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C STEWART *' The i^^ywtf/j and the CV///Vj then Leagued in one common cause, Fell maaly on the bard to prove How true his satire was." ' ''ThQ Critic drewe his weapon keene. And spurred right gallantlie, u ^^^^J^ ^ ^'^ "^^ ^"'ghten him He did not frighten me." A ANDERSON, PHfyrEE, 7S ADELAIDE STREET WEST loaO, ifSrV;;-; V.1' ' v\ lOl Cv ♦rv ; « ^i i' . > J. ai\ • • THE • • lOETICAL REVIEW; A BRIEF NOTICE OF CAINADIAIN PO)EX3 AND BY A. C. STEWART. " The Rhymers and the Critics then Leagued in one common cause, Fell madly on the bard to prove, How true his satire was." ^^ ^p ^^ ^^ *»^ ^f* ^^ ^^^ *'The Critic drewf^ his weapon keene. And spurred right galiantlie, And though I did not frighten him He did not frighten me." •t. ' J. ANDKRSON, PRINTER^ 73 ADELAIDE STREET WEST 1898. 7 Entered, accordiug to the Act of fche Parhament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety- six, by A. E. Stbwabt. in; the Office of the Minister of Agriculture, at Ottawa. I' m4 When bards unto their noblest rise, And Hcorn the schemes which advertise ; Trust us, ye poets, we are true ; And in your noblest one with you. TO THAT LANGUISHING CAUSE, ^he Regenerator of Ci^nabmn loetrg. WHICH CANADIAN BARDS, THEY ARE TRUE TO THEMSELVES AND AS LUCID IN THE FUTURE AS THEY HAVE BEEN TUMID IN THE PAST, WILL TAKE TO BE THE REASON OF EXISTENCE OF THIS MOMENTO; AND TO THE RECLAMATION OF THOSE SCRIBBLERS IN THE SERVICE OF FOLLY; THIS BOOK IS S)c&icate&. — LighthalPsf Dedication improved. 'he obje riRST— T )ur scribl Jecond- is a CI iselves. 'hird— ist head npkifiy i« )fessoT, t ""OURTH intry ut ry into e people i'lFTH- tductioD JlXTH / imercia few e: lew are ipilatio s,"L< This vo jht pa Availing ^se whi Ibtless . . PREFACE . . 'he objects in publishing this memorial are : — ["iRST — To show that the interest in Canadian Poetry is not (as some )ur scribblers complain) dead, but on the contrary, very much alive. IIecond — To prove to the self-elected synod of rhymers that their doc le is a crude and fallacious superstition believed in by no one save iselves. 'hird — To inform the said synod that the world fails to weep when 'tis ist head, Mr. Roberts, succumbs to poetical hysterics at the sight of a npkittt which, if calmly considered, Can in nowise be asserted even by a >fessor, to *^ Rival the Unrisen Sun" •"OURTH — To notify all and sundry of that honorable body that this mtry utterly refuses to endorse nonsense, even should the writers thereo ry into effect, the harrassing threat, to leave their native land unless people will read their rubbish. ''iFTH — That no amount of newspaper controversy can make their tductions sell. JiXTH AND LAST— That Poets and Poetry have not sunk as yet to that imercial basis above ,which rhymers have never risen. few explanations are now necessary — The authors immediately under iew are those who willingly, or unwillingly, contributed to Lighthall's ipilation, published under the title of '* Canadian Poems and Songs in >2, " London, Walter Scott ; Toronto, W. J. Gage, & Co. ?his volume contains so much ridiculous and absurd jingle that the few jht pages it contains are completely obscured. The general idea ^vailing in the Editor's mind was evidently to draw his selections from >se who occupied semi-eminent positions throughout the country, be ^btless thought that the ability of his authors iD other walks of life yl PREFACE, would excuse the wretchedness of their rhyming capacities, while their mi riends combined with the excellent binding of the volume would makd a comparatively sa'^e financial speculation. Of course he used many oil old advertising catches such as patriotism, national life, federation, e| and the materials combined are in effect a lilliputian tower of Bat| He arrogates to himself a kind of Divine right as to what is, and v/ha not poetry j but nothing further is needed to prove the fallacy of his ju^ ment than the compilation that he made. It may be claimed that some of the authors mentioned are unjusi treated, but if they had placed much value on their reputation they shoij have shunned such evil company. Meantime if any author satisfactorily proves a forced presence I Lighthall's volume we will omit him in the next edition in which aJ we will make addition of those diciples of folly who may consiij themselves unjustly omitted in this. Toronto, January 20th, 1896I THE POETICAL REVIEW. Oh Shades of Genius in that hoary pile !