 
 
 As giant maple on s(ime crested height, 
 Thou standest proof 'gainst tempest's thund'ring shock. 
 Firm as the base of Hochelaga's rock, 
 
 Pledge of our glorious country's honest might. 
 
 Fair Canada shall ever more delight 
 To name thee fairest of her sons true-born, 
 Her star of Hope, her radiant star of moi-n, 
 
 Triumphant o'er Corruption's shame and blight. 
 When thou hast gone thy way beyond our ken. 
 Thy noblest shrine, the hearts of honest men. 
 

 _y 
 
 THE RIVERS LESSON. 
 
 )ck, 
 
 I STOOD on tlie brink of a river, 
 
 Deep-tio'.vir,;^' and broad and majestic, 
 
 Watcl iri^' the sun-ifilded rij){)les 
 
 And the bubbles ti:; !; covered its surface. 
 
 Borne on the breast of its current 
 
 Came leaves of the forest, and l)ranches. 
 
 And logs that were sodden and covered 
 
 With rot and with moss and with miklew. 
 
 Aimlessly downward they drifted, 
 
 Here spun like a top in an eddy, 
 
 There turned by the toituous current. 
 
 Ofttimes a tree that had fallen 
 
 Prone from the bank to the water. 
 
 Its skeleton arms far extendinjr, 
 
 Caught all the heaviest driftwood. 
 
 These as they lay unresisting 
 
 Hindered the others from passing ; 
 
 So were tlw; leaves of the forest, 
 
 The logs and the branches and bubbles, 
 
 Held by the skeleton fingers 
 
 Of a form that for long had been lifeless. 
 
 'a 
 
 !? 
 
26 THE RIVER'S LESSON. 
 
 Fretted tliey not at their bondage, 
 But listlessly jostled each other, 
 Till from the hill-lands afar off, 
 Home of the broad ri\er's fountains, 
 Thundered a freshet, dark-sur«j;ing, 
 That r'arried them over their keeper, 
 Or, sweeping the bank in its fury. 
 Hurried it downward before him. 
 Then forward, or backward, or sidewise. 
 All of them drifted together. 
 Anyway, so without effort 
 They might their journey accomplish. 
 
 Thus did I stand by the river, 
 Watching the leaves of the forest, 
 The logs and the branches and bi es, 
 Borne by its will unresisted 
 Down to the slime of the marshes. 
 Till weary I grew of the sameness. 
 But as I turned from the river. 
 The sound of the plash of a paddle 
 Grew clear and more clear as 1 listened. 
 And, rounding a point of the forest. 
 Far into the water projecting. 
 Came unattended a Boatman. 
 
 Not with the others he (h'ifted, 
 But bravely he breasted the current. 
 Bronzed were his arms and his shoulders ; 
 With sweat that was born of his toilinjr. 
 Thickly his temples were beaded. 
 Forward he went with a purpose, 
 Learning the depth of the river, 
 Testing the strength of the current, 
 
THE RIVER'S LESSON. 
 
 27 
 
 Marking the rucks as he passed them. 
 
 Ever unaided, but hindered 
 
 By those who were borne l)y the current, 
 
 Patiently upward he journeyed 
 
 In search of the far-away hill-lands, 
 
 Home of the l)road river-fountains. 
 
 And the leaves of the forest, the branches 
 
 And logs, in their moss and their mildew, 
 
 Ijjiughed at the Boatman who labored 
 
 While they were borne carelessly onward. 
 
 Go, list to the voice of the River, 
 As under its shadows it whispers, 
 And learn ye the lesson it teaches. 
 
W'W^ 
 
 28 
 
 ' iii 
 
 ! 
 
 liil! 
 
 THE STORM IS OVER. 
 
 Last night the heavens scowled, the moon was hid, 
 
 No beaming star looked forth to light the gloom ; 
 The billows, storm-tossed, broke upon the strand 
 
 With ceaseless boom ; 
 The tempest's icy breath was o'er the lea: 
 
 The driving snow, a million-pointed cloud, 
 Swept over land and sea ; 
 
 The cold wind wildly wailed, and loud ; 
 But to-day the storm is over. 
 
 Last night the knotted arms of vet'ran trees 
 
 Were tossed and torn with many a grinding groan 
 Anon a giant fell, they hailed his fall 
 
 With mournful moan. 
 Loud slirieked the gale among the bearded pines ; 
 
 The last leaves from their twisted twigs were torn, 
 And sere, dishevelled vines ; 
 
 But all is bright and fair this morn, 
 For to-day the storm is over. 
 
>«w* 
 
 29 
 
 4 
 
 THE SOWER. 
 
 n 
 
 1, 
 
 A SOWER went forth to sow, 
 
 For the April sun and i-ain 
 Had warmed and softened the earth, 
 
 And made it ready for grain ; 
 So he toiled in patience and hope 
 
 While May was spreading her leaves, 
 And great was his joy at the reaping-tiine 
 
 Over his golden sheaves. 
 
 Another went forth to sow. 
 
 But he loitered by the way ; 
 He scattered no seed abroad 
 
 Till past was the seeding-day ; 
 But when he went forth to reap 
 
 And bind his grain in sheaves, 
 He had no joy, for he carried home 
 
 Only a handful of leaves. 
 
 Now is the seeding-time. 
 This world the open field, 
 
 If the sower sow good seed 
 'Twill abundant harvest yield. 
 
 'I 
 
30 THE SOWER. 
 
 Tht! sower may labor in want, 
 He over each furrow may weep, 
 
 He may sleep ere the harvest sun shall rise. 
 But another shall surely reap. 
 
 Then scatter no seed by the way 
 
 But that wliich is pure and good. 
 For know that the harvest to be 
 
 Will be garner'd by reapers for food ; 
 So toil that when othei's shall eat, 
 
 They may not in bitterness say : 
 "Our bread is tlefiled, for with thistles and tares 
 
 He cumbered the earth in his day." 
 
 i 
 
 I 1)1 1 ; ; 
 
31 
 
 MAN WAS NOT MAJJK TO SIOll. 
 
 Man was not made to sif^li and moan, 
 Lite's all too short for fjjlooiiiy sorrow ; 
 
 Yet oft his song is but a gi'oan, 
 
 rf sad tt)-(lay, more sad to-iiKti'row. 
 
 The rills make music all day lon<<, 
 
 The sun's bri<,'ht smile eaeh ri|»{)le stealing ; 
 
 The green old woods art? full of song, 
 
 Like childhood's mirthful laughter pealing. 
 
 'Tis only man who will be sad, 
 
 When earth and sea and sky are smiling ; 
 How oft he deems he sins if glad. 
 
 And duly mourns his soul's deliling. 
 
 One winter day is F^ife to these. 
 
 No Spring can melt the bonds that bound them' 
 In sight of glowing coals they freeze, 
 
 And chill the hearts of all around them. 
 
 Then let us sing tho' tempests howl, 
 The sun behind the hills is shining; 
 
 We'll laugh when clouds the blackest scowl, 
 And rend them for tlnMi- golden lining. 
 
32 
 
 ANGELS OF DAWN. 
 
 Beautiful Spirits of Light 
 
 Waking the Ruby Dawn, 
 Kadiant offspring of Night, 
 
 Breathing o'er hillside and lawn 
 Love never-dying and Peace, 
 From ev'ry Sorrow surcease. 
 And thraldom of Wrong release. 
 Angels of Dawn. 
 
 Come ere the glare of day 
 
 Burst on our waking eyes ; 
 Bid ye our thoughts alway 
 On pure wings to rise ; 
 
 Our wayward lips then close. 
 Keep ye the gates of those. 
 Lest they should prove our foes, 
 Angels of Dawn. 
 
 As through the day we move, 
 Leave not, but linger nigh ; 
 
 Show us the hand of Love 
 On lake and hill and sky ; 
 
ANGELS OF DAIVN. 
 
 38 
 
 € 
 ■& 
 
 ■f 
 
 So toach us solf to shun, 
 That, ere the light is gone. 
 Some good by us be done. 
 Angels of Dawn. 
 
 And through the darksome night 
 Watch till the morrow's morn ; 
 Greet us again with light, 
 New \o\e with (hiy be born ; 
 So tlirough each (-hanging year 
 Come and be ever near. 
 Be ours to warn and cheer, 
 Angels of Dawn. 
 
34 
 
 THEUE'S A GLIMMER. 
 
 Tiikhk's a glimmer as of dawn 
 
 Trembling in the eastern sky ; 
 See, the night is nearly gone ! 
 
 Courage, brothers, day is nigh ! 
 Glorious morn we long have waited. 
 
 Joyous morn of jubilee, — 
 Brothers, cheer, the day is breaking 
 
 When the people shall be free ! 
 
 When that day's unclou<led sun 
 
 Shines upon the ransomed soil, 
 Man will cease to plead with nian 
 
 For the privilege to toil ; 
 Brothers, cheer, ^vant shall not 'press you, 
 
 Winter shall not make you dread, 
 You will not then need to labor 
 
 Day and night for daily bread. 
 
 
 Charity shall quench her spark. 
 Justice to her throne return. 
 
 Room be found for all to work. 
 All receive the wage they earn ; 
 
 Bounty bought with toilers' wages 
 ^ In that day shall seem not goo(l. 
 
 Brothers, cheer, that day is dawning. 
 Legal theft shall be subdued ! 
 
HOW LITTLE WE KNOW. 
 
 Ok the past that is j,'()ne, of the present tliat is, 
 Of the tide of this life with its ehh and its tlow, 
 
 Of the times that shall he when life's journey is done, 
 How little we know — oh, how little we know ! 
 
 Oft a hrothei- t,'oes down in the way he has trod. 
 And we hid him arise as we (Jeal him a blow; 
 
 We see his defeat, hut the foes that he fouj^ht 
 We never can know— nt), wo never can know ! 
 
 Of the heart fiercely torn by relentless Hemorse, 
 Of the tears all in vain that in secret may flow, 
 
 Of the wounds we may make when our brother we spurn, 
 We seek not to know — oh, we seek not to know! 
 
 Of tile hopes that are thwarted, the fears that assail, 
 Of the yearnings that cry from the blackness of woe, 
 
 Of the struggle unaided, the strife all alone. 
 How little we know — yes, or seek we to know ! 
 
 Yet we judge in our pride, and condemn ; for we stand 
 Where we think Wisdom's beacon is shedding her glow ; 
 
 But how soon we may fall, than our brother more low. 
 How little we know — oh, how little we know ! 
 
 ■' .- 
 
 n 
 
 ii:i. 
 
MOONLIGHT IN MEOONTE, 
 
 NVllKN (lay has fl(ul and the night's lonj^ shadows 
 Have shrouded th«^ oarth in a soinhro pall, 
 
 Ere the uunm c-oines out alK)ve the meadows, 
 A sweet, soft silence reigns over all. 
 
 The fire-flies flash and then are hidden, — 
 Noiseless as sprites on their way they move ; 
 
 Luminous tapers, unheard, unlmlden. 
 Sparkle like gems in the dt»me above. 
 
 Then the moon, with her shining sandals soundless, 
 Glides like a bride 'cross the threshold of Night, 
 
 And with a smile so effulgent and boundless. 
 Changes earth's tlarkness to radiant light. 
 
 The South-wind warbles from lutes without number, 
 Slumbrous chords vibrate to fingers unseen. 
 
 The myriad leaves awake from their slumber 
 
 And whisper their love to the Night's fair Queen. 
 
 Beauteous Night ! Thou hast nothing to mar thee ; 
 
 Love is thy soul and thy song too is Love ; 
 Nothing disordant hath place here to jar thee. 
 
 Peace, (h'Hir y peace, all around and above. 
 
 i 
 
37 
 
 IN THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 As T Hilt in tho ^ath'rin/? twilijjht, 
 
 Pt'iisivj', and musing alone, 
 Meth<>uj,'lit that tli«> Ni^ht-wind wliisprn«|, 
 
 "All things art' going, are gone." 
 
 And it seemed that the whisjuT grew ch'arer 
 Till my heart caught the mournful refrain, 
 
 Aiui r felt as the shadows grew deeper, 
 Life's hattle is surely in vain. 
 
 For I know that each light has its shadow, 
 That each pleasure is followed by pain. 
 
 And the friends of to-day on the morrow 
 Are parted to meet not again. 
 
 While the hopes that are lK)rn in the morning 
 Lie low 'neath the dew of the night, 
 
 And the hearts that beat warmest and strongest 
 Are .soonest to plume them for Hight. 
 
 And the life that we treasure, as misers 
 
 Treasure their silver and gold, 
 Must wane, just as waneth the twilight. 
 
 For the darkness of Death so cold. 
 
 But each night L it hath fled had its morning. 
 And perchance, when that night has flown. 
 
 We shall open our eyes to the dawning 
 Of a sun that shall never go down. 
 
 
38 
 
 IN THE GLOAMING. 
 
 Bright is the sunshine, and glad the day's music, 
 
 But the heart, weary, seeks not for rest, 
 Till the trees on the east hills, crowned with red glory, 
 
 Smile at the shadows fast shrouding the west. 
 
 How sweet is the hour as the shadows grow longer 
 And the last golden sunbeams die flickering away. 
 
 And the sentinel pine-trees their plumes droop in silence. 
 While Night drapes the Earth for the death of the day. 
 
 And oft a sweet sadness comes over' me stealing. 
 As I dreamily muse on the things that have been. 
 
 And longingly, yearningly dream of what may be, 
 In the Future that's hid by a curtain so thin. 
 
 But the North-wind sweeps sighing through tall leafless 
 poplars. 
 
 And I start at the gloom, for the last light has fled. 
 And the breeze bears a whisper, "Men read not the Future, 
 
 And no word ever comes to this world from the Dead." 
 
 1. 
 
39 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 Waiting in Life's rosy morning fair, 
 
 B) the garden wall of Time they wait, 
 Reckless that the weeds are growing there. 
 While they listless swing upon the gate ; 
 lieckless that the fairest flowers droop and die, 
 While they wonder at the blueness of thj sky. 
 
 Waiting when the sun is overhead, 
 
 Dreaming of a day beyond the blue, 
 Heedless that the deswUy ivy spread, 
 
 Heedless that the thorns and thistles grew, 
 While the moments of their morning rolled away 
 Like the dew-drops from the grass in sunny Ma}'. 
 
 Waiting in the quiet afternoon 
 
 When the a an has ne^'rly crossed the dome ; 
 Smiling at the ea.'v »"*"ing moon. 
 
 Waiting when the oee is coming home ; 
 They are waiting while the shadows gather deep, 
 They are waiting till their eyes are closed in sleep. 
 
40 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 Waiting, they are waiting all the day, 
 
 So the garden still is overgrown ; 
 For they cut no cumb'ring weed away, 
 From its paths they carry not a stone ; 
 Bear they to the fainting flowers no water sweet, 
 Raise for them no shelter from the noontide heat. 
 
 Cease we waiting while the sunlight beams ; 
 Cease we waiting ere the twilight's gray ; 
 Cease we dreaming empty, idle dreams ; 
 Let no hand be idle while 'tis day. 
 In Time's garden none may labor in the night, 
 For the skilful workman needs must have the light. 
 
 \^ 
 
41 
 
 HERE AND NOW. 
 
 Ye who are strong as the pines on the mountains, 
 Boast not ; ye stand in the shadow of Death. 
 
 Night follows Noontide, as Noontide the Dawning; 
 Man is as grass, and his life but a breath. 
 
 Ye who are weak, murmur not at your weakness ; 
 
 Deem not the moment ye live of no worth. 
 Go to the brook-side and learn of the violets ; 
 
 Many rejoiced in the day of their birth. 
 
 All are at one, then ; the weakest, the strongest, 
 All must go down in the way that they tread ; 
 
 Theirs are the hands that have labored the longest. 
 That toiled for the living unheeding the dead. 
 
 Who can be just when the Leveller has claimed him ] 
 Who can repay from the Valley of Gloom 1 
 
 Who can repent in the Sepulchre's silence 1 
 
 Who can take thought to do good in the Tomb ? 
 
 ' Would ye be young when to-day is called ancient 1 
 I Would ye be loved in the ages to be ? 
 ^ Oird for the battle, nor rest from the conflict 
 Of Here and Now till the nations are free. 
 
42 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 ■if, 
 
 W. G. Hay, Died Jandaby 27, 1896. 
 
 Out from yon echoless shore, 
 
 Out from yon shadowy bourne, 
 
 Over the billowy tide 
 
 Dark rolling between us and them. 
 
 Swift as the wings of the wind. 
 
 Silent as night soaring down. 
 
 Hastened a shadowy bark. 
 
 Sightless the boatman and old, 
 
 Pulseless the heart in his breast. 
 
 Ice than his fingers less cold, 
 
 But he found thee and called thee to rest 
 
 And thou with a smile heardst his call ; 
 
 Thou, gentle father revered, 
 
 Husband and brother and friend, 
 
 Pillowed thy head on his breast, 
 
 And he wafted thee over the tide 
 
 Into the gloom of the night. 
 