* The proud possession of our parent Isle, Whose dust shall sinctify that spot of earth When time shall give new tongues and empires birth. Oh Genius of the isle thit n trs-jd our sires 1 Ye who awakened those immortal lyres Your son who doth revere each hallow'd name, Part of your fond impassion'd fire would claim. Is it too much I ask, ye glorious dead ? Is all that godlike inspiration fled ? Must we your sons a lower mean persue Nor hop 2 to scale the heights our fathers kne^^ ? Pro'.d of our country, lineage, and name, — May we not iiope to emulate your fame ? Ar ^ following your footsteps as we ought Obey those precepts you yourselves have taught, Yes we may write, although < ur prosy age. Show not the fire of your immortal page Our Muse, alas I may not such strength display, Yet is she worthy this degenerate day. Hail, Vice and Folly 1 you have flourish'd long Twin monarchs of the realms of Law and Song Before your throne behold what subjects kneel All anxious to applaud and show their zeal ; The honored Statesman, Counsels, learned-profound, The worship'd Judge immaculately gowned, The trimming Editor, politic Bard, Whose inspiration needs must claim reward. And lo ; Keligion leaves her high resource To try conclusions in the realms of Force The cassock'd devo'ee with face severe On this arena meets opposing peer ; * We mlg^t have appealed to Parnassus but Westminster was pre [fered, which, although it contains not the d ;st of many of our mighty ??<~* is rightly assoolated with all that is great and glorious in our history. 8 In hate arrayed their battle flag unfurl'd, Themselves expose before the jeering world But not for me in stern relentless verse To saterize the high religious farce* Leave it to die with all the woe it made Guilt, crime and bloodphed.and men's soul's betrayed. A more immediate theme my muse is thine The poetaster's poem and scribbler*s line The jingling lawyer poetizing clerk And self -applauded bard shall furnish work; Here shall they find that fame most justly due Nor be the author of their own review, t These Heliconian drunks who vomit rhyme And then applaud it as a thing sublime. Attorney Lighthall,J what a task was thice I To print thy samples far across the brine, Raked from each dusty, long forgotten nook, Thf precious verses swell and form a book; A book ye gods I well might old Europe stare, At this collection of poetic ware. Haply for babes and sucklings formed to use A glorious supplement to Mother Goose. 'Tis he, the author of the ** Confused Dawn" Sunk to the neck in literary spawn. * Compiler, rhymer, author, advocate, Writer of disquisitions on the State. Analyist, sketcher, and what not, — besides Accouchergeneral to the labouring scribes. *Tis he inspired by drunken folly's ** pluck ", Who, like his pioneer ** took the axe and struck,', And hewed himself a literary sty Where he and his shall unlamented die.§ * Recent developments have proved that The People take but little interest in the religious panic which shakes the Politicians, t This line will possess no obscurity for some of our drivers of the quill. t This gentleman compiled a volume— chiefly rubbish— as indicative of Canadian ability in the art of poetry for the edification of the world at large, as the dedication thereto signifies, which were it not redeemed by selections from Malr, Sangater, McLachlan. and a few others, would not be worth the bin ding. § William Douw Lighthall, alias Wilfred Cheateauclair, alias Alche mist— which last he had from Ben Johnson, th^t he might appear learned— is, of all the scribblers uientioned in this book, most to be re- prehended, for if his compilation was made in grood faith it proves him an arrant ass." But there are some who shrewdly susi>ect th it he basely holds up many of those good people that they may be laughed at. Has written much, as he himself in the aforesaid compilation modestly setteth forth— published works numerous— but none of them were ever read except by the proofreader, A traveller he in Venice, Florenca, Rome,* Vea raves of French fiilds mid with ft )Wiry foxm, And Mighty Blanc he fears might homage pay, In special robes persuading him to stay, Fear not ; that mountain did not even pale, When Coleridge sang in deep Chimauni's vale ; And greater bards have gazed in silent awe While Blanc proved faithful to creation's law ; Then deem not — :alm amid eternal snows — A paltry lawyer shakes that deep repose. Would he had travelled to Parnassus height. The Genii there had bid him cease to write, Or haply shipped him to the stygian shore, Pluto had silenced him for evermore ; Poor legal limb, devoid of sentiment, Your law demands a motive and intent^ These you possessed in naked innocence, All that your doggerel lacks is common sense. Wh"» first shall claim Attorney Lighthall's praise? Professor Roberts with his Grecian lays, Famed manufacturer both woof and warp Of Mic Mac Hercules, the wond'rous Scarpe,t Whose power fantastic claimed no orphean lute To fascinate and feed each savage brute ; Wolf, panther, bear and rabbit, eagle all, *' In bng row" marshalled at his magic call, While big with fate the prophet strides the shore^ As the inspired oft have done before ; Once dined, they list a pro ducalioa speech That evil utterly are all and each That he, the commissary, must depart With other marrels of genetic art, '*'At Romig« ** End of desire to stray I feel would oome. Though Italy were all fair skies to me, Thouuch France's fields went mad with flowery foam, And Blanc put on a speolal majesty ; Not all could match the growing; thought of home, Nor tempt to exile. Look: I not on Rome,— This ancient modern medleeval queen, — And three dozen additional lines of equal beauty and lucidity. *?!"?**• **®PF^*^|fP'CloteSoarpe." la another "thing of beauty and wi?^ «*^?r*l^*^w** ^"1 »dd to fclio reputation of our Profea^or of J^olly, Mr. Robercn Then', lo I as Clote Scarpe sprites himself away A second babel culminates the lay.* Yet this is not the mightiest of his strains Nor lone abortion of his uncleanf brains Confederation OdeJ and do Collect, Shall teach us bow to pray and what respect "While the dull humming of his tinsel song Shall cheat the fools of literature along, If he must roam on classic westermorland> If he must write of that immortal strand, And tantramariar nonsense turn his head, None will complain if he will not be read^ But his reserved the spoils of glory are, The harnessed bards, draw his triumphal car, A stranger pageant than Rome ever knew Here dazzling bursts on the astonished view, — Dost ask why he priority can claim ; Or exaltation of his unknown name. Why every rhymster poetaster bard ; * ** And when the beasts could see his form no more,. They still could hear him singinK as he sailed. And still they listened, hanging down their heads. In long row, where the thin wave washed and fled ; But when the sound of singing died, and when Ttiey lifted up their voices in their grief, Lo ; on the mouth of eye7y beast, a strange New tongue ; then rose they all and fled apart Nor met again in council from that day." —The Departing ofClote Scarpe t Roberts to Caiiman— " With influences serene Our blood and brain washed clean." But as Thersites sail h, "Would it were clear that I might water an ass al it." t Wequotefrom this ode that the world may see how much it has lost by neglecting to read it. "Under this gloom A deep voice stirs vibrating in men's ears. As if their own hearts throbbed that thunder forth A sound wherein who hearkens wisely hears The voice of the desire of this strong North— This north whose heart of fire. Yet knowB not its desire. Clearly, but dreams, and murmurs in the dream The hours of dreamb is done; lo, on the hills the gleam." Truly this is mere prose chopped like the honorable Ross's stump speeches into verse, or what these gentlemen pleaoe to oaU verse for want of a better name. The foremost name in Canadian song at the present day is that of George Charles Douglas Roberts, poet, canoeist, and Profeasor of hlter&tViTe—Lighthall in his introduotion. fWTWt^llM>»> 11 Deem themselves honored thus to drag their lord, it is because like old imperial Rome, Her second age of barbarism come Sunken to savage depths, thegothic rod, — Sways in the stead of the Olympian god ; He stands in Canada, without a peer,,^ That is if we must credit all we hear, If Roberts' Jingle is the best and first, Shield us ye powers from the last and wc^st. Famed, '• intellecitual race," his sister too. Has joined her efforts to the puling crew. And babbles trashy gush, at such a rite As is but equalled by her brother's prate. Her verse has ** body " Lighthall says discreet, But mentions nothing of its head or det. Up from the marshes swells a loon-like cry,* And cousin Stratton answers •• Here am I." He who untrammel'd with his flimsy line, Flings his defiance, to the outraged nine And strong maintains, despite of friends or foes. That rhyme improves when it is mixed with prose. Who read his "Dream Fulfilled" with broken heart Acknowledge poetry a vanished art. His "silver frost" whose ** gems of fire" glow,t Omits no colors that the dyers know. Vet not in vain, his compilation made, — Twill serve as hand book to the dying trade. A line for Carman, whose