 Back through the mist of our tears, 
 
 Over thy pathway of life 
 
IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 43 
 
 Looking, thy footprints we see 
 Ever wliere duty has led. 
 There fswleless blossoms of Love 
 Spring, sin'ling, to tell of the hand 
 That succored the needy and lone. 
 Tf thou didst err by the way, 
 Thy zeal for the truth was at fault, 
 And love hath the error redeemed. 
 Then rest, weary brother, in peace, 
 While we tarry in patience and hope 
 For the boatman to pilot us hence. 
 
 i 
 
44 
 
 Mm 
 
 ON THE ST. LAWRENCE. 
 
 Placidly mighty St. Lawrence 
 Glides from the portal of even, 
 Forth to the rolling Atlantic, 
 
 Forth to the heart of the sea; 
 Like to a soul never selfish. 
 Buoyant and gentle, yet noble. 
 Bearing the burdens of others, 
 
 Strong in the strength of the free. 
 
 Tarries the sun for a moment, 
 'Neath curtains of purple and crimson. 
 Just on the threshold of amber 
 
 And gold ,of the Gates of the West, 
 Smiling a smile of approval : 
 Then drops from his warm, shining fingers 
 Showers of rarest of rubies, 
 
 Gems for that tide's rippled breast. 
 
 Fair, in the flush of that glory. 
 Kissed by the lips of the river, 
 Fann'd by the breath of the East-wind, 
 
 Revels the emerald island. 
 Forth from the stately Cathedral, 
 Beautiful poem in marble, 
 
N,l 
 
 ON THE ST. LAWRENCE. 
 
 Gently the Hymn of the Even 
 Floats over valley and highland. 
 
 Softly the voice of the Sister, 
 
 The laughter and glee of the children, 
 
 Like prattle of streamlets in Spring-time 
 
 Come to us sweet as we pass — 
 Sweet as the call of the robin, 
 Sweet as the song of the South-wind, 
 Sweet as the Hymn of the Harpers 
 
 Over the billows of glass. 
 
 Forward we float with the river, 
 Out of the vanishing glory, 
 Into the shadows that gather. 
 
 Till the sweet voice of the Sister, 
 The laughter and glee of the children. 
 
 Seem but a wail and a moan, 
 And the beautiful temple of marble 
 
 Only a dungeon of stone, 
 Reared on the backs of the toilers, 
 Crushing the hearts of the builders. 
 
 Till Hope from her temple had flown 
 For up in the heart of the city 
 They languish in numberless hovels. 
 
 Where sunshine and joy are unknown. 
 
 Perishless Love, never changing, 
 Come to the heart of our Country, 
 Breathe o'er each prairie and mountain, 
 
 And banish the gloom of our Night ; 
 Sweep by thy might from our cities 
 Tenements shadowed by temples. 
 Be thou for Hearth and for Altar, 
 
 And for the Nation the Light. 
 
 m 
 
 ift|i{| 
 
 1 I 3 
 
ir 
 
 40 
 
 ( [! i 
 
 JESSIE." 
 
 [Written on the occasion of the unveiling of the monument erected to t.ha 
 memory of Jessie Keith.] 
 
 As tender flower, that from each wind unkind 
 
 We shield with watchful care, 
 In home's sweet garland love so gently twined, 
 
 She daily grew more fair. 
 
 But as untimely frosts in balmy spring 
 
 Upon the flowers come, 
 Chill Death by Jessie stayed his soundless wing 
 
 And bore her from that home. 
 
 She prized— oh, joy 'mid grief's tempestuous gloom 
 
 Her honor more than life. 
 Viewed undismayed her all too early tomb. 
 
 And fell in that red strife. 
 
 This pulseless stone, the passing stranger's tear, 
 
 October's sighing breath. 
 Henceforth shall teach our hearts to daily fear 
 
 Dishonor more than death. 
 

 47 
 
 THE GOLDEN PAVEMENT. 
 
 Old Father Time speeds onward, 
 As noiseless as the spheres, 
 
 Each pathway swiftly paving 
 With precious golden years. 
 
 To some he gives full many. 
 
 To others but a few ; 
 To each way-farer trusting 
 
 To keep their setting true. 
 
 Time surely lays the pavement, 
 But he who treads it needs 
 
 Must burnish it, or tarnish. 
 With good or evil deeds. 
 
 Thy pathway may be hidden 
 In shadows as of night ; 
 
 But know that gems most precious 
 Are farthest from the light ; 
 
 And know yon stately river 
 
 Is fed by tiny rills, 
 That, long unheard, unnoticed. 
 
 Creep gurgling from the hills. 
 
 Then deem upon thy pavement 
 No task too mean or light, 
 
 That those who follow find it 
 A pathway up to Right. 
 
 1!^: 
 
48 
 
 THE NEW YEA«. 
 
 h.\ 
 
 
 At thy feet hoary Time lays the year, 
 
 A book bound in sunshine of promise ; 
 
 Each leaf is of silver refined, 
 
 Ruled, margin'd and ready for writing,'. 
 
 Tn the night as thou sleepest he turneth 
 
 Backward the page that is written, 
 
 And seals it in silence forever ; 
 
 So thou canst in nowise re-turn it. 
 
 If thou hast left aught unrecorded. 
 
 Or a blot thou wouldst cleanse from its surface. 
 
 One page at a time is thy portion ; 
 
 80 be not impatient, but careful 
 
 To fill it from margin to margin, 
 
 Each letter with love to illumine. 
 
 Ay, cover with truth and with kindness 
 
 Each page of the book that thou writest, 
 
 That all who shall read o'er thy shoulder 
 
 May treasure thy words with rejoicing. 
 
 !l P:h 
 

 49 
 
 TO THK MAHCH WIND. 
 
 Wild Breath «>f March, fiorcf IJrcath of Maivh, 
 
 TIic t'ver free, the evei- stronj^, 
 While niinstrels sinj,' of softer airs, 
 
 Thou too art worthy of a sonjf. 
 I hvive tlieir hiys to jjefitler hards ; 
 
 Thou herald of retunuii<^ Sprint,', 
 Thou last of Winter's tfiant host. 
 
 Free Ureath of March, 'tis thee T siii<' ! 
 
 Like love-lorn maids the zephyrs sij,di, 
 
 liy shadow'd lake in sylvan f^Ien, 
 Or uuirnnn- low Earth's even-son,LC : 
 
 Thou searchest out the haunts of men 
 Thro' crowded city thoroughfare, 
 
 Broad avenue, dim alley gray. 
 Out o'er the swollen surging sea. 
 
 Thou si»eedest on tliy cleansing way. 
 
 lii 
 
 Free Breath (»f Maich, strong Breath of Mairh 
 Blow through the nation's . ndinir hails, 
 
 Bh)w out the scheming, seeit.:;i„ cant. 
 Blow out the politicians' brawls. 
 i> 
 
60 
 
 TO THE MARCH WIM). 
 
 iiiiljii 
 
 I 
 
 ■III 
 
 JM(»w out tlu> strife of riviil cn't'ds ; 
 
 lUow out tho thou;,'lit of autia^'c itni, 
 Tlir rvci-prcHcnt fear of Want, 
 
 'I'Ih' |)laintivc wail f(»r daily bread. 
 
 Hfx'cd round our f,dolM', free Breatli of March, 
 
 From pole to pole, from sea to s(!a : 
 From cliff to cra^', in thunder tones, 
 
 Oo, hid the nations to I)e free ; 
 Oo, queneh the wastinj,' fire of hate 
 
 lieneath thy swiftly-drivit'^r snow; 
 FJlow into flame Love's embers briji^lit, 
 
 Till all the Earth shall f<>el her j>,'low. 
 
TIIK pool! MANS II KM l'l'A( ! K, 
 
 T(»IL, wlifii ;i tciidcr cliild ; 
 
 Tuil, wlirn his iinii is stntiig ; 
 Toil, to tlif bourui of life, 
 
 IJc tliat life slioi-t or- loiijj; ; 
 Wi'itit, tlioujili his .stn'ti;;th he ;^r('iit ; 
 
 Want, thou^jh his swoit Mow tVcc 
 These are his ci^'lit l»y hiw, 
 
 These he iiiav hold in fee. 
 
 Shame, — if 'tis shame to toil, - 
 
 Ij|[noranee, s(|ualop, j^rime 
 
 H 
 
 ome 
 
 that 
 
 WHS neer a h(»me 
 
 Hahe that are iieirs to erii 
 
 lie 
 
 His is the rij^ht to crinj^e, 
 Sue for a seanty eriist, 
 Hi<;ht t(» 1)1' ;;la(l he may breathe. 
 
 Til 
 
 ese In- mav hold in trust. 
 
 E'en when he lays him down 
 
 To sU'ep his last sleep cold, 
 He may not rest in peaee. 
 
 He still is slave to jioUi ; 
 His fate the surj^eon's board — 
 
 What ri^ht have such to "graves? 
 No poor man mij^ht be born 
 
 Did rich men not need slaves. 
 
m 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 "Pis talso that she is dead ! She lives, T trow : 
 
 I see her hand upon yon sunset sky ; 
 I feel her breath upon my fevered brow ; 
 
 'Tis her sweet voice that whispers softly ni,i,di. 
 Her name is written in the daisy's eye ; 
 
 O'er heaven's dome in diaiiumd points of light ; 
 'Tis sung by joyous brooks that gambol by ; '^ ' 
 
 'Tis blaz(»ned on the dark'ning brow of night. 
 
 Tho' erring man hath flone her throne despite, 
 And oft is captive led by Hate's design, 
 Love still is queen,— she reigns by right divine, 
 
 And lives his rugged path to warm and light. 
 The moon shall wane, the sun grow dim and cold, 
 But Love is Love, till Time's Kmg tale is told. 
 
 \ 
 
O.i 
 
 TWO HANDS. 
 
 Onk hand that T saw was larjije and brown, 
 
 Mis-shapen, and rough, and niarr'd ; 
 'Twas stain'd with the toil of weary years, 
 
 By many a seam 'twas scarr'd ; 
 'Twas a str«)ng right hand that had helped to fill 
 
 The coffers of more than one. 
 But 'twas crippled by want thro' a dreary life, 
 
 And was empty when life was done. 
 
 The otlter I saw was a blue-vein'd hand 
 
 So soft and white and warm, 
 Bedeck'd by many a shining gem. 
 
 And perfect in beauty and form. 
 It never knew want, tho' it never had toiled ; 
 
 No scar or seam it bore ; 
 But it held the keys to the treasures of Earth 
 
 That were won by the toiling poor. 
 
 I , 
 
 So (me man hath milliims and one hath a mite. 
 One soars while another's downtrod ; 
 
 One's life is all sunshine, the other's all night, 
 Tho' sons of the same kind God ; 
 
fi: 
 
 64 TWO HANDS. 
 
 One rev<>lH in wealth that he has not earned, 
 
 Claims title as lord of the soil : 
 That one may be j,neat in the People's land, 
 
 The ninety and nine must toil. 
 
 But the ninety and nine shall yet be free, 
 
 For Justice shall plead their cause. 
 And Oi-eed find Oppression be crushed to Earth 
 
 By nobler and purer laws ; 
 Then Merit shall rule where birth was wont, 
 
 Then Toil of disgrace shall be sho 
 The hands that labor shall then be t, i 
 
 And the hearts be ghul that mourn. 
 
 \ 
 
t)0 
 
 ) 
 
 THE DAY TS AT HAND. 
 
 It is coining, surely coming ! 
 
 Even now I feel the breath 
 Of the breeze of early morning, 
 
 And I know the Night of Death 
 That has brooded o'er the nations 
 
 With its bondage and its blight, 
 As a blotted scroll, is rolling 
 
 Back l)efore the day of Right. 
 
 Yes, the day is swiftly coming 
 
 When the slaves shall know their might 
 Oh, restore their Ijirthright, brothers. 
 
 Lest their arms be raised to smite ; 
 Lest like some strong mountain torrent, 
 
 Held by bars of straw and sand. 
 They shall rise iind sweep the forgers 
 
 Of their chains from off the land. 
 
 Come and see the crust ye fed them 
 While they made for you the day ; 
 
 8ee their bed, a cheerless bivouac 
 By a coif I unsheltered way. 
 
m 
 
 mm 
 mm 
 
 iHIK 
 
 T//E DAY IS AT HAND. 
 
 But their night is not eternal ; 
 
 Sin, and shame, and death, and tears, 
 Shall not be the toiler's portion 
 
 All the cycles of the years. 
 
 They have sown and they shall garner ; 
 
 They have wept, but they shall laugti ; 
 In the day adawning, brothers, 
 
 Theirs the wheat ;ind not the chaff. 
 Shout the glad unselfish gospel 
 
 O'er the land from sea to sea, 
 That the day is even dawnin" 
 
 When the bond-slaves shall be free ;— 
 
 Flee to labor, free fr-om hun<'er 
 
 Free from pestilence and crime, 
 Free to soar from mental dungeons 
 
 Thro' the realms of Thought sublime ; 
 Free to hear their gracious Father 
 
 Speak from forest, tide and glen ; 
 Free to tread where Lo^-e would lead them ; 
 
 Free to live the lives of men. 
 
 None can stay the cleansing torrent 
 
 That shall sweep from Earth its Hell ; 
 None can quench the golden Sunlight 
 
 That shall soon the clouds dispel ; 
 For 'tis coming, surely coming, 
 
 Swiftly coming, all to bless ; 
 O'er the earth shall reign triumphant 
 
 Love, and Truth, and Righteousness. 
 
 
 
67 
 
 THIS WORLD OWES YOU NOTHING. 
 
 \ 
 
 / This w(jrkl owes you naught but a corner to toil — 
 
 That it owes you a living's a lie ; 
 But your right is as good to the bountiful soil 
 
 As it is to the sunshine and sky. 
 Your hands may l)e bound by monopolists' chains, 
 
 But they're flimsy as vaj)or and light ; 
 Y''ou m;<,y shattei' them all if you use your own brains, 
 
 And the ballot — your sceptre of might. 
 
 In Life's i-osy morning })e wedded to Truth, 
 
 And keep her your spouse till you die ; 
 Oh I learn it, my V)oy, in the days of your youth 
 
 That nothing e'er needed a lie. 
 It may not be easy truth always to tell, 
 
 But once told and the battle is won ; 
 If you lie you are filling a bottomless well, 
 
 And with lying you never are done. 
 
 My boy, if you're honest shrink not to be poor, 
 
 You still are a man among men; 
 Fawn not on the rich if they come to your door, 
 
 They will only despise you again. 
 
1 1< ' • 
 
 58 
 
 THIS WORLD OWES YOU NOTHING. 
 
 I A dollar well earned is worth ten as a gift, 
 I ^*^" wait not for any man's shoes; 
 \ 'J\)il steadily onward, look not for a lift, 
 ^ You may rise by your might if you choose. 
 
 Tie sure you are right, for with Right as your guide 
 
 You may stand in the face of the world— 
 You have nothing to fear, you have nothing to hide, 
 
 Tho' jeers from the foolish l)e hurled. 
 Your friends may be few, but their love will be strong. 
 
 For they'll honoi- the man who is true ; 
 The scoffers will read you, and learn before long 
 
 To give honest Merit his due. 
 
 Ke true to your country, your neighbor, yourself. 
 
 To the death for the llight be brave ; 
 Be nobody's minion— oh ! be not a clod 
 
 To be kicked to a dastard's grave. 
 L<!t your hands and your heart be the servants of Love, 
 
 So when from yon valley of gloom 
 Hhall beckon the hand that shall lead you to rest, 
 
 Your name shall not sink to the tomb. 
 
 
 I 1^ 
 
 
69 
 
 
 HELL. 
 
 * 
 
 I DREAMED that I swiftly did journey 
 
 Far over the bright smiling sea, 
 In search of a country Elysian 
 
 Where man from liimself might he free. 
 ]\[ethought tliat the winds warred togethei-. 
 
 That the white waves in anger did swell, 
 Till the l)ark that harl borne me was stranded 
 
 On the shore of the Kingdom of Hell. 
 
 Fair peach groves and rich pui-pling xineyards, 
 
 Broad acres of whitening grain. 
 Spoke a country where no man might hunger, 
 
 Where no man might labor in vain ; 
 Where the rills and the birds and the flowers 
 
 ]\rade joyous each mountain and dell, 
 And I knew not the word of the stranirer 
 
 Wlio said 'twas the Kingdom of Hell. 
 
 But I saw that the ripening harvest 
 
 Was the tyrant lordling's spoil. 
 That he reaped in his pride the broad acres 
 
 That were sown l>y the children of toil ; 
 
60 
 
 HELL. 
 
 That the poor wer,, the bond-slaves who -arnered 
 
 The fruit as it ri])ening fell ; 
 That Famine and Plenty were Devils 
 
 That ruled in the Kingdom of Hell. 
 