high-tidal verse, Is slightly passionate to say no worse, An 1 something foolish is his " long red swan," ^ That spectral bark which still ke;:p» driving on, Wny, Carman, let it sirve its own b^hsit, It is not worthy of the wind you waste. *^' Through the daricsome spleaior break the lonoHome cry of loon." From Stratton's *' Evening on the Marshes.' +*• Violet, orange, iadieo, rer* Green, yellow and blue from each dimond are Rhed, More beautiful these than the jewels of a throne. For the forest is nature's glory and crown." —From Stratton'8 Hyatenca upon Froat There is no known la -m in poetry ^ hioh can make metre of this poem ; if there is Stratton has the secreo. t *• The • Red Swan * is Oarman's favorite birch bark canoe, so I named by b im from the phenomenal rosiness of its bark material." -^Ligktkal.V» Notet Carma I baR made it the subject of one hundred i?nd fifty-four llae^ of f hoetly verse, which something resemble;) an Irish ballad. Ah ; mystic mourner all your barren dreams, Are but the dregs of passion's vanished gleams^ How could you ever smile ; and know your light Was starlike shooting into murky night. All this abstract philosophy ne'er may Content the heart that burns itself away Cease thy wild dreams of this you may be sure Tis folly all, perhaps she war, Yet Candor must confess thy rising strain Shows power, thy cousins never shall attain, Thou hast the secret of the poet^s art The f^r"^* grand requisite, a human heart ; Nor needst to mock the " In Memoriam " phrase Though quite in line, these imitating days. Yet sternly just the candid muse must speak Of those who sink to write their own critique,* This base resource, must stamp the poet's name That so decends with an undying shame. The mean attempt o'erwhelms them with scoin. And proves such bards were for the bathos born^ Who values such critiques when authors may Tell the reviewer what his line shall say ? And with a shameless brow indite such gush As from a stranger ought to make them blush ; Not all the applause of a crude scheme like this^ Can ever save their name from the abyss. Poor paltry souls yours is an awful curse. The wild attempt to float a leaden verse^ The monstrous toil proportions does essay, To which the task of Sisyphus was play. Idle your efforts, all your labor vain, Down it shall sink forever to remain. Hear sacred Campbellt ranting as he takes The churchman's holiday upon the lakes, Devoid of heart, of soul, of common sense, He makes at poetry a wild pretense. Unconscious quite, he loudly halts along And deems his jingle constitutes a sung. * Ihia is Campbell's accusation, and the barde conoemed. Carman Scott, Lampman and Roberts were credited with correcting the Muneey reviewer's proof. Several IndriconB letters on the su1]{ject were pub- liuhed in the Toronto Olobe^ VWm. Wilfred Campbell, prolific scribbler— He was mightily offended at and bitterly attacked tbe bards who displayed so much genius in the conduct of their own review in Munsey's Magazine, but it turned out that the real cause of hie resentment was his being denied a similar liberty. 13 For him undoubtedly his "kettle sings" Divinest music of divinest things, For his profession woe that such things be, Limits the reverend gentleman to tea.* "Smile with the simple," Garrick sang of yore, And they obey him who read Campbell o'er. The ** Poet of the Lakes" some wag once croaked And Campbell wears nor deems the rascal joked ; A ** brutal" joke to use his favorite word, Nothing in titles could be more absurd, His "North and Westward "t ever shall remain A cracked memento of his doting strain, A halting mimiced Tennysonian rant, Without his vigor, but with all his cant ; Behold his soldiers lie with folded arms, — False picture this of thundering wars alarms, The leaden death leaves no such scenes as these Where men die racked with mortal agonies. Or falling swift the vital flood escapes The quivering form, which writhes in hideous shapes ; Here is no pause the glassy eye to close, The living think alone of living foes, And rushing heed no comrade's dying groan When, the next moment, death may be their own. Next Scott, t shall lay his dainty " Isabelle " In sleep divine (perhaps hypnotic spell). Let him beware, the law is argus-eyed. And specious phrase will save no rhymer'shide The sleeping lady (if she ere awakes) — May much resent the liberty he takes, Observe decorum Scott, what e'er you do, And never stay beyond the hour of two ; How e'er his sleeping " Isabelle " may pass. If he will turn his pegasus to grass, That spavin'd jade, may well acquittance plead And let him henceforth, mount the silent steed. *" Mil -jory, Marjory, make the tea, Singeth the kettle morrily."