 Theiv woman was wonuin no longer, 
 
 Mut (mly a serf by the way, 
 Fettered, despised, and dishonored. 
 
 That men might grow rich in a day ; 
 Anfl I saw while the lambs gaily gamlioled 
 
 Mong daisies that sprinkled the dell, 
 Or basked in a heaven of sunshine. 
 The babes of the poor were in hell. 
 
 Hatred was Monarch Almighty, 
 
 Force was chief of his might. 
 Greed was the queen (»f his xirtues. 
 
 And right could no longer be Right. 
 There Hunger and Strife were his minions, 
 ^^ There Reason and Peace might not dwell, 
 There Hope was forever a stranger, 
 
 Foi- Love has no portion in Hell. 
 
 This land is the land that we cherish ; 
 
 Oh : why is it red with the strife ? 
 Come ye, her childi-en, who love her. 
 
 And crown her with newness of life ! 
 Come ye, wlio hate not your brother, 
 
 Aiul list while I name you a spell : 
 Cease clutching at brands that are l>urning, 
 
 And (|uench ye the fires of this Hell. 
 
r.i 
 
 SOXS OF CANADA, AWAKE: 
 
 Hark I a call comes throujfh the trees, 
 Borne upon the autumn l)reez(>, 
 Answ'rincr (.v',.y lau<,'hin;^' lake, — 
 Sons (»f Canada, awake ! 
 
 1 i 
 i 
 
 I'll 
 
 Forest ffloom and foaminic tide, 
 Placid stream and prairie wide, 
 Mount and plain from sea to s(>a, 
 SinjL,' the anthem of the free I 
 
 Lo, our field-encircled shores, 
 Teeming mines of shininy ores, 
 Cities crowninj,' many a hill, — 
 Say, oh, say, what lack we still ! 
 
 Brotherhood '. We m^et] it most 
 Brotherhood we dare not boast. 
 While a senseless racial strife 
 Saps our country's soul of life. 
 

 62 .SY;A'.V of CANADA, AWAKE: 
 
 While the l)i;^n)t',s blindiTi^' ban 
 Makes mail hate his ftjllownuui, 
 Vain th(! hope of those who wait,— 
 Caiiafhi can ne'er be f^'reat. 
 
 Canada your fathers fe(J, 
 'Twas f(n' her your fathers bled ; 
 Creed- nor race-strifes mar your skv, 
 Why your common hind, oh, why ? 
 
 Perish Briton, perish Gaul ! 
 
 Sons of Canada, be all ! 
 
 From your limbs your fetters shake ; 
 
 Sons of Canada, awake ! 
 
 I 
 
03 
 
 TO THE KJNU, 
 
 On, come from thy throne in the North liirid, 
 
 Marred not l)y mortfil's device ; 
 Come on tlie wing.s of the North-wind, 
 
 Armed with thy arrows of ice. 
 Monarch of Kin;j;.s, l)ut no tenor ; 
 
 Tender thy toucli — not a stin^' : 
 Come thou, the .strong,' to deHver, 
 
 I will he ready, O Kin*,'! 
 
 Come, for my eyes are aweary. 
 
 Heavy and ready to weej) ; 
 Dark are the vapors that dim them. 
 
 Come thou and close them in sleep. 
 Free thou my heart of its aching, 
 
 Longing and yeai'iiing in vain ; 
 Conie, and in tenderness hear me 
 
 Back to my mother again. 
 
 Why shouldst thou tarry till winter? 
 
 Come in the glow of tlie spring ; 
 Come when the tender buds open. 
 
 Come when the nesting birds sing. 
 
64 TO THE KING, 
 
 All arc as silent as midni^^lit, 
 
 Autumn and suninuT and spring,' ; 
 
 Stntnj;' are the hais of my dun^'Cdn, 
 Come and release me, O King ! 
 
 Here we but drift in the shadow 
 
 Of mists overhanging the tide ; 
 Here we hut longingly linger 
 
 Clostr to th(^ narrow l)ivide. 
 Is then; a realm in the distance. 
 
 Of treasures of knowledge untold? 
 Tliou hast the keys of its future. 
 
 Come, and its secrets unfold. 
 
 Oh, come from thy throne in the North-land \ 
 
 Come from thy temj)le of snow, 
 Reared whei-e eternal Aurora 
 
 I'urns till the ice-mountiiins glow ; 
 Tarry not long in thy coming. 
 
 Pause not to temper tliy bi-eath : 
 Cast not thy shadow before thee, 
 
 T will be ready, O Death 1 
 
 In 
 
1' 
 
 KVKHLASTI\(; IJKK. 
 
 r.lKK ;,'I()\v-\v<»i'ms tliat, in pcrfuinc ludcn .Iumc, 
 A iiHonciit ,i,'l('iirn wlit'if vines have hid the n)n<»n : 
 Or, like tlic piisniic liucs on Imhldcs fair, 
 A nictniciit l)ri<,'lit, -a toiicli, a Itrcatli. then whciv 
 Or like the wand'rin;^' stars, oVi- heaven's t'aee, 
 That flit as Hits a snn'ie, then nieh in space: 
 \N'e come and «,'<», \ve know not whence or whv, 
 And call it Life, this nioiu(>nt's lau,<,'h and si^di. 
 
 The orioh''s triilinj;' in the jto[)hir shade. 
 The j)early dew-(h(»j) on tlie thirsting' hhide, 
 ^'on fairy form, sun-kist at eve and free, 
 A snow-ch'ift saiiinj;- in an aztire sea, — 
 If these l)e vain, if thes(> i)e worthless i|uite. 
 Then, only then, meseems thou saidst ari;i,'ht. 
 
 Far 'neath the restless wa\e an insect train, 
 Unseen, unheard, doth toil, yet not in vain : 
 Each walls its little cell, and roofs it o'ei-, 
 Then others come and find foundation sure 
 
 K 
 
1 : 
 1 i 
 
 *! 1 
 
 1 i^.. 
 
 11 
 
 «6 EVERLASTING LIFE. 
 
 Whereon to Imild ; and thus tier over fi(«i- 
 Is lear'd as Time dotli add year unto year ; 
 But who first wroujjht his labor hath not done 
 Till that fair reef Kxjks forth ui»on the sun. 
 So we, my friend, do Imild, or «,'ivi>t or small, 
 Till Error dies and Truth is all in ail. 
 
 Dost think yon jjjreat eternal oih of hr«' 
 Wheels o'er his <jr()l(len way for daily hire .' 
 Dost think the far-of}' radiant, clustei-d spheics 
 For wages rin^' the changes of the yt^ars ? 
 Dost think fair Sununers Howers, hei- f(>ast of sojig, 
 Would cease to be, or deem they suftered wrong. 
 Not having place beyond November's bi-eath. 
 Not knowinjj; what, if aught, doth follow death \ 
 
 Of all that l)e, of all that love the light, 
 Man must be recompensed to do the right ! 
 ►So with the golden thread of fond desiiv. 
 And that of hope, refined \\\ Sorrow's fire. 
 He weaves a curtain for the (Jate of Cdoom, 
 And names it Life of IJest beyond the tomb. 
 
 We know not what shall be, but this is fair, 
 
 If we shall live, then we have lived — but where \ 
 
 Why ask ? The weak, the strong, the bond, the free, 
 
 Who breathe to-day, ar(> in eternity. 
 
 The hoarded strength of ages passed away 
 
 Was in tile day that died to bear to-day. 
 
 Then learn and know, this fleeting day and we 
 
 Are each a pjirt of all that is to be. 
 
 
er 
 
 SELFISHNESS. 
 
 NN'uKN iiijiii of old looked forth upon the sky 
 
 He saw, or tho't he saw, the azure dome 
 With Sun and Moon and Stars <fo whirUnuf l)y, 
 
 Eac-h circling' round his central I'aitlily home: 
 All wand'rinjf lii,dits save Earth, — she mi<fht not roam 
 
 To follow them upon their wayward race ; 
 She held them or forhade them nearer eome. 
 
 He saw her fixed, the pivot of all space. 
 So oft, methinks, we from our narrow place 
 
 See chang«^ in all thin,i,'s save our.selves alone ; 
 See friends jjfrow cold, lament th(Mr wayward pace, 
 
 Tlio' tliey were true and we aside had ajone. 
 What mists would melt, what fell illusions flee, 
 If fr(»m enslavin'' self man mi<'ht he free. 
 
 41 
 
68 
 
 FAIR-WEATHER FRIENDS. 
 
 Whkk no ck»ud hides thy sun and no rocks frown fiho.id, 
 
 When no treacherous shallows betide, 
 When no buffeting' gale makes a toy of thy bark, 
 
 And a friend is each currejit and tide ; 
 When Prosperity stands with thy helm in her hands. 
 
 And thy Ha\'en of Hope full in view ; 
 When thy sails are all set to a breeze that is fair, 
 
 Then thy friends will l)e many and true. 
 
 t SWiSi 
 i 
 
 J>ut when tempests descend and the white billows roll, 
 
 When thy rudder is shattered and lost ; 
 When thy sails are all rent, eviy mast by the board. 
 
 And a wreck cm Life's ocean thou'rt tost ; 
 V\'hen Adversity looms from his wreck's dreary tombs. 
 
 When thy Compass no longer seems true, 
 On thine own arm depend, for each fair-weather friend 
 
 As a \apor will vanish fi-t)m view. 
 
(19 
 
 LOOKING BACKWARD. 
 
 Out of the town to the Poorhouse 
 
 The directors did hasten one day 
 
 To a very important meeting, 
 
 So does the Chronicle say ; 
 
 For the last old inmate expired 
 
 Only the ev'ning before, 
 
 And the Poorhouse, as poorhouse, was useless, - 
 
 Useless for evermore. 
 
 Nowhere in all the wide county. 
 
 Or its villages scattered around, 
 
 Or the county town, or the other tt)wns, 
 
 One needing its shelter was found. 
 
 And these men had loved the pauper, 
 
 And the half-paid, and oppressed. 
 
 And had banded to build him a shelter 
 
 Where his weary bones might rest ; 
 
 So they met in the matron's parlor 
 
 On that sad eventful day, 
 
 To discuss the case, find a use for the j)ia(^e, 
 
 *So does the Chronicle say. 
 
 :ll 
 
 h 
 
70 LOOKING HACK WARD. 
 
 In the chair sat His Honor, Donation, 
 As troubled as were the rest ; 
 Pale was his cheek when he rose to speak, 
 And a great sigh heaved his breast. 
 " My friends " (and he spoke right heavily), 
 " Long, long have T feared this hour ; 
 Long have I watched the progress 
 That the poor have made in power. 
 They carried through Prohibition, 
 Without voting upon it twice. 
 And set good Malthus ahuntinsr 
 For his Pestilence and Lice, 
 Now the halls of our Home are silent, 
 For the waifs are the wards of the State, 
 And no longer they seek protection 
 From the rich man and the great ; 
 And the Gaol on the hill is empty ; 
 But why should I weary you ? 
 We have f ranchised men and women, 
 
 To leave us no good to do. 
 
 This house is the fruit of our bounty, 
 
 But now we may bar its door. 
 
 For nowhere in all the county 
 
 A pauper is found so poor 
 
 As to crave the kindly shelter 
 
 Of this once nmch-sought abode. 
 
 Where so many worn-out toilers 
 
 Have laid aside their load. 
 
 My weary heart 'twould gladden 
 
 To see one vagrant's face, 
 
 T would that we lived in China, 
 
 Where the poor man knows his phi' » ; 
 
 Where waifs and worn-out toilers 
 
 Still crawl upon the earth, 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD. 'J 
 
 And the rich man still is honored 
 
 And respected for his birth ; 
 
 Where the pooi- iiiun often hunj^ers 
 
 \\\ his hovel bare and rude, 
 
 And the rich man to him seemeth 
 
 As an angel doing go(»d. 
 
 Here we're robbed of all our virtues, 
 
 And this burden upon our backs 
 
 Is placed by that curse of the bountiful rich, — 
 
 \ refer to the Single Tax." 
 
 Then he sank to his seat exhausted, 
 'Mid tears, and sighs, and groans, 
 l^'oi- they saw of their Christian virtues 
 Only the whitened bones ; 
 liut they found no use for the poorhouse, 
 With all of their talk that day, 
 So it stood through many a winter blast, 
 Then crumbled and fell to the earth at last- 
 So does the Chronicle say. 
 
 
'H' 
 
 72 
 
 1 
 
 IB 
 
 THERE'8 A BRIGHT DAY COMING. 
 
 There's a bright day coinino-, Tom ; 
 'Twill not delay its coming, Tom ; 
 E'en now the clouds are breaking, 
 And soon the sun's bright beams. 
 Now shining on the mountains, Tom- 
 Just peering o'er the mountains, Tom — 
 Will flood our shadowed valley 
 With their joyous golden streams. 
 
 We've plodded on together, Tom, 
 Thro' ev'ry sort of weather, Tom ; 
 Oft the up-hill path was dreary, 
 And the load was heavy too; 
 But thy voice Mas always cheery, Tom, 
 And tho' sometimes worn and weary, Tom, 
 My heart was always gladdened 
 By thy loyal love and true. 
 
 Thy curly locks so brown, Tom, 
 Have changed for white their brown, Tom, 
 For the snows of man}' winters 
 Have whitened o'er thy head ; 
 
 ^1 
 
THERE'S A BRIGHT DAY COMING. 
 
 But thou'rt just as young to me, Tom, 
 And just as fair to see, Tom, 
 And I love thee just as fondly 
 As the gladsome day \v(( wed. 
 
 We've hatl m.my a happy day, Tom, 
 And down all our winding way, Tom, 
 Love lias lightened ev'ry burden 
 And made our pathway plain. 
 Now our days of toil are o'er, Tom, 
 So we'll rest and toil no more, Tom, 
 But thro' all our sunny even 
 
 Dream our youthful dreams again. 
 
 7.{ 
 
 
 'tfi-. 
 
 i m 
 
74 
 
 
 LIFE'S STREAM. 
 
 TriE stream is deep and strong and wide, 
 
 No man its surging depths may sound'; 
 No bridge may ever span its tide, 
 
 No ford along its course is found ; 
 No ship its restless waves may plow, 
 
 A thousand whirlpools threaten loss ; 
 A thousand frowning rocks, I trow, 
 
 Will front the boy who dares to cross. 
 
 The stream is deep and strong at best, 
 
 But over nigh the farther strand 
 There lies an island home of rest, 
 
 Where some may even hope to land. 
 Dread not the threatening rocks that frown, 
 
 Nor whit'ning waves that wildly toss, 
 On yonder island lies the crown ; 
 
 Be brave, my boy, and strive to cross. 
 
 'Twere profit small to idly stalid 
 And count the ripples as they roll. 
 
 To weigh the river's worthless sand ' 
 Or seek some undiscovered shoal ; 
 
LIFES STREAM. 
 
 Thou s<H)ii or late must t<'st the tide ; 
 
 To loit»'r is to sutt'er loss ; 
 NN'ith willinj^ ju-m, wluito'cr Ix'tidc, 
 , Strike boldly forth luid strive to cross. 
 
 Await no inute to lend a hand, 
 
 Kach hath as much as he can l)ear ; 
 Twere better far to sink or strand 
 
 Than nau^'ht to do, than nauj,'ht to dare 
 Thou niayest I'caeh y«Jn i«h' of rest 
 
 And live thine even on its shore, 
 Thence hail, upon the billow's ciest, 
 
 The Httatnian come to waft thee o'er. 
 
 M 
 
 
! I 
 
 70 
 
 ONLY ONK AT A TI:ME. 
 
 liiY task may he heavy ,imJ fet'ble thy Imnd, 
 
 Do only one thin^r at a time ; 
 The hardest of rocks may l,e l)eaten to sand 
 
 By striking one bK)w at a time ; 
 Thy efforts, if honest, must surely avail ; 
 MoN ,. surely, if slowly, hut never say " Fail ; " 
 Waste not precious mo.nents in foolish regi-et; 
 15.' cheerful and i)atient and never forget "^ \ 
 'Tis only one thing at a time. 
 
 Thougl, thy pathway !«« th.,rny and rugged and high, 
 
 Take only one step at a time ; 
 'Twere folly twice foolish to leap it to try; 
 
 Take only one step at a time. 
 The goal will he gained if thou aml.Ie along 
 And l)eat every harrier down with a song; 
 'Twill lengthen thy journey to worry and^fret ; 
 Be cheerful and patient and never forget 
 
 'Tis only one step at a time. 
 
 Has thy heart grown aweary with toiling and tears .' 
 
 'Tis only one day at a time ; 
 Has thy hope been deferred through the long, lonely 
 years ? 
 Live only one day at a time ; 
 The years tho' they linger are still marching ,m ; 
 Ihe flarkest of nights must be followed by dawn • 
 Kejoicing shall follow thy sorrowing yet ; 
 Be cheei-ful and patient and never forget 
 'Tis only one day at a time. 
 