— Ca»i;?>i/eirs'yW/c nmuj t" Only the rifles crack And anuwer of riflo back. Heavy each haversack. Dreary the prairie's track. Far to the North and the Westward." Although these haverpacks are so heavy, Campbell has his soMiers starving ; probably our reverend friend being a man of peace iroagines that the soldiers carry their kit in them. tDuncan Campell Scott, Oovemment official, Indian Department, Ottawa, selfsatistfed writer and aspirant to literary fame. Oh Scott 1 if thou would'st rise thy place resign, He knows no mastei, who would woo the nine. No bond official should h'lld Freedom** Bard, Enough for him posterity's reward . No poet ever lived, but sank to prose, Beneath the chains that governments impose ; Burns as exciseman, lost that gifted strain Which lit his soul when furrowing the plain, And Wordsworth though his heights he never knew. Sank to the bathos of the laureate too ; Even Southey might have lived (at least in prose) If he had still preserved his youthful (oen, While Tennyson had reaped, as much of fame Without Lord Laureate, added to his name. Enough of him behold the second Scott* Another pearl of Lighthall's sample lot, Whose '* Wahonomin " makes the reader stare To see the folly fondly garnered there, Where ** buds of spring " there petals sweet disclose Above the drift of ** fifty winters " snows,t Where empires wide cause, England's throne to fly. Above the clouded mountaintops so high, His necromancy makes the grasses wave, J Despite of sense above the new-made grave. While presto change ! and lo his magic spell Transforms each heart into a "tolling bell." He cannot plead the specious plea of youth, So must prepare himself to hear the truth, By the Parnassian Nine it is decreed. If he must write that he alone shall read. And never hence vend mutilated verse Lest it return lo him a sevenfold curse. How sweet to reid Llewellya's§ holy verse, To divers magazines it finds its courae, * Frederick George Scott, Reverend, whose sermons must be more orthodox than his verae, else he had long since been coavicted of heresy and fa.se doctrine. t*' Great Mol her they have told us that the pnows Of fifty winters sleep around thy throne. And buds of t^pring now blossom with sweet breath. Beneath thy tVQdA."— Scott's Wahonomin. t" Wild the prairie granses wave. O'er each hero's n^w-made grave." Scott't ** In Memoriam," 9 Llewellyn Morrison, scribbler of Toronto, who, though not incor- porated in Lighthall's compilation, in as a deciple) of folly worthy of that honor. IS Like paraphrases do his poems run, Read backwards, forwards, and tis all as one, His Easter effort, something novel shows An ode quite innocent of rhyme or prose, Yet let him rave his soul may reach the sky, But with his body shall his verses die. Imrie* and he shall hands seraphic join And praise each other for a pious line ; This later shall produce his pasteJf praise. And boast himself his fifteen hundred lays. Long may he lay and hatch them if he choose They'll ne'er produce him such another goose. He who can sing Toronto's lovely bay Ne'er shipped from Vonge St. in the month of May. What devil tempted him this theme to choose Surely his ranting hardship has a nose, Yet for the man has nobly worked and striven Depart in peace thy poems shall be forgiven. Lo I from the vasty deep, what doth appear ? DavinJ the author of ihe ** Prairie Year," Whose verse is proof for those who make the claim. Genius and madness, are almost the same, For none believe a man possessed of wit Could e'er produce such verse as Davin writ. Who print his trash declare themselves his foes. Abjure such folly sir, and stick to prose. And should you find this penance too severe, We'll pardon an oration once a year. In Davin's columns Simpson, shows her " Ben,"§ A pearl from unsophiscated men, A man, ** no orator as Brutus '' was. Yet no conspirator against the laws. Of folly, lieavtn pardon Lighthall's crime, He knew not what he did this ass sublime. '' Imrie is not included in Lighthall's galaxy, and instead of giving ^hanks to the gods he was insulted. I Imrie has a modest little hobby of collecting all the press notices of limself, and these he has primed in a neat pamphlet and presents with- )ut a blush to whoever w ill read tbem. He claim^^ to be a patriot, too, |but is an excellent trimmer, I Nicholas Flood Davin— This gentleman's weak pointi seems to be {his attempts at poetry; the fact of his being an M.P., can in nowise ex- cuse the stupendous nonsense of ** The Prairie Year," Lighthall calls [it '* Prairie Transcript," presumedly from the fact that it is Isimilarly imonotonons. § It would be hard to decide which was tne greater criminal, the i author who wrote " Rough Ben," or the editor who permitted it to ap- Ipear; perhaps the Week could tell us. i6 *• Fidelis," Empress of the Thousand Isles !