1 1 
 
 WHO \V()i:iJ) NOT 1)1 K? 
 
 VVno would not dir when death inciuis rcMt 
 
 From (>v(>ry [wiiij;' that rends the breast, - 
 
 A rest from sorrow, rest from sj)ite, 
 
 A rest of one eternal iiijj;ht f 
 
 Life's joys <^row dim, tlien 'seape our \ lew : 
 
 They vanish as the nlist'rin<^ dew 
 
 When morning's sun rides fierce and Iiiuh : 
 
 If such be Life who would not die '. 
 
 How full is life of toil and {)ain ; 
 
 Toil unrewarded, tears in vain, 
 
 Hopes born to perish at their birth. 
 
 Fears that nn'^i^ht crush a ifod to earth : 
 
 Oft darkness hides the noonday sun 
 
 Ere half our eaithly course is run ; 
 
 Tn silent loneliness w(^ si<fh ; 
 
 W'heii Hoj)i' has failed who would not die .' 
 
 Full oft a friend proves but a V('{'i\ 
 That breaks when greatest is oui' lu'cd ; 
 Oft Truth a))pears in Kii-ors yuise, 
 And he as Truth to moi'tals' eyes ; 
 What ravless clouds are round us lolled 
 When love's eye dims, love's heart ,u;rows cold .' 
 Fond hearts oft bleed when none are nijih : 
 If love hath Hed wli(t would not die ? 
 
7H 
 
 WHAT LIKS P.KYONDv 
 
 i i 
 
 fl 
 
 W- 
 
 I ' 
 
 § ,;-i 
 
 <) KIKHCK North-wind. wIicnc icy hicatli 
 Mils iimntlcd all tiic hills in whhc. 
 Anfl lowly Ifiid the Howcrs in dcith, 
 I'd speak awhile with thee to-ni^dit. 
 What lies beyond this tnnihled Life? 
 What lies beyond the bound of Time? 
 Do weary mortals cease from strife, 
 And rest in some more peaceful clime > 
 
 O fierce North-wind, my restless soul 
 L(m<,'s to be free to soar at will ! 
 While endless a^'es onward roll, 
 Nay, must she wear her fetters still I 
 When Death shall come with icy hands, 
 And snap in twain her prison bars, 
 •Say, must she count Times ceas(>less sands 
 In w(>al or woe beyond the stai-s ? 
 
 <) fierce North-wind, that roai-est by. 
 
 Does Love reach out beyond the Grave ? 
 
 Will e'er the fount of tears be dry ? 
 
 Must hate still follow wave on wave ? 
 
 We know not whence our sjjirits came, 
 
 Why oft a piey to dark Despond ; 
 
 When Death hath quenched Life's feeble Hame, 
 
 O fierce North-wind, what lies 1 eyond ? 
 
 U n.i- 
 
I 
 
 7!) 
 
 ONI-: IN TWO. 
 
 .lUHT an two iiioiiritiiiii torrents, 
 
 Mad ru.shinj,' down to the sea, 
 lirapinj,' frctni vvn^ to nmyon 
 
 In anther or in j^lee ; 
 I'ci'cliance at tlie t'oot of a cascadt; 
 
 S\virlin«,' within the l)reast 
 Of a I'ofkhound i)ool unfricMidiy, 
 
 But never, never at rest. 
 
 None of tlie nnisic and lau^ht<'r 
 
 Of the limpid loit'rin^' rills; 
 None of th(! dreams that they dream 
 
 As they creep 'inonji; tlu« haskiii!.? hills : 
 'I'lie two think not of resting; 
 
 The two may not he free 
 Till from the walls of their last wild ,i,'or,i,'e 
 
 They leaj» to tlu' lauyliing tSea. 
 
 So are our spirits, Viola ; 
 
 Not as our fellows are we : 
 Children of fancy they deem us 
 
 For we see not as other men see. 
 One throbbing soul in two bodies 
 
 On rushing down to the sea, 
 TrammehHl and chafed like the torrents. 
 
 Striving but never free. 
 
 
80 
 
 THEY MET AS STRANGERS MEET 
 
 TnKY met as strran^'ers meet ; 
 
 Eacli found the t-ounterpart 
 Of a longing, yearning soul, 
 
 Heart answering to heart. 
 Both sj)ake a sad fai-ewell ; 
 
 Both knew they passed tliat way 
 T(j drift apart like clouds 
 
 l^pon a summer dav. 
 
 In that hrief space they loved 
 
 As ne'er the}' might again ; 
 Both dreamed the same fond dreams, 
 
 Both knew- that Hope was vain : 
 Foi- 'twixt them stretched a gulf, 
 
 Dai'k rolling, deep and wide ; 
 They nn'ght not launch thereon, 
 
 They might not ci'oss its tide. 
 
 I ■111 I 
 
 I I 
 
 Oh, tell me, Zephyrs soft. 
 
 When Death has laid them low, 
 Tn realms beyond the tomb 
 
 Shall each the other know ? 
 T list, and through the trees 
 
 The South winds softly sigh, 
 " Love made them ever one. 
 
 And Love may never die." 
 
m 
 
 81 
 
 WHO IS WEAK ? 
 
 He was stronj,', as ;;" men are; 
 
 All things he could do and dare ; 
 
 But one day Temptation eanie, 
 
 Kindlin,-; Passion's fervent Haiiie: 
 
 As the wax before the heat 
 
 So he melted at her feet. 
 
 By her might she leads him still, 
 
 Unresisting, at her will. 
 
 For his strengtli in \ .ai we seek ; 
 
 Low he fell, for he was weak. 
 
 She was weak, the sages said, 
 
 Fickle, coy, and eas'ly led ; 
 
 She to ill should one day come, 
 
 She should shame lier birth and home. 
 
 She Temptation met one day, 
 
 All her shield one answer, " Nay ! " 
 
 Fawning, Falsehood, foul Deceit, 
 
 Laid slie bleeiling at her feet. 
 
 Sorely tried was she, and long, 
 
 But she stood, for she was strong. 
 
vtV 
 
 82 
 
 IV//0 /S IVEAK/ 
 
 So it Mas and is to-day, 
 Though tlie sages love to say, 
 " She the weakec vessel is ; 
 Man is strong, the will is his." 
 Woman stands where man will tall ; 
 He will answer if she call ; 
 If she lead he follows still, 
 Be the pathway good or ill. 
 When temptations thickly throng 
 Man is weak and woman strong. 
 
83 
 
 THK FOUL). 
 
 Ti' t'hanced in yonder shady vale, 
 One smiling' summer day, 
 
 While loit'ring by a bubbling brot)k 
 That gamboled. on its wav, 
 
 I spied a jo3'ous, gleeful troop 
 Of barefoot boys at play. 
 
 I'! 
 
 I'l-om stei)})ing-stone to stepping-stone, 
 
 With many an agile leap 
 Tliey sprang, or waded through the flood, 
 
 Where it was not too deep : 
 In crossing to the fartlu'r shore 
 
 Each strov(> his foot to keep. 
 
 .So, thought I, is the life of man 
 With all its griefs and joys ; 
 
 .Vnibitions, cities, power and fame 
 Are only larger toys ; 
 
 Time but a broader channel is, 
 ^Teii are but <)lder boys. 
 

 mmm 
 
 84 
 
 I 
 
 I > 
 r f 
 
 TNE FORD. 
 
 We may not leap the trc)ul)led tide 
 
 Or scan the distant shore ; 
 We may not ford the stream but once, 
 
 But find a footing sure 
 On stepping-stones of noble lives 
 
 Of those who crossed before. 
 
 T(j gently lead from stage to stage 
 
 A brother weak or lame, 
 To light the passage of the stream 
 
 With Love's unflickering flame, 
 To rear at least one stepping-stone, 
 
 Is Life's (me end and aim. 
 
85 
 
 TF I SHOULD DTE TO-NIGHT. " 
 
 Tf, ere the morrow bright, 
 The Boatman from yon distant Shore of Shade 
 Sliould come and say, " Long time thou here hast stayed, 
 
 Away with me to-night ! " 
 
 And far beyond the sight 
 Of men sliould waft me out upim the sea, — 
 Oh I say, what would the written record l)e, 
 
 If I should die to-night ? 
 
 No terror would aiiVi«dit, 
 No (juailing at the l)illows' ceaseless boom ; 
 No b(Kling fear of boundless, rayless gloom, 
 
 And chill and damp of night. 
 
 But when the last warm lijfht 
 Of life, a bur ed-out candle's Ldow, 
 Shines o'er the fleeted years, what would it show, 
 
 If I should die to-night '! 
 
 I 
 
 Pale, tearful Sorrow's blisht. 
 As frost in June upon the tender flowers, 
 Full oft descends to pierce these hearts of ours 
 
 And turn our dav to ni<,dit ; 
 
 m 
 
m 
 
 86 //• / SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT. 
 
 Then when all V still and white, 
 Frojn out his humble j)laee will one draw near, 
 And say I kissed away one bitter tear, 
 
 If I should die to-night ? 
 
 The wide world seeketh light. 
 The base, the false, the many long have curst 
 And wanton hid, tho' faint their souls athirst, 
 
 The well-springs from their sight ; 
 
 But would one pause to write 
 That ever 1 hoar Age or ruddy Youth 
 Did point to fountains of Eternal Truth, 
 
 Tf I should die to-night % 
 
 Now reigns the tyrant Might 
 And crushes low the weak, for he is strong ; 
 With each succeeding sun red-handed Wrong 
 
 Doth triumi)h o\ei' llight. 
 
 But from tlio hate and spite. 
 Would one faint voice in faltring accents speak, 
 And say T once was strength unto the weak, 
 
 Tf T should die to-night % 
 
 Time doth each (\g^(\ retpiite, 
 For Sorrow's crown of thorns is vain I'egret ; 
 This we may wear, each thorn with teai-«Iro{)s wet, 
 
 As day gives place to night. 
 
 I would that naught but light 
 Of Love, of Truth, of Good may round me shine, 
 \ No wasted hour reproach this heart of mine, 
 
 Tf T should die to-nisjht. 
 
87 
 
 WHEN THE REAPER COMES. 
 
 VVhkv the Reaper comes to reap 
 Weary souls that si<rli and weep, 
 And far from this dungeon keep 
 
 To another world we've flown, 
 Will a brighter sun arise ? 
 Will the mists clear from our eyes ? 
 \n a light that never dies 
 
 Shall we know as we are known ? 
 
 Will misunderstanding cease 1 
 Will the captive find release 1 
 For an everlasting peace 
 
 Will he lay his fetters by '( 
 Will the love that here is vain 
 IJurn to wa\er not again ? 
 And the tears that fall as rain. 
 
 Will they evermore be di-y 1 
 
 ;,r 
 
 ' 
 
 Shall uc rest for evermore 
 ()ji some ever-vernal shore. 
 Where no billows ever roai' 
 
 And the tempests all are stili 
 Or shall we soon return 
 To another earthen urn, 
 With a brighter fervor burn. 
 
 And a nobler being thrill 1 
 
«8 
 
 THE squtkp: and the bees. 
 
 
 Half uj) a hill with stalwart maples civnvned, 
 And at whose foot a silver sti-eamlet wound, 
 Nigh hid within the shade of lilac trees, 
 Nestled the cosy home of Squire Rees, 
 Who thought on naught save honey and his hees. 
 
 The winter long had been, the cold severe 
 Had filled his he.-irt with many a boding fear; 
 But April came and wept and went hei- way, 
 Leaving her wand to sunny, smiling May, 
 Who, by her balmy breath and magic powers, 
 Called forth to life the early buds and flowers. 
 So back and forth, from hive to blossom bright. 
 His toiling bees sped on from morn till night. 
 
 It chanced one day the Scjuire weary grew, 
 So 'neath a beech tree's shade himself he threw 
 Upon a mossy mound hard by the stream. 
 And fell asleep and dreamed a wondrous dream. 
 He saw his home, his hives, the field, the trees,— 
 Naught strange in that had he not missed his bees. 
 With eye and ear he searched for sight or sound, 
 But of those miscreant bees no trace he found. 
 
THE SQUIRE AND THE HEES. 
 
 At last upon a sturdy thi.stli^'s crest 
 
 He spied a inonstrous bec^ just 'lijL,'ht to rest, 
 
 Who thus, without ado, the Scjuire addressed : 
 
 "Thy bees are «one— to tell thee that no need ; 
 For which mishap thou n<'e(ls must thank thy <,'r<'ed, 
 P\)r thro' the suimner hours that backward tlew 
 No idle breath thos«; faithful toilers drew ; 
 Much honey stored th(y ere October's breath 
 Fell on the Howers and laid them low in death. 
 Yet, all the while, thy hand was 'jjainst them turned 
 To rob them of the food so fairly earned ; 
 And, so it was, lon^,' ere the snow had tied. 
 The bees were dyin^- for the want of bread." 
 
 "Thro' all tliose (hvary days my bees T fed." 
 
 "Small credit that ! 'Twas unfit food for bees, 
 Which, while they ate, bred in them foul disease. 
 They had not need of charity, O Squire, 
 Hadst thou not rol)bed them of their lawful hire ; 
 One sin^de hive thou hadst not had to feed 
 Had not fair Justice been o'erconie by Oi'eed." 
 This .'^aid, he rose and wheeled his droning' Hi;,dit 
 Across the fields till passed from farthest si<,dit. 
 
 The Scjuire awoke well pleased to find, I ween, 
 'Twas but a dream, this he had heard and seen. 
 By hill, and tree, and stream, he loudly swort; 
 He of their right his bees would rob no more. 
 
 89 
 
!tO 
 
 \ 
 
 WANTED, A MAN. 
 
 Wantkd, a stalwart man ! 
 Tlu; man, who, when he knows tlie Right, 
 The same jjursues against al! Might ; 
 The man who flares to stand alone 
 For Conscience' sake when Hope is gone ; 
 Who dares to leave a beaten path, 
 And live within the light ho hath, 
 Nor shrinks to strike a deadly blow 
 At Erroi- found in friend or foe : 
 This is the stalwart man. 
 
 
 i I 
 
 Wanted, an honest man ! 
 A man may live within the laws, 
 Or 'scape their grasp through flimsy flaws, 
 But he who scorns an action mean, 
 Is honest where he is not seen. 
 Nor dares advance at others' cost. 
 Counts all ill-gotten wealth as lost, 
 Ne'er grudges each his fullest due. 
 Whose word as is his oath is true : 
 This is the honest man. 
 
HAA'TEP, A MAN. 
 
 Wanted, a luthlf man ! 
 Not one wlio from a favored place 
 (Maims kindred with a worn-out rare ; 
 Whose empty titles, ancient name, 
 Are all his wealtli, are all his fame ; 
 Hut one whose ust'fuhu^ss m(m see, 
 Thouj,di humhle may his station l)e ; 
 For such will bless (»n every hand 
 His fi'iend, his home, his native land ; 
 
 This is the noble man. 
 
 Wanted, the broader man ! 
 LJntramn)eled by a narrow creed 
 That l(»ves to make its doubters bh;ed ; 
 The man wlio learns from Nature's plan 
 That man should love his fellowman ; 
 The man whose soul, so deej) and true, 
 Embraces all as brothers too ; 
 The man whom none ntay buy with pelf, 
 The man delivered from himself; 
 Huch is the needed man. 
 
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 ANSWERED PRAYER. 
 
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 ir- 
 
 TiiK lake's long billows broke upon their shingle 
 
 Hard by a little hill with pines surmounted, 
 
 Upon whose slant uprose a lordly mansion 
 
 Bright smiling over grove and lawn and garden. 
 
 A stately lady dwelt therein in comfort, 
 
 For 'twas a place where man might well feel easy. 
 
 Patrician she — she was no common creature — 
 
 Her fathers lived before the tyrant Tudors. 
 
 Great store of wealth had she — her smiling acres 
 
 Stretched far and wide o'er wood and hill and valley; 
 
 Yet she was good withal — a saintly matron, 
 
 Who strove to teach men how to duly honor 
 
 The Lord alway and rev'rence each his betters. 
 
 So morn and eve, when time was not too precious, 
 
 Or taken with affairs of more importance, 
 
 She gathered round her seat her poor domestics 
 
 And read for them the Book of Revelation, 
 
 Then sang a hymn, and prayed with earnest fervor : 
 
 And ever closed her prayer with this petition, 
 
 *' O Lord, deal kindly with the common people ! " 
 
 The town was built upon a lower level, 
 And in it dwelt a host of toiling people ; 
 
AysVVERED PRAYER. 
 
 03 
 
 But many a ciy went up for fcKKl and raiment, 
 For idle men fare ill, and they were idle ; 
 And so it came to pass, their joint petition. 
 Their ceaseless cry, the lady's fervent praying. 
 Besieged the Throne till all the Court was weary, 
 And lo ! the word went forth from God the Father, 
 " T even now will bless the toiling people." 
 
 So from the boundless store the Lord had garnered 
 Fell to the earth a shower that well might gladden 
 The hearts of men whose fo(Kl was always scanty, 
 And garments old and thin and past repairing ; 
 But, iK'st of all, the ample benediction 
 Fell fair within the park of that gocd lady : 
 The conunon herd would sure receive the blessing, 
 She thus could glory that her prayer was answered. 
 But life is ever full of cimtradiction ; 
 The hills and vales re-echo with the jingle 
 Of loud protestings, void of sense or meaning, 
 And prayers that, answered, would displease the pleaders. 
 
 The lady listless sat within^the parlor. 
 And from her downy nest of purple velvet 
 Beheld the bounty of the Lord fall earthward. 
 I n eager haste she called her trusty steward. 
 And bade him safely house whate'er had fallen. 
 Which thing he did ; and much the lady marvelled 
 That man and maid alike should dare to murmur. 
 "They say, ''Tis mine — it came to me from heaven.' 
 The land is mine — -who dares dispute my title ! " 
 Then prayefl she long, the Righteous God beseeching, 
 " Put honest hearts within the common people." 
 
 Sun, moon and stars julore one great Creator ; 
 The hills are His, and every shady valley : 
 Yet it hath come to pass, man hath ordained it, 
 GikI hath not room to bless His needy people. 
 
J>4 
 
 
 t '? 
 
 A SERMON. 
 
 " Oi£ ! Be ye contented !" he cried 
 With uplifted ha: ds and voice; 
 
 *' That ye've raiment and victuals beside, 
 Ye children of labor, rejoice. 
 
 " Your masters are lords of the soil, 
 Their title ye cannot disprove ; 
 
 They sometimes allow you to toil, 
 Then serve and obey them with love. 
 
 '' What though ye have hovels for homes, 
 And your children go hungry and bare ? 
 
 To murmur were base ingratitude, 
 
 Your Father hath placed you there. 
 
 *' Soon, soon He will summon you hence. 
 
 Oh, be wise and be patient till then, 
 For the Lord hath given the earth 
 
 To a few of the children of men." 
 
^p 
 
 A SERMON. 
 
 Tlius he preached to the sons of toil, 
 Tims he smote his Lord on tlie cheek ; 
 
 For he ate the Iwead of the rich, 
 
 / a he spoke as they bade him speak. 
 
 So the toilers have l)owed their necks 
 
 To the yoke upon them laid, 
 Though their hearts cried out that the earth 
 
 For all mankind was made. 
 
 But their day-star even now 
 Beams 'cross the darkened way, 
 
 And heralds for those who toil 
 The dawn of a brighter day. 
 
 96 
 
 f 
 
Ill 
 
 90 
 
 6, 
 
 SI 
 
 Till . 
 
 THE LAND MONOPOLIST. 
 
 'TwA8 the eve of a chill November day. 
 As he HJit at his desk in the gloaming gray, 
 And mused for awhile, ere t'<e light was spent. 
 On his profits of mortgage and loan and rent. 
 He'd watched his pile grow night by night. 
 Though he had not toiled for the shekels bright, 
 Ho he softly sang as he stroked his chin, 
 " T gather them in, T g ;.ther theni in. 
 
 " And why slu>uld T not, for I own tlie soil I 
 
 So my tenants must pay me for leave to toil : 
 
 By day and by night with the sweat of their brow 
 
 They have wraught for the harvest I'm reaping now 
 
 And the cream of it all is my legal due — 
 
 If that suffice not the skimm'd milk too. 
 
 Theii* food may be poor and their raiment thin, 
 
 liut my rents, my rents, T gather them in. 
 
 f 
 I 
 
 " I gather them in as the seasons go, 
 
 And the toilers sink lower, and still more low : 
 
 In spite of our progress they poorer grow, 
 
 In spite of our learning the less they know. 
 
 Soon the days of the years of their toil will be o'er, 
 
 Then they'll crawl to the yawning poor-house door. 
 
 Forsaken of friends and neglected by kin, — 
 
 But my rents, my rents, I gather them in." 
 
 I. Ml 
 
1)7 
 
 TRUTH, UPHOLD AND GUIDE ME. 
 
 When life's way is as a stream 
 
 Singing 'mong the peaceful meadows, 
 
 Stealing each bright sunbeam's gleam 
 
 Through the greenwood's changeful shadows 
 
 When no tempests toss or fret me, 
 
 And no frowning rocks lieset me. 
 Truth, uphold and guide me. 
 
 When by rocks I'm compassed round, 
 
 And the sky is dark above me ; 
 When the woods give back no sound 
 
 That might teach me thou dost love me ; 
 When my song is changed to weeping. 
 When the storm is o'er me sweeping. 
 
 Truth, uphold and guide me. 
 
 As the stream ...ust meet the sea. 
 
 So must 1 death's icy billow ; 
 When from narrowing rocks I'm free. 
 
 Be thy mighty arm my pillow ; 
 When I leave this world of sorrow. 
 For the vast unknown to-morro-.v^, 
 
 Truth, uphold and guide me. 
 
 o 
 
 J. I 
 
till 
 
 98 
 
 NOT ALL. 
 
 Not all wlio preach are apostles, 
 Nor a linnet is each if he sings ; 
 
 Not all who bear titles are noble, 
 Not all who sway sceptres are kings. 
 
 I 
 
 For a parrot may speak as a prophet, 
 A devil may flutter white wings ; 
 
 A siren may sing as a seraph, 
 And revel in blood as she sings. 
 
 i 
 
 A lout may be viscount or marquis, 
 A duke may be lacking in brains ; 
 
 A prince be a coward or dastard, 
 Polluted by vilest of stains. 
 
 The purple may cover a puppet 
 Or tyrant supported by knaves, 
 
 Whose realm is the home of Oppression, 
 His people a nation of slaves. 
 
 / But he who is useful is noble, 
 
 Tho' the soil to his garments may cling; 
 The foeman of Error is priestly, 
 Who governs himself is a King. 
 
 ii;.- 
 
09 
 
 THOU HAST NOT. 
 
 Hast thou counted tlie needles of all the pines 
 
 That clothe all the mountains and hills ? 
 Hast thou measured tiie tendrils of all the vines? 
 
 Hast thou numbered the ripples of all the rills? 
 Hast thou counted the stars as they glitter ahove ? 
 Then mayest thou know how a woman can love. 
 
 Since time began hast thou numliered his hours, 
 
 .Or the bursting buds of spring ? 
 Hast thou b<*ttled the perfume of all the flowers' 
 
 Hast thou learned all the songs of the birds that sing? 
 Hast thou weighed all t\w valleys and counted their dust I 
 Then mayest thou know how a woman can trust. 
 
 Tho' slighted, despised, and betrayed by man, 
 
 And numbed in his race for jrold. 
 They've been true till death since time began. 
 
 They are ever young tho' as Eve they are old ; 
 More precious than pearls or the gold's bright dust, 
 Or life, are a woman's love and trust. 
 
100 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 H' III! 
 S 
 
 i m 
 
 Hetwern tho earth's dank vd^v. 
 
 And fringe of gold and gray, 
 The Hun a moment smiled 
 
 Across the sodden plain, 
 Till all the east hills glowed, 
 
 And e'en the dreary rain 
 (iave back his smile. 
 
 The curtain fell and hid the day 
 Apace the bhickness grew 
 
 Till e'en the twilight gray 
 Itolled back in dreafl before 
 
 The songless, starless night 
 That brooded death-like 
 
 Ovei- vale, and lake, and bay, 
 Till all things that had been 
 
 Seemed lost to life and light ; — 
 Fit emblem of the .soul's 
 
 Long restful, dreamless night ! 
 Untroubled by a thought 
 
 Of joy, or pain, or dread. 
 All reckless as the flowers 
 
 Of Time's unwearying flight. 
 She sleeps her cleansing sleep 
 
 Tlie while she seemeth dead. 
 Unbroken thus her rest 
 
 Till dawns her brighter day, 
 Or back to earth she soars 
 
 To move a nobler clay. 
 
101 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Bk8IDR the brook th' unfolding violet frail, 
 Ere its first iKKm, is crushed beneath the feet 
 Of men ; or, scorched by fervent noontide heat, 
 
 Hath ceased to smile al>ove the j^rassy vale. 
 
 The fjiant maple, as a warrior hale, 
 
 Long reigning monarch of the autumn wood, 
 His thousand scars l)espeaking storms withstotni, 
 
 Lies prone at last liefore a fiercer gale. 
 
 So, soon or late the life of man must fail. 
 A hundred snows may whiten o'er his htmd, 
 
 Or but a day Ije his ; all one their tale : 
 
 They came to earth, and paused a while, then Hod. 
 
 All must bend low to Nature's kind decree ; 
 
 Each hath his day, but may not always l»e. 
 
 i 
 
109 
 
 i- 
 1 1 
 
 m 
 
 k 1 1 
 
 
 !l' I, 
 
 It '- 
 
 '! 
 
 WHEN I FOLD MY HANDS. 
 
 When I fold my hands in my last long sleep, 
 
 I would rest where the pine-trees sigh, 
 On some craggy steep that fronts the deep 
 
 And frowns on the western sky ; 
 Where billows' roar on tha. rock-bound shore, 
 
 And the thunders that r^und it roll. 
 And the sea-bird's cry from the stormy sky, 
 
 Might sing to my sleeping soul. 
 
 Or I'd rest far up on a mountain's side. 
 
 On a ledge o'erhanging a lake, 
 Where the Douglas firs in that breezy air 
 
 Their shadows across it shake ; 
 Where mad torrents leap from steep to steep. 
 
 To that dark lake's heaving breast, 
 And the sun's bright beams just glint in gleams 
 
 As he sinks from the hills to rest. 
 
TllK SONG OF THE STORM KING. 
 
 V/iiKX tlip (lay gli(l('« out through the wentern t^titva, 
 
 And tlu , Mgels of niglit (Iruw nigli, 
 T love to list i'n- thoir shjwlowy wings, 
 And the 'trains of song 'vu-h phantom sings, 
 
 Af. .Iiey conu' fv(;,n tlioeasti'm sky — 
 
 From the hirkoning eastern sky — 
 To meet b} mountain and ghid<* and brook, 
 And with the zepliyrs, from Nature's book, 
 
 Sing Earths swe(!t luUaby. 
 
 From the twilight gray, through the darkstmie nigh(. 
 
 To the ruby dawn they sin/j; ; 
 And just as tlie chilly eastern breeze 
 Shakes the diamond dew from the sleeping tn^es, 
 
 Their flight to the west they wing. 
 
 Of the myriad songs they sing 
 Of the star-lit sky, of the dancing sea, 
 Or of love, there is none so sweet to me 
 
 As this of the Tempest King. 
 
 He comes from his castle of coral and pearl, 
 
 Far under the smiling sea, 
 Where the hurricane-blast in his cavern is found, 
 And the thunder in silence a season is bound, 
 
104 
 
 THE SONG OF THE STORM KING. 
 
 Or mutters his prayer to be free. 
 
 He only can make them free 
 When he leaps to the Imck of his nimbus black, 
 And above the meadows with bridle slack 
 
 He scampers in l)oist'rous glee. 
 
 He darkens the sun while he roars at the eartli, 
 
 And laughs through his clattering rain. 
 His thunders re-echo from hill t(> hill, 
 His lightnings flash, and each freighted rill 
 
 Leaps headlong down the plain. 
 
 Man's puny strength is vain ; 
 His mightiest works are crushed at a blow,— 
 One shining arrow will lay him low. 
 
 To rebuild them never again. 
 
 He lashes the sea till her angry steeds 
 
 Kear, champ and chafe and roar, 
 And, gathering strength from each strong last leap, 
 Forth rush from the breast of the surging deep 
 
 Far up on the sloping shore. 
 
 Oh, the sea doth roll and roar. 
 Till, like bubbles of air, the stately ships, 
 Engulfed by her yawning, greedy lips. 
 
 Sink down to rise no more. 
 
 Or he comes from his home in the Frozen North, 
 
 Where Aurora encircles his throne, 
 Where no man ever treadeth that desolate shore. 
 And no torrent forever again may loar. 
 
 And no voice ever speak but his own. 
 
 He comes in his might, alone, • 
 And clothes all the lakes and green valleys below 
 With an armor of ice and a doublet of snow, 
 
 From that silent crystal zone. 
 
m 
 
 ON LIFE'S OCEAN. 
 
 Hhoreless and measureless, restless eternally, 
 Ever the same to the left, to the right ; 
 
 Darkness in front of us, uplooming dismally. 
 Darkness behind as the blackness of night ! 
 
 Here it is calm as a pool in the prairie-land, 
 There it is white in its rage with a reef ; 
 
 Here it is bright as a phantom of fairy-land, 
 There it is dark as the gloom-land of Grief. 
 
 
 Now it is slow, and again it is currentless. 
 Then it is swift as the Ottawa's tide ; 
 
 New not a brt^eze bellies s lils that hang motionlesa, 
 Then shrieks a gale that no sailor may ride. 
 
 Fierce though the storms that anon bellow over it. 
 Frail are the vessels that over it glide ; 
 
 Tossed like its spray are the shallops that cover it, 
 Toys of its tempests, its calms and its tides. 
 
 .i-j.j 
 
106 
 
 ON LIFE'S OCEAN. 
 
 Oft must they drive through the mist that is shrouding 
 them, 
 
 Straight on the rocks where no warning bell tolls ; 
 Oft must they sail where a beac n gleams, crowding them 
 
 On to the treacherous sands of ics shoals. 
 
 They who are weak labor wearily, wearily. 
 
 Helplessly buffeted, glad to be gone ; 
 Sinking at nightfall 'mid winds sighing drearily, 
 
 Never once missed, while the billows roll on. 
 
 Many a seaman wrecks wilfully, wilfully — 
 
 So say the prudent whom Fortune has cheered ; 
 
 They see where he foundered, and steer from it skilfully, 
 But know not the breakers his strong arm had cleared. 
 
 Sometimes one sinks, and some sigh for him mournfully, 
 
 Sad he no longer their sea-mate may be ; 
 But what of the words they had uttered so scornfully 
 
 When half of his vessel was under the sea ? 
 
 If! 
 
 Better a cheer when the white waves were tossing him ; 
 
 Better a light when the gloom gathered round ; 
 Better a line when the current was crossing him. 
 
 Than cannon to boom when his keel is aground. 
 
 Shoreless and measureless, restless eternally. 
 We are the foam of thy dark billow's crest ; 
 
 Borne from its mane on the wind moaning dismally, — 
 Whither 1 What matter, if only to rest ? 
 
 I? 
 
 M. 
 
 {■•' 
 
m 
 
 THE AWAKENING. 
 
 Every vale and hill 
 
 Deep in slumber lay ; 
 Hushed was every rill, 
 
 All the wood was gray. 
 But the purple dawn 
 
 Trembles in the sky ; 
 Nature's night is o'er, 
 
 Day is drawing nigh. 
 Northward from the isles 
 
 Where the orange blooms, 
 Where palmettos tall 
 
 Rear their nodding plumes 
 Where the zephyrs kiss 
 
 Ever-vernal trees, 
 Where no breath of Thule 
 
 Hmiteth birds or bees. 
 Lightly tripped a youth 
 
 Through the valleys deep, 
 Nature to arouse 
 
 From her dreamless sleep. 
 S(jftly as the sun 
 
 Sinks into the sea, 
 
'^!- ■ ! 
 
 108 
 
 11: 
 
 
 ,11 
 
 M 
 
 THE AWAKENING, 
 
 Gently as the vine 
 
 Twines the stalwart tree, 
 By her couch he trod 
 
 'Mong the shadows deep, 
 By his balmy kiss 
 
 Wooed her from her sleep. 
 Ruddy blushed the twain 
 
 At their wanton [)lay. 
 Till her snowy robes 
 
 Rolled in mist awa}'. 
 She behind her veil, 
 
 Wrought of silver sheen, 
 ►Smiling through her tears. 
 
 Donned her garb of green. 
 So the youth awoke. 
 
 Her who slept so long, 
 Filling all her soul 
 With unceasing song. 
 
 at! 
 
 1 
 
 Mi 
 
 IP 
 
109 
 
 TO CANADA. 
 
 Land of the Maple and Fir, 
 Mighty domain of the West, 
 Kissed by three oceans at once, 
 Tliou art the home of my youth, 
 Thou art the land that I love ! 
 
 Rich are thy prairies, and fair 
 The slopes where thy peach-orchards blush 
 Treasures of silver and gold, 
 Treasures of iron and coal, 
 Treasures of timber and corn. 
 Lie at the feet of thy sons. 
 Then whence is the spectre Want 
 That with pitiless, hungry eyes. 
 And merciless fingers and gaunt, 
 Follows thy children who toil ? 
 
 Love thee? Ay, love thee I do. 
 Else, like the tinklers in verse, 
 I had covered thee over with lies. 
 Have I not played in thy dells. 
 Dreamed by thy murmuring rills. 
 Lulled by the moan of thy pines ? 
 Now, when no longer a child, 
 I weep that the sons thou hast borne 
 

 
 110 TO CANADA. 
 
 Turnish thy fame with their deeds ; 
 
 Weep that our law-givers clutch, 
 
 As babes clutch at bubbles of air, 
 
 At ril)bons with pins for their coats, 
 
 Then ape all the follies, and worse, 
 
 Of their grandsires' grandsires gone ; 
 
 Weep o'er the discord and din 
 
 That moan from the East to the West, 
 
 Over thy mountains and plains. 
 
 Like the wail of a gathering storm 
 
 That to-morrow in fury may burst 
 
 And Hood thee in l)lood and in tears ! 
 
 Patriot, Plunderer, Fraud, 
 
 All sound the same in our ears. 
 
 Position, Property, Pelf, 
 
 Are jewels that dazzle the eye, 
 
 Till Honesty, Honor and Tri ';h 
 
 Are l)aubles for children ana fools, 
 
 And men, the creators of thinirs. 
 
 Are slaves to the things they have made. 
 
 E'en the Pulpit has jostled the Pew, 
 
 To fall at the feet of the calf. 
 
 Love thee ? Ay, love thee and mourn 
 That the crown of thy glory is dross. 
 Tinsel and bunting and smoke 
 Are not of greatness the pledge. 
 When thy sons and thy daughters are free, 
 Free from the thraldom of gold, 
 Free from the wars of their ci-eeds. 
 Free from the terror of want ; 
 Free in the freedom of Lo\ e, 
 Honesty, Honor and Truth, 
 Then shalt thou truly be great, ' 
 O Land of the Maple and Fir ! 
 
HI 
 
 n> 
 
 TT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 
 
 Oft sjully say we, "Thus and thus it might have been," 
 While, standing dazed with weary hands and Ustless, 
 
 Witli streaming eyes, and hearts all crushed and bleeding 
 
 We watch our god, Ambition, fast receding 
 J3efore the hands unseen, unknown, resistless. 
 
 That thrust him from the shrine our hands had builded, 
 
 And crushed the fairy fane our fancy gilded. 
 Oh, woeful, woeful scene ! 
 
 We scan the wreck and sigh, " Oh, woeful, woeful .scene ! " 
 Till sunlight dies, dark shadows only leaving ; 
 
 Fair flowers fade beside the way we're treading ; 
 
 AVe drown their life in salt tears we are shedding, 
 And point each thorn with vain and selfish grieving. 
 
 We mourn that aught our perfect plan should alter ; 
 
 W^e loathe our lot, in childish accents falter — 
 " It might, it might have been ! " 
 
 As outbound ships where not a beacon star is .seen, 
 
 Or through a cloud that, weary of its soaring, 
 Has sunk to rest upon the billows heaving, 
 The seen and unseen, all behind us leaving. 
 
 'II, 
 
112 
 
 IT MIGHT HA VE BEEN. 
 
 We rlrift adown life's current onward pouring, 
 But are not tossed by every gale that bloweth : 
 The log we bear is not a log that showeth 
 All ills that might have been. 
 
 'Twere well to smile, nor moan "Oh, woeful, woeful scone!" 
 When vane and tow'r and painted window crumble. 
 
 The past is gone ! Why sadness from her Ixirrow ? 
 
 If foiled to-day, we'll victors be to-morrow, 
 Or learn from failure to be wise and humble. 
 
 'Twere better far our days to spend in trying. 
 
 Though worsted always, than in idly sighing, 
 " It might, it might have been ! " 
 
iia 
 
 i 
 
 LTF?:. 
 
 Life is not measured by the days we number ; 
 
 Our threescore years and ten may prove a breath ; 
 To eat and drink and fohl the liands in slumber 
 J Is but a living death. 
 
 His life is long who, faithful to his calling, 
 
 Hath made the most of all his precious hours ; 
 
 Though few his days, his deeds, like dewdrops falling. 
 Have strewed his path with flowers. 
 
 Oh, then be wise. Waste not thy time in waiting ; 
 
 Be up and act before thy chance be past ; 
 With golden deeds thy fleeting moments freighting 
 
 As though each were thy last. 
 
114 
 
 i: Hlii 
 
 TO GRANDMA. 
 
 To-night alone and sad I sit 
 
 And ponder Meni'ry's pages o'er, 
 Till Absence makes each piotuied tale 
 
 More dear than it had been before ; 
 Tho' hills uplooni and plains outspread, 
 
 And brawling torrents roll between, 
 In thought I leave this sounding shore, 
 
 To seek each well-remembered scene. 
 
 Each fond familiar face returns 
 
 As thro' the sunny house I move ; 
 Again my failing heart is cheered 
 
 By warm, unbought, unselfish love. 
 I see thee move from place to place, 
 
 To touch some dim and clouded eye, 
 Some fevered, throbbing brow to cool, 
 
 The tear of dark Despair to dry. 
 
 As slow 1 turn sweet Mem'ry's page, 
 In characters of gold I see 
 
 A thousand words of tender cheer, 
 A thousand deeds of love to me : 
 
TO GRANDMA, 
 
 Full oft wImmi cliiil Dc'jcction'.s liiind 
 Prosse^l lu'uvy on thiH heart of iiiiiu', 
 
 A voice would speak of hrij^hter days, 
 And, truest friend, that v(»ice was thine. 
 
 115 
 
 The future may he clouded yet, 
 
 The present n>ay not all be jjlad ; 
 The past, a joyous summer's dream. 
 
 Returns t(» cheer me when I'm sad. 
 Whate'er betide, afar or near, 
 
 In weal or woe, <m land or sea. 
 My grateful heart will beat her thanks 
 
 For all thy tender care foi- me. 
 
m- 
 
 m% 
 
 116 
 
 -IN^I 
 
 ■I 
 
 
 TltE FKCKST. 
 
 Out of the depths of the Autumn sky, 
 Into the hearts of tlie sleeping How'rs, 
 Hpeedeth tlie Frost in the drear, (hirk hours, 
 
 An<l the wild winds wail that the fair ones die. 
 
 Thro' the Autumn's ^ray and the blue of Sprinj,', 
 There hast(;th an Anj^el with icy breath : 
 Kis heart throbs not, and we name him Death, 
 
 For tt fair one falls if he stay his winj,'. 
 
 And that soundless wing full oft he stays 
 
 While he lays some form that we cherish low, 
 Nor recks that our blinding tears fast flow. 
 
 That our How'ret fa(Jes in the Spring of his days. 
 
 And the garlands sweet that Ambition wreathes, 
 So fair in the flush of Morning bright, 
 Are wet with the tears of sad, cold Night, 
 
 For their beauty fades whei-e the keen Frost breathes. 
 
THE FROST. 117 
 
 Is the yt'iir tlit'ii lost if th«' Frost dotli fall 1 
 
 Is tlx" j,MTut Sun »|U('m'l»'<l by the Autuiim's rain { 
 If w(> lov*' ami los«' is liovn then vain \ 
 
 Shall tilt' Th'IkI Dt'spair our hearts rnthrall'l 
 
 If our ^'arlantls fatle w»» will fairor w««av«', 
 Nor wci'p that t'acir ^'loom had pass'd away; 
 If the Sun is hid hy the clouds all day ^-^ 
 
 We will watch for his smile in the peaceful eve. 
 
 Tho' no heart respond we will love the more ; 
 
 For Love is (}«mI — w(^ will teach men so, 
 
 Till poor or rich each soul shall know, 
 As a loveless life no life is so p(M>r. 
 
 Then tjie Fr()st may stoop ow his soundless win^. 
 But the sky tho' dark shall a^ain be brif^ht, 
 For Hope, on pinions of deathless Lij^ht, 
 
 ►Still hymns to our hearts of eternal Sprinj;. 
 
w 
 
 fy 
 
 
 
 
 II 
 
 1 -t ^' •! 
 
 118 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 Loud, loud the wild wind of November is wailing, 
 Down from the hill-lands, thro' the wild gorges,' " 
 
 Out o'er the sodden sands, thro' shattered vines trailing 
 Over the leaping Lake's white-crested surges. 
 
 Shrill sings the water-wraith, deep roar the billows, 
 Far up the sloping shore fierce chargers prancing ; 
 
 Stand with uncovered heads grim ancient willows, 
 Waving their wrinkled arms like wizards dancing. 
 
 Far away over me dark clouds are wallowing. 
 Like serried warriors meeting and battling ; 
 
 Over the swaying pines their thunder is bellowing, 
 Down on the yellow leaves sharp hail is rattlinsr 
 
 Yest're'en among the ferns dreamily rhyming. 
 Now see yon brawling brook wildly tumultuous. 
 
 Bright when the sky was bright, sweet carols chiming. 
 Now as its neighbors are, hoarse and tempestuous. 
 
NOVEMBER. 11» 
 
 Bare are the daisy-banks, where are the flowers ? 
 
 Under the Autumn leaves dreamlessly sleeping ; 
 Lull'd by the parting songs of sweet Summer's bowers 
 
 Now wilder melody over them sweeping. 
 
 Out o'er the wat'ry waste lone gulls are calling : 
 
 Now witlj the storm they go, now tempests breiisting ; 
 
 Yet all is well, 1 hear like music falling, 
 
 "This is not Death but Rest, weary Life resting." 
 
 What tho' in ghule and glen slumber the flowers ! 
 
 Glad are Novemlier's songs— he knows no dirges ; 
 What tho' no oriole calls from the bowers ! 
 
 Even and morn are mine. Songs of the Surges. 
 
 J^\ 
 
120 
 
 M if 
 
 i 
 
 ON THE SHORE I STOOD AT EVEN. 
 
 On the shore I stood at even, 
 
 Where the wild winds whirled arouna 
 
 From the hollows, leaves of Autumn, 
 
 Sere and dry; 
 And the great Lake lay before me, 
 Like a restless giant cradled. 
 With his long white fingers clutching 
 At the pinions, stooping pinions 
 
 Of the Sky. 
 
 Lower drooped those wings, and lower. 
 
 As of angel foster-mother 
 
 O'er a loved one fondly bending 
 
 In the Night ; 
 And the glad Lake roll'd and revell'd. 
 And his laugh grew loud and louder. 
 As he gaily toss'd toward her. 
 From his bosom, foamy feathei-s 
 
 Soft and white. 
 
 iiie, 
 
ON THE SHORE I STOOD AT EVEN. 
 
 Lo ! the Spirit of Polaris 
 Had that mighty cradle girdled 
 With a wreath of rarest crystal 
 ' From his throne ; 
 
 And the Sea-sprites sang in chorus, 
 To the winged Tempest's music, 
 Till my world of care had vanished, 
 And I knew no soul had gladness 
 Like my own. 
 
 Night perennial gathers o'er me, 
 And T name it Spring or Autumn 
 As my feet disperse the hoar-frost 
 
 Or the dew ; 
 Still the Zephyrs softly kiss me, 
 And the Roses breathe upon me, 
 But sweet Summer's slumb'rous sonnets 
 Reach me but in dreamy echoes 
 
 From the blue. 
 
 121 
 
 So I love the Storm that thunders 
 Thro' the naked nodding Forest, 
 Beating measures with the billows 
 
 Wild and white ; 
 For my life was ever stormy, 
 And my soul doth chafe within me 
 Like a scion of the Tempest, 
 That would soar beyond the confines 
 
 Of the Night. 
 
122 
 
 Iff 
 ' 'i iWH i 
 
 'S I. u 
 
 A CHRISTMAS SONG. 
 
 Oh, ring, oh, ring, oh, ring, 
 
 Your silver l)ells with ghidn^ss ! 
 Oh, sing, oh, sing, oh, sing, 
 
 And banish care and sadness ! 
 Come crown with cheer the hoary year. 
 
 Come bury Grief and Frettinir, 
 For once again e'en selfish men 
 
 Love giving more than getting. 
 
 Oh, gladsome, gladsome Morn, 
 
 Excelling ev'ry other. 
 When Love anew is born 
 
 And man to man is brother : 
 When blinding Self nor sordid Pelf 
 
 Are deem'd Life's fairest treasures, 
 When he who shares a brother's cares 
 
 Doth taste of rarest pleasures ! 
 
 'Tis goodly, bright and fair. 
 
 This gem in baser setting. 
 Hut oh ! to-morrow's air 
 
 Will ring with praise of Getting ; 
 Then pray that we soon, soon may see, 
 
 That Sunrise, lich and golden, 
 When all the earth at second birth. 
 
 Shall sing that anthem olden. 
 
 1 ' ^ 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 
 j* ^ff'! 
 
 1 
 
 I*'^-" '' 1 
 
 
 'i 
 
 
 
 
m 
 
 123 
 
 THOU LORD SEEST ME. 
 
 y 
 
 I'm glad Thou, Father, seest all the way 
 That I must tread before the sun shall set ; 
 
 I'm glad Thou knowest all the fleeting day, 
 And ev'ry ill my waiting soul doth fret. 
 
 I'm glad Thou, Father, lovest well to hear 
 The voice that unto man is mean or mute ; 
 
 I'm glad Thou seest where Love's light is clear, 
 Tho' erring man may motive^ base impute. 
 
 I'm glad Thou markest from thy dwelling-place 
 Each trivial act of love, each tender word ; 
 
 I'm glad no mists of doubt can hide my face 
 
 From Thee, O Gracious Father, Righteous Lord. 
 
 I'm glad Thou seest ev'ry slip and fall 
 Upon this hilly, thorny, rugged path ; 
 
 I'm glad Thou know'st well the why of all. 
 And judgest them in love and not in wrath. 
 
 O Father, I am glad Thou seest me. 
 
 From morn to eve, in calm and tempest wild ; 
 
 Do Thou but lead, I'll gladly follow Thee, 
 
 For Thou dost love full well Thy wand'ring child. 
 
124 
 
 j; 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 Far in the North-land the virgin Aurora / 
 
 Rustled her curtain, soft- woven in light ; 
 Deep within deep bosom'd many an ember, 
 Giow-worms resplendent of icy December, 
 \ Lighting tiie noontide of night. 
 
 Lightly the East-wind trod where the Snow-sprite 
 
 Slumber'd awhile in the woodland below ; 
 The Rill thro' the meadow crept counting his pebbles, 
 And sang 'neath his breath in his soft silv'ry trebles, ' 
 " Pansies sleep under the snow." 
 
 Out of the dell where the shadows had gather'd. 
 
 Shadowy wayfarers glided that night: 
 Weary and feeble was one, heavy-laden, 
 Strong was the other and fair as a maiden ; 
 
 Fair was their armor and white. 
 
THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. 
 
 126 
 
 "Oh !" sigh'd the Sage as they journey'd together, 
 
 " Gladly I'll hence with my burden to-night : 
 Into the blue with my folly and madness, 
 Heart-aches and sighings, my tears and my sadness, 
 Hatred and railing and spite. 
 
 Hopes have T gather'd as maids gather roses ; 
 
 Shrivell'd their form in the red Autumn's glow ; 
 Wanton the winds of my garlands bereft me, 
 They and the reaper have ruthlessly left me 
 
 Nothing but ashes of snow." 
 
 Then from the hill-top he rose with his sighing, 
 
 Rose with his heartaches, his railing, his tears, 
 Rose till a gem in Night's diadem gleaming, 
 Down on the snowy Earth lovingly beaming, 
 Brightest of sons of the years. 
 
 "Whither away?" of the youth then I queried, 
 
 " What dost thou carry ? Whence dost thou come ? " 
 Softly the nmffled Rill there in the meadow 
 Trill'd me this answer back out of the shadow, 
 " He till to-morrow is dumb." 
 
 M 
 
If 
 
 
 12H 
 
 LIFE'S BATTLE-FIELD. 
 
 I STOOD upon the wide, wide tented field ; 
 
 I heard the clarion's clanging near and far ; 
 I saw the blaze of banner, glare of shield ; 
 
 I felt the plunging tide of ruthless War. 
 
 I saw the serried hosts that forth and back 
 
 Were march'd and counter-march 'd across the plain ; 
 
 I saw the wasting flame, the ruins black ; 
 I saw the tears that fell above the slain. 
 
 I saw the lonely vigils of the Night 
 
 That faithful pickets kept while others slept : 
 
 Full many a gallant unrecorded fight 
 
 Before some pass one, single-handed, kept. 
 
 Anon a warrior, spurred and belted, came. 
 
 Whose breast was hid 'neath blazen-jewell'd stars : 
 
 His were the laurels, his the loud acclaim. 
 
 While they who foUow'd bore but wounds and scars 
 
 ■J 
 |!rs ! 
 
 li: 1 : 
 
\\ 
 
 M 
 
 LIFES liATTLE-FIELP. 12" 
 
 He glowed a f^oodly Sun, hut lo ! the light 
 Was hut a .spark that he might call his own ; 
 
 ¥ov round liini whirled full many a satellite 
 
 That fed the Hame that hurned hefore liis throne. 
 
 Pale Famine, stalking, filled with nameless dread 
 The stoutt>st hearts, and nerveless left strong ai-nis ; 
 
 Feet faltered that from foe had never fled, 
 
 Eyes dimmed that ne'er had dimmed at War's alarms. 
 
 Tho' matiy a tent grew still and dark and cold, 
 Time-serving minions sped on hurrying feet. 
 
 On silver salvers bearing pearls and gold 
 
 To those whose store had ever been complete. 
 
 Forced marches, bivouacs, unremitting strife, 
 Frost, famine, battle, watches drear and lone, — 
 
 Some bore them all nor murmured ; yet in life 
 They asked for bread, their answei- now a stone. 
 
 And far and near were mounds that covered those 
 Whose hands had never warred for place or prize, 
 
 Yet here may pause alike their friends and foes, 
 And read their date in costly sculptured lies. 
 
 O Prince of Peace ! Cut short this wasting strife, 
 Call order from this chaos by Thy will ; 
 
 Bid right be might, command that love be life, 
 Lord, o'er this tented field speak "Peace, be still." 
 
r 
 
 128 
 
 if .'S 
 
 \ i\ III 
 
 A VISION OF HELL. 
 
 Upon hu Isle that schemed a garden fair, 
 
 By hidden cords dependent 'twixt two seas 
 
 Of rarest blue, I stood md watched the sun, 
 
 A ship of golden Hame, glide thro' the Gates, 
 
 Where, in a rarliant flood of regal glory, 
 
 Tliose oceans blent their billows. 
 
 i 
 
 A gentle bi'eeze swept o'er the nether sea, 
 And, lo ! adown the wake of that fair ship 
 Unnumbered glowing rubies V)urnetl to show 
 Where it had passed ; wliile eastward from the shore 
 The glacier slopes of snow-crowned crags gave back 
 Its parting smile. The dark'ning cliffs along 
 The margin of the main beheld their face, — 
 With ev'ry strange fantastic line that Time 
 And Ocean with unwearying, briny hand, 
 Had written there in play or frenzied passion, 
 Within the shadowed waters. 
 
 i, . 
 
A VISION OF HELL. 
 
 12U 
 
 And o'er the gath'rinj,' j^locim uiid waninj; li^Jit, 
 And thro' the trees there swept soft Hlunil)'rous strains 
 As of the vosper liymn the Nijj;ht-wind sings, 
 With murrn'ring rills, where Fairy Ferns bend low 
 And tell their beads by Venus' constant lamp. 
 Lo ! in a wocnJland dell hard by the sea 
 1 saw an altar reared, an<l round it stood 
 Strong men and goodly women, and they sang ; 
 And standing on the beach the Night-wind bore 
 The voice of all t.ieir gladness to my ear. 
 "No fetter forged by fatliei- binds the son ; 
 No .son shall pay the debt his father ought ; 
 I liv(! where Freedom reigns, and free I live 
 Unto myself; unto mys(^lf I die." 
 While thus they sang the Night soar'd down upon nie 
 And by the sea I slumbered. 
 
 The dank, dark Night went down into the sea, 
 And o'er the hills the Sun, in hot pursuit. 
 Shot crimson arrows at him as he went ; 
 Then Sleep with gentle liands undid tlu; bands 
 Witli which the day before she boun(J my limbs, 
 Then left me and I stood upon my feet. 
 The boundless sea, the everlasting hills, 
 The cliffs, the dell, the music of the rills. 
 Were all as fair as when T fell asleep ; 
 But where the altar was a fire now blazed, 
 And round it danced a naked savage tribe. 
 Each jostled each to clutch with bloody hands 
 At half-broiled fragments of a brother's form. 
 And sang tlie while their war-song shrill and wild, — 
 A song no man of any other land 
 Save this could sing, save this could understand. 
 My heart grew sick, my limbs support denying, 
 And once again I slumbered. 
 
 I 
 
180 
 
 A VIS/ON OF HELL, 
 
 k%\\\\\ tlir nij,'lit liml ll«'(| l)(^f<>r»« tlio day, 
 And, Iik(^ ail artistH auivas fair outHprcad, 
 Tlu" laiidHaipc, sea, and sky around nir lay. 
 Tlu! rills, kiHst'd into snjilin;,' Wy tlio sun, 
 Sanj,' ha(!k tlu'ir lovf from many a f^Massy j^'lcn, 
 And t'v'iy brcatli of cv'iy hicc/c tliat passed 
 Was heavy fn'i<,dit<'d with the rost's' si^di. 
 No answ'iinj,' voice was tliere in all thi^ land- 
 No robin's note, no love-lorn maiden's lay, 
 No gleeful lau},'h of children l>y the l»i()()k, 
 No plowman's cheery call across the j^dehe, 
 No f^entle mother's soothing lullahy ; 
 For all things animate had ceas«'d to Im'. 
 No creature moved save loathsome, shapeless things 
 That squirmed within the slimy <lepths unfatlioined, 
 Of aim plague-haunted wursbeH. 
 
tm 
 
 NOllMA. 
 
 (Jkntly down a v<>i-(liitit valley, 
 |)o\vii a i-ioli and tVrtilc valley, 
 Klaiike<l by iiiaiiy a sl(>|)inj{ meadow, 
 Here and tlien* with copses dotted, 
 Shading homes of thrifty yeomen, 
 (Jlides a limi)id, niurm'riii;,' streamlet. 
 All day Utw^i it is a mirror, 
 Smilinj^ hack at sniilin<^ nature, 
 And a band »f burnished silvei- 
 When the moon is in the zenith, 
 .lust below a bridije of timlxM-, 
 
 Flu 
 
 uii across 
 
 by stu 
 
 rdv I'ustics, 
 
 Lo I it broadens to a lakelet, 
 'I'o a pool of li(|uid crystal. 
 Motionless, save when the breezes 
 
 s slnnmi' hosom. 
 
 lluttle all it 
 And its tiny plashing ripples 
 Babble on their beach of pebbles — 
 Babble on the pebbled border 
 Of an emerald lawn of velvet 
 
132 
 
 NORMA. 
 
 
 R 1 
 
 \ '■ 
 
 Slanting from the ivied cottage 
 
 Of the stalwart James Fitz Maurice, 
 
 Father of the lov^^ly Norma. 
 
 Here the summer of her childhood 
 
 Sped in blissful freedom onward, 
 
 As she grew an agile maiden, 
 
 Supple as a wand of willow, 
 
 Blithe as roe in virgin forest, 
 
 Fiercer than the fierce tornado 
 
 When her restless soul was angered. 
 
 As the timid fawn is gentle, 
 
 So was she to those who knew her. 
 
 She had wandered through the woodland 
 
 When the trees sang in the morning. 
 
 Heard the hymn they sang at twilight. 
 
 Vll the rills in all the valleys 
 
 V^ere her playmates and companions ; 
 
 And she loved them, for they taught her 
 
 Of the great All-wise Creator. 
 
 And she read the book of Natui-e, 
 
 Read the golden Revelation, 
 
 Saw in all its shining pages 
 
 Love unbounded, love unchanging. 
 
 Every hill and vale and river. 
 
 Every star and cloud and blossom. 
 
 Breathed the love of God the Giver ; 
 
 And the tempest, and the thunder 
 
 Only sang in accents louder, 
 
 "God is Love to all His creatures." 
 
 So she learned ere twenty summers 
 
 Of her life were past recalling, 
 
 Learned to see all men as brothers. 
 
 Children of one conmion Father. 
 
NORMA. 
 
 133 
 
 To the bosom of tlie mountains, 
 To the valley of the Fraser, 
 Wliere the pine and Douglas fir-tree 
 jNIake his waters black at noon-day ; 
 Where the axe of brawny woodman, 
 And the saw-mills, merry humming, 
 Fill the vale with ceaseless music 
 That re-echoes in the mountains, 
 Norma from the East did journey. 
 Took a journey o'er the prairies 
 To her sister's far-off dwelling. 
 When the blue was farthest upward. 
 And the lakes seemed clearest, deepest. 
 And the birds sang loudest, sweetest. 
 And the rose was blooming, went she. 
 Days flow by till weeks were numbered 
 While she rambled o'er the mountains, 
 Or along the rushing river. 
 Through the darkness of the torest. 
 Wandered with her dog and ritle. 
 Far adown the stream one morning 
 Rode she to .'. snow-capped mountain 
 That she had not yet ascended ; 
 In a grassy dell dismounted, 
 Tied her bronco to a sapling. 
 While from cliff to crag she clambered 
 That she might behold the Ocean, 
 Might behold the broad Pacific, 
 As it gamboled in the sunshine. 
 All day long s le roamed the mountain. 
 Heeding nui ^ne level sunbeams. 
 Till the sun was nearly hidden ; 
 Then descending for her pcmy. 
 Found Ihe dell in deepest shadow. 
 
 M 
 
W-'i 
 
 if- 
 
 t'4 
 
 l&t 
 1 K, 
 
 Mr 
 
 m 
 
 184 NORMA. 
 
 Found the broken hempen lialter, 
 But no saddled bronco found she. 
 All alone among the mountains 
 Stood she musing for a moment 
 On the way that lay before her. 
 She was far from human dwelling ; 
 Lay her sister's home more distant ; 
 And the path that she must traverse 
 Was the rugged trail of miners, 
 Lonely in the ghostly moonlight. 
 Vain the task to seek her pony, 
 For she could not trace his foot-prints ; 
 So alone in all the silence . 
 She must walk to yonder village. 
 Firmly as on city pavement, 
 Blithely as it were but pastime. 
 Stepped she from tlie shaded valley. 
 Stepped she forth upon her journey. 
 Over hills, tlirough gloomy valleys. 
 Crossing streams on fallen timbers. 
 Past the still lake's checkered waters, 
 She completed half the distance, 
 When upon a sandy hillock. 
 Motionless as if of marble 
 Tow'ring dark against the heavens 
 In the way that she was treading. 
 Stood a stalwart liorse and rider. 
 Ere she reached the hillock summit 
 Had her eagle eye discovered 
 That the bronzed and bearded horseman 
 Was the rancher, Gerald Gordon. 
 He, while riding o'er the meadows. 
 Found the pony idly feeding. 
 Wondering greatly as he caught it 
 
NORMA. 135 
 
 What misliap had her befallen, 
 
 He had paused upon the hilltop 
 
 Much perplexed and undecided 
 
 What to do to find the maiden. 
 
 So he sat, when just behind him 
 
 Norma, laughing, loudly hailed him : 
 
 "Stand, I say, and prithee tell me 
 
 What you do her, with my bronco ? 
 
 Seven long miles I've walked, oi- over, 
 
 Just to find you speculating 
 
 On the price of stolen ponies." 
 
 Then unto the truant turning, 
 
 " Oh, impatient Tuscarora, 
 
 Was the waiting over weary ? 
 
 Hadst for me so small affection 
 
 That thou needs must break thy tether. 
 
 And forsake the friend tliat feeds thee ? " 
 
 While she thus her horse was chiding 
 
 She the saddle girth did tighten. 
 
 And before the 'stonished Gerald 
 
 Could collect his scattered senses, 
 
 She was seated in the saddle. 
 
 Ready for the scamper homeward. 
 
 As they galloped gaily onward 
 
 She recounted all her raml)les, 
 
 All her wand'rings on the mountain, 
 
 Told him all the day's adventures. 
 
 Till he blessed the wayward pony ; 
 
 For his heart grew warm within him 
 
 As they journeyed in the moonlight. 
 
 So July gave place to August, 
 (Low the harvest-moon was waning,) 
 And the day for her returning 
 
 ^ 
 
mr^' 
 
 m 
 
 NORMA. 
 
 To tyiat far-off Eastern valley 
 Nearer grew and ever nearer. 
 Gerald Gordon loved heo fondly, 
 With a love both strong and tender, 
 And she loved him for his manhood. 
 Loved him for his dauntless courage, 
 Prized him for his soul of honor; 
 But she had not thought on marriage. 
 Never deemed that she might wed him. 
 'Twas a night when angels wonder 
 At the earth's transcendent beauty, 
 Fold their wings and sadly ponder 
 On the loveless lives of mortals. 
 From the bosom of the forest 
 Came the zephyrs' dreamy humming. 
 Floating o'er the dappled water 
 Of a lake whose rolling ripples 
 Sang in slumb'rous silvery trebles 
 All along its grassy margin ; 
 And the thousand constellations 
 Sang around the Moon's pavilion. 
 Scarce a furlong from the water 
 Rose a hill abrupt and rugged. 
 Clad with firs and strewn with boulders. 
 All between the lake and mountain 
 Was a level, smooth and grassy : 
 This the village park and garden, 
 Play-ground of the village children, 
 Ti-ysting-place of happy lovers. 
 Here it was that Norma daily 
 Loved to linger in the gloaming. 
 Loved to loiter in the moonliL'ht • 
 Here it was that Gerald found her. 
 
NORMA. 13: 
 
 Getitly to and fro they wandered. 
 Neither spoke for many moments, 
 For the pine-trees, breathing incense, 
 And the silence, soft and peaceful, 
 Seemed as of a sacred cloister ; 
 While their souls were upward lifted 
 Far beyond the spangled heavens. 
 But at last he softly nmrmured, 
 " Norma, all my heart I give thee ; 
 All I am or ever shall be, 
 All I have or ever shall have, 
 Lay I at thy feet as tribute. 
 Never wooed I other maiden. 
 Thou art of my life the sunshine ; 
 Well thou knowest that I love thee, 
 Yet thy face hast not betrayed thee. 
 Norma, tell me, dost thou love me ? 
 Norma, wilt thou some day wed me ? " 
 Then he paused and gazed upon her, 
 Long in silence gazed upon her. 
 Mutely for an answer pleading ; 
 But she walked as all unconscious 
 That he even walked beside her. 
 But at last as one arousing 
 From a dread or troubled \ision. 
 Raised her eyes and spoke she to him : 
 " Gerald, thou dost much distress me. 
 All the summers I have numbered 
 Well thou knowest are not twenty ; 
 All my life is yet before me. 
 I am but a wayward maiden. 
 But a child, too young for wedlock ; 
 And the love that now T bear thee — 
 
k 
 
 138 NORMA. 
 
 For I truly love thee fondly — 
 
 Is the love as of a sister. 
 
 And thou dost not understand me : 
 
 Thou hast seen of all my nature 
 
 Nothing save the gentle sunshine ; 
 
 Of the roaring, angry tempest, 
 
 That would crush the friend most tender. 
 
 Thou hast heard no distant murmur. 
 
 Thou shalt be to me a brother ; 
 
 On my life, I dare not wed thee." 
 
 ii 
 
 Long and earnestly he pleaded. 
 
 For he was an ardent lover ; 
 
 But the loyal heart of woman 
 
 Strong within her grew and stronger : 
 
 She her hand would give to no man 
 
 If her heart might not go with it. 
 
 So she told him ; but he loved her 
 
 With a love more strong and fervent. 
 
 Then they homeward turned their footsteps. 
 
 For the early moon was setting. 
 
 As they sought the hillside cottage 
 
 Both their hearts were bowed and heavy. 
 
 Knowing they must part to-morrow ; 
 
 So they talked of happy moments 
 
 Gone adown Time's backward current. 
 
 And as mortals scan the future 
 
 Read the lives that lay before them, 
 
 Till they reached the cottage parlor ; 
 
 Then he needs again must hear her 
 
 Sing, and so with heart aweary 
 
 Sang she of another parting. 
 
 ;ii'ii 
 
NORMA. 
 
 139 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, forever more, farewell ! 
 We met, we lived our day of love, we part ; 
 What though the breast in bitter anguish swell. 
 What matter though it crush and numb the heart, 
 How much 'twill bear before it cease to beat ! 
 Wliat longing that the tongue may never tell ! 
 Thro' hope deferred it hopes in patience sweet. 
 Only at last to hear the winds repeat, 
 
 "Farewell, farewell!" 
 Farewell, dear heart ! I would no storm or cloud 
 May ever gather o'er thy onward path ; 
 I would in grief thy soul may ne'er be bowed. 
 Till Death himself is overcome by death. 
 While Time shall last thy mem'ry I'll retain ; 
 Short-lived thy joy, tho' I have loved thee well ; 
 My portion here the longing, yearning pain. 
 Life's soonest learned, most often heard refrain, 
 
 Farewell, farewell. 
 
 As he slowly rose to leave her. 
 Once again for hope he pleaded. 
 Then upon the threshold parted 
 While the heart of each re-echoed, 
 "Fondest heart, farewell, farewell!" 
 
 Summer smiling flitted southward. 
 While the lusty reaper. Autumn, 
 Wreathed the liills with gold and crimson. 
 Filled he all the vales with vapor, 
 Shining in the sun of morning. 
 Till the pine-woods seemed as islands 
 

 ¥ 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 140 NORMA. 
 
 Springing from a sea of silver. 
 Shook he from the beech and hazel 
 Winter food for mouse and scjuirrel ; 
 Then he breathed upon the flowers, 
 On the golden-rod and aster, — 
 All the rest had gone before them. 
 All the sweetest and the fairest. 
 While in pride of strength they flaunted 
 Till the blighting breath of Autumn 
 Fell upon them, and they perished. 
 Perished from the wood forever. 
 When the Spring shall burst tlie fetters 
 That have bound the streams in silence. 
 Every hill and dell shall revel 
 In the smile of other blossoms ; 
 But the gems that fell last Autumn 
 Low shall lie as Autumn laid them. 
 Such the life of all things living, 
 Man is even as the flowers. 
 
 To the cottage by the lakeside. 
 To the cottage clad with ivy. 
 Norma had returned with Autumn, 
 Bearing with her joy and sunshine. 
 Ere the blast of chill November 
 Stripped the trees of all their glory, 
 Came there to the home of Norma 
 Donald Graham from the city. 
 He had played with her in childhood, 
 As a growing youth had loved her ; 
 Now when crowned with sturdy manhood 
 Came he from his home to woo her. 
 In his heart he loved her truly, 
 And he thought to quickly win her, 
 
NORMA. 
 
 141 
 
 For hor fatlirr and her mothor 
 
 Looked upon him and tliey prized him — 
 
 Prized him for his gold and .silver, 
 
 Prized him for his proud position. 
 
 So they gave him words of counsel, 
 
 Ami they daily talked with Norma : 
 
 Told her of the ease and honor 
 
 She might have if she would wed him. 
 
 Tn him saw she hut the playmate, 
 
 But the genei'ous-hearted school-boy. 
 
 She liad loved in early childluMx], 
 
 And the heart yearned not toward him ; 
 
 So she answered all their counsel. 
 
 Answered all her lover's pleadings, 
 
 With a short hut earnest answer, 
 
 She should wed him when she loved him. 
 
 Then they told her love would ripen 
 
 If she were V)ut wedded duly ; 
 
 But she valued true affection 
 
 Far above all wealth and honor. 
 
 And her pai-ents and her lover 
 
 Knew her will might not be bended. 
 
 So with this uncertain answer, 
 
 " I will wed thee when I love thee," 
 
 He betook him to the city. 
 
 There to wait the maiden's pleasure. 
 
 Lo ! the North King, like a giant, 
 Lt)Osened from his crystal castle. 
 Roared across the open prairie. 
 Roared across Superior's waters. 
 Cold his breath and cold his fingers, 
 And his very heart was frozen ; 
 Where he trod the earth grew rigid. 
 

 m f 
 
 w. 
 
 B - 
 
 142 NO /a MA. 
 
 'Twixt the twiliffht and the dawning' 
 Stood he in that Eastern valh'y, 
 T(juched tlie lip.s of all tli(^ streamlets, 
 Sealed them till each muffled murmur, 
 Till their very soul of nmsio. 
 Silent grew and died within them. 
 O'er the lake his wand of majric 
 Waved till on its shining surface 
 Grew a smooth transparent causeway. 
 Then his mighty wings he fluttered. 
 Sifting tiny plumes of crystal 
 Over hill and wood and meadow. 
 When the tardy sun awakened, 
 Shot his level arrows foi-ward, 
 Lo ! the fir-tree and the cedar, 
 Veiled as brides of blust'ring Winter, 
 Stood with folded arms to greet him ; 
 And the oak-tree and the maple. 
 And the beech, and birch, and larch-tree, 
 All had donned another glory. 
 For a sheen of countless diamonds 
 Sparkled in the early sunrise. 
 So is Nature ever constant, 
 Ever kind and full of beauty. 
 Never killed by frosty winter, 
 Only robed in other raiment ; 
 For the hills and dells re-echo 
 With the gleeful song of coasters. 
 With the joyous shouts of skaters, 
 And the sleigh-bells' merry chiming. 
 
 Soft lights quivered, dreamy music 
 Floated from a hidden alcove. 
 Floated from the gilded ball-room 
 
NORMA. 
 
 143 
 
 Where had fi[(ith(>n'd youth und beauty. 
 Many a fail- and Htat«^ly hidy, 
 Many a hrij^ht-eywl lovely maiden, 
 Blushed when {gallant praised her beauty ; 
 But the rose of all that j^arland 
 Was the dark-eyed (jueenly Norma ; 
 No one in the waltz so graceful. 
 Yet she soon of dancing wearied, 
 Stealin<f to a spacious window 
 Where behind its ample curtains 
 She might sit and muse a season. 
 Oscar missed her from the rlancers ; 
 Here it was he sought and found her. 
 Neither e'er had seen the othei* 
 Till that night, yet few the moments 
 Ere they talked as friends long-knitted. 
 Soon they left the shadowed window, 
 Joined again the merry dancers ; 
 But a richer, sweeter music 
 Raised their souls to higher levels : 
 Each had found a kindred spirit. 
 Soon approached the hour of parting 
 With its farewell's hoHow tinkle, 
 But their eyes met eyes that answered, 
 And they knew they were not strangers : 
 Norma knew she loved, and Oscar, 
 Pledged to wed another maiden. 
 Loved her as he loved no other. 
 So they parted on that morning; 
 And as barks apart they drifted, 
 Sailed adown Time' l. mgeful current. 
 Ne'er again to meev uii nightfall ; 
 Then a moment spoke each other. 
 And upon the great to-morrow 
 

 U4 NORMA. 
 
 Anchored Hide by nide in harbor. 
 True hcartH break riot over crosses 
 That no man may thwart or liinder. 
 
 Oiant Spring came softly treading, 
 Pierced the icy heart of Winter ; 
 Then the smiling youthful victor 
 Kissed the lips of smiling Nature, 
 To arouse luu* from her slumlM^r, 
 Sunny May spread forth her verdure, 
 From afar iier songsters wooing, 
 Till the woods rang with the music 
 Of their free and joyous chorus. 
 Then it was the rancher Gerald 
 Journeyed o'er the prairies eastward, 
 Sought and found his lost love. Norma. 
 Once again his cause he pleadtid. 
 Told her she would learn to love him ; 
 So it was at last she yielded. 
 When the first red rose was blushin' 
 Gerald led her to the altar ; 
 Then rejoicing took her with him 
 To his home among the mountains. 
 Donald Graham's heart was stricken. 
 Many months he nursed his sorrow, 
 Deeming none might ever heal it ; 
 But one day he met a maiden 
 Full of life and youth and beauty. 
 Sweetly did she smile upon him. 
 And her every word was music 
 Soothing all his wounded spirit. 
 As the weeks went by he loved her 
 And she all his love requited, 
 So his broken heart she mended 
 When his name she took upon her. 
 
NORMA. 
 
 HcHccful years ticw .swiftly over 
 (iHi'uld's liniiic iinuiii^ tlic iixiuiitains ; 
 Stroii^^ci- j^rcw liis love for Norimi 
 Ai)(i \wr love },'rew yet more tender, 
 Till om' flay a tiny maiden 
 C^inu^ to seal their hond of union, 
 Came to hlesH the life of Norma. 
 
 ur. 
 
 lUit a iloud, a hand-hreadth over, 
 (fiitherin;!; on ln-r clear hori/on, 
 (Jrew till all her sun was hidden, 
 (jlrew till all her sky was darkened, 
 [jaura Uray had once htved (Jerald 
 With a fierce, unbridled passion. 
 But he looke<l not kindly on her; 
 Ho as uumtliH and years sped onward 
 Lovt; was chant^ed to hitter hatred. 
 And her mind was ever burdened 
 With a Ion<,'in;; foi- his ruin. 
 She mi;;(ht slay hini, but she would not— 
 That were tit revenj^e for children ; 
 SIh^ should smite the one he htved most, 
 Pierce him throuj^h his In'st affections. 
 80 with studied art she poisoned 
 Many a mind that deemed her truthful, 
 Till the simple, unreHectinj;, 
 Looked askance at })atient Norma. 
 Many a friend who lately loved her , 
 Listened to the voice of slander. 
 But the noble-minded Gerald 
 Doubted not her love or virtue. 
 Still his heart was sorely wounded 
 When he saw his wife suspected. 
 By the river in the twilij,'ht 
 
 K 
 

 146 
 
 NORMA. 
 
 Norma walked alone one even. 
 Ev'i y breeze had hushed its wliisper, 
 Ev'rv bird had ceased its sinffinir ; 
 Darksome clouds o'erspread the heavens, 
 And the tiiunder in the mountains 
 Told her of a storm approaching;. 
 ►She had turned toward her cottage, 
 Distant half a league or under, 
 When she met her fair defamer. 
 i^ace to face they stood a moment, 
 Then the self-convicted Laurfi 
 Fell upon the earth in terror. 
 Craving mercy of her victim. 
 Norma stood in triumph o'er her, 
 Stood the very soul of Vengeance. 
 Only one short sentence spake she, 
 " Viper, had my husband doubted 
 I w(»uld slay thee where thou liest," 
 Then she passed into the darkness. 
 Burst the storm in all its fury 
 O'er the fainting form of Laura, 
 And the cold rain beating o'er her 
 Roused lier from her death-like stupor. 
 Slowly turned she from the village. 
 For her home was up the i-iver. 
 Fi'om behind a moss-grown boulder. 
 Close beside her, to the i)atliway 
 Strode a miner, Martin Dumont, 
 Laura's once rejected lover; 
 And )ie hoarsel}' whispered to her, 
 "Years ago T loved thee truly, 
 And it seemed thou e'eji didst love me. 
 But when thou hadst heard me woo thee. 
 And my love foi- thee had proven, 
 
NORMA. 
 
 Tlien with scorn and loud derision, 
 Bade nie woo some other maiden. 
 Now I've seen thy spirit huml)k'<l. 
 All the years of pain and lon^'ing 
 Now are gone, and all forgiven, 
 And I come again thy suitor ; 
 Laura, Laura, wilt thou wed ine f " 
 jMaddened that he saw her terroi-, 
 Sprang she from his side and answered, 
 "Once I scorned thee, still J scorn thee, 
 And to-night I more despise thee. 
 When asked I for thy forgiveness .' 
 Prate to one who loves to listen ! 
 I would go, for I am weary ; 
 8ave thy love for gentle maidens — 
 To revenge my soul is wedded." 
 Then he whispered still more h«)arsely, 
 " Well I know fair Nt)rma's hati-ed 
 And the cause you gave her for it. 
 If she killed you who would marvel >. 
 If they found you in the river 
 
 8tift' and stark to-morrow morninL'. 
 
 Who would say she had not killed you % 
 
 Woman, say that thou wilt wed me. 
 
 Or I swear by all things living 
 
 You shall die as I have told you."' 
 
 ►Strove she once again to 'scape him, 
 
 But he quickly stood before her ; 
 
 Through and through the heart he smote hei 
 
 Shrieked she one wild shriek of anguish. 
 
 Fell a lifeless corpse before him. 
 
 Then he raised the prostrate body, 
 
 Bore it to the river margin, 
 
 Where with all his strength he hurled it 
 
 H7 
 
148 
 
 NORMA. 
 
 
 
 'I 
 
 Far into the rolling river. 
 
 Dark that hour as Egypt's darkness 
 
 ►Save when lightning pierced the blackness ; 
 
 Mingled roar of swollen torrent 
 
 With the crash of fallen timbers ; 
 
 Loud the hoarser thunders bellowed ; 
 
 But above the storm and torrent, 
 
 As he hastened up the valley 
 
 With the brand of Cain upon him, 
 
 Ever in his ear was ringi 
 
 That last dying shriek of i^aura. 
 
 Sank the night behind the mountains 
 
 And the sun rolled slowly upward 
 
 To a sky by clouds unspotted. 
 
 Calmly forward swept the river : 
 
 Many a silv'ry laughing cascade 
 
 Waved aloft its tiny rainbow; 
 
 Through the trees there went a murmur, 
 
 Full of peace and full of beauty. 
 
 None might think a night so awful 
 
 Could precede so fair a dawning. 
 
 So the day grew old and older 
 
 Till the shadows of the twilight 
 
 Gathered round the quiet village. 
 
 When a crew of nightly fishers 
 
 Found the ghastly form of Laura 
 
 Floating in a little eddy 
 
 Close beside the village landing. 
 
 Many a wild, unfounded rumor, 
 
 Many a random, vain conjecture. 
 
 Filled the people with excitement ; 
 
 But at last the fatal whisper 
 
 Went abroad, that Norma met her 
 
 In the forest by the river. 
 
NORMA. 
 
 149 
 
 Some saw Laura leave the village, 
 Others Nornia's late returning 
 
 » ' 
 
 And the dastard Martin Dumont 
 
 Swore he heard tlieir angry talking. 
 
 So they forged the chain that bound her, 
 
 Link by link they slowly forged it ; 
 
 Then from home and friends they tore her. 
 
 Bore her swiftly to the prison. 
 
 To the shadow <»f the gallows. 
 
 Man is eveii as a vessel 
 
 Tossed upon the surging billows 
 
 Of a sea of circumstances. 
 
 Oft the pirate witli his plunder 
 
 Finds a cove or sheltered inlet, 
 
 While the honest toiling sailor, 
 
 Forced to face the raging tempest. 
 
 Sinks tt) rise no more forever. 
 
 Came at last the day of judgment. 
 
 Many a witness told his story. 
 
 As he weeks before had told it. 
 
 Last of all the name of Dumont 
 
 Sounded through the crowded court-room; 
 
 Twice tlie crier loudly called it, 
 
 When from out a shadowed hallway 
 
 Slowly stepped a slender maiden. 
 
 Stood before the judge and jury, 
 
 Pleading to be heard a moment ; 
 
 So they granted her petition. 
 
 Said she, " T am Mabel Dumont, 
 
 And the miner was my brother. 
 
 But I left him dead this morning. 
 
 Yester eve his miner comrades 
 
 Bore him bleeding to our cottage. 
 
 For a slidinj; boulder crushed him. 
 
J 60 
 
 NORMA. 
 
 w 
 
 Ere he went he told Ins story, 
 
 Bade me write it as he told it ; 
 
 Wlien 'twas told, himself he signed it." 
 
 Then she handed them the paper, 
 
 And they read the miner's story. 
 
 All his deathless love for Laura, 
 
 All her cruel, idle scorning ; 
 
 Then he told how he had met her 
 
 In the forest by the river. 
 
 Told then all the words of Norma 
 
 And his vow to hide tlie murder. 
 
 Ending with the declaration, 
 
 " By the God of all I swear it. 
 
 That 'twas I who murdered Laura, 
 
 And no other soul is guilty." 
 
 Thus were broken Norma's fetters, 
 
 Scattered all the foul suspicion. 
 
 And with joy she hastened homeward 
 
 Bearing with her fragile Mabel. 
 
 As the lily, tempest shattered. 
 
 Bends her head in early summer, 
 
 Sinking on the sodden bosom 
 
 Of the earth she lately gladdened, 
 
 So did gentle, patient Mabel, 
 
 Crushed beneath the twofold burden 
 
 Of her sorrow and dishonor, 
 
 Droop while yet her spring was smiling. 
 
 All things change, but death may change not 
 
 Till the Hand that launched the planets. 
 
 And maintains them in their orbits, 
 
 Shall stretch forth to stay their motion. 
 
 His is one perennial harvest ; 
 
 Whatsoever Timethe sower 
 
NORMA. 
 
 161 
 
 Scfittereth Ijy the way he treadeth, 
 
 Death shall gather soon or later. 
 
 All are his — the tender rose-hud 
 
 And the hoary giant oak-tree 
 
 Botii alike await his conun<r : 
 
 From the earth he swiftly bears them 
 
 To his distant, silent garner, 
 
 And no sound comes o'er the meadows 
 
 From the place whence he has borne them. 
 
 So he claimed the rancher Gerald, 
 
 •So he bore him from the bosom 
 
 Of tlie wife he loved so fondly. 
 
 And wiio just as truly loved him. 
 
 With her dark -eyed, winsome daughter 
 Once again she crossed the prairies 
 To the ivy-mantlerl cottage 
 In that far-oif eastern valley. 
 There to wait the lleaper's coming. 
 Swift lier peaceful days ilew onward, 
 Till her threescore years were numbered ; 
 Then as (jne at even weaiy 
 Lays aside her toil for slumber, 
 Closed her eyes, and widowed Norma 
 Left the earth she loved forever. 
 As the fleeting year is changeful 
 So the life of every man is. 
 Every season hath its beauties, 
 Hath its music, lights and shadows ; 
 But the gladdest days that brighten 
 Are the closing days of Autunni, — 
 So was closed the life of Norma.