* Shall hold her court where nature ever smiles. And listemng to the whip-poor-will complain, Immortalize his fond and plaintive strain, Or pensive dreaming, through the autumn days. Repaint the hackneyed Indian summer haze. Yet when not otherwise employed her time She can translate chaste Ovid's moral rhyme, Quovadis, Sappho, gentle maid refrain; Not thine to gild the latin poet's strain. Grant though at times he may be pure enough The rascal's author of much ** perilous stuff" Go study Carman, native, young and pure, Aught that's amiss that poet leaves obscure Beneath thy fulvid fugus by the stream Cull the sweet shadows of delusion's dream. r» And now survey Sir Daniel's blundering " Scot, Another raving, versifying sot, Who not content to drink "auld Scotia's " breeze Swallows the landscape, in triumphant easet Immortal juggler, Science could not save. Thy titled head from the compiling slave. Position, place, example, nought availed Before the world thy ragged line was haled j The vain compiler deems his power divine Can clothe with wisdom folly's bloated line. He speaks and darkness from the void is hurled From chaos called, behold the second world. Where wild Niagara hurls his torrents down A poet dwells who wears a sanguine crown ; There Kirbyt with his strong and graphic pen Shall rouse the warring legions up again: — English and French, and Redmen. marshalled are. And shake the plains, beneath the shock of war. Yet not the reeking charge nnd bloody fray, The lingering siege, or the victorious day. Alone are his, he can at list digress To plant the ihorn that symbol of distress * Fidelis poetically, or Agnqs Maule Machar in the vulgar— Novelist, Disputant for the Canadian Poetess' Palm, iaclined to Latin translations* t LiKhthall tells us that Sir Daniel Wilson is a reputed scientist, but mathematics alone would teach Sir Daniel that it is impossible to drink a landscape. t Mr. Kirby is a bright star in William Douw's Heaven, he will live longer probably, than Lighthall himself. Government official, author of "Canadian Idylls," writer of some very good verso, and much rubbish. ^7 An spin his little yarn of love betrayed The faithful wife and the seducing maid ;— • Ah ! fated concubine thy wicked hand Is doomed to slay thy lover " Bois-le-Grand" Vain thy carresses, in his mortal pain, He knows thee not but calls his chatelaine, Yet faithful still like Conrad's Kaled thou Watched to the last and sharcst his glory now. Such is the story told in time and rhyme That makes ridiculous ihis antique crime | Kirby no more thy leisure hours abuse Collect thy customs but tempt not the muse. Oh ! Ascher trifling in thy " Youthful prime " And golden hours with a sickly rhyme ; Since Scott abandoned law, how many more Have deemed they might do what was done before, And imitators still, would mock the fame That gilds the memory of that noble name. Vain their attempt thou Ascher shall go dowii To dark oblivion, nameless and unknown. Oh hoary Smith, thou and thy dreadful verse Dragged into prominence sans all remorse ; Thy sixty years could not exemption plead Lighthall decreed that all the world should read; Alas ! poor Smith, although thy crime was great, A fearful punishment has been thy fate.* Thy *• reverence even the head-lugged bear " had spared But this fell Harpy nothing could retard, A bloodless Nemesis to punish those Who dare to leave the sober realms of prose The follies all of youth or doting age, All are concentrated on his damning page And even the tomb Is rifled of its dust To gorge his still insatiable lust : Fair Crawford, t she who in her youthful bloO^vy Unnoticed sank to the untimely tomb, In mortal slumber on het narrow bed. Recks not how much or little she is read ; The thrill for glory, the ambitious hope. Are now confined in very little scope ; * William Wye Smith, Reverend, who is a man more sinned aj^Mnst |than sinning. t The story of this talented lady is but the repetition of that of many H'oceeding lightn and is therefore to old to attract attention. Her balenta were original, and certainly surpass in depth and finish any of nr living imitators of Tennyson. i8 ■ Denied in life what she deserved of fame ■ What boots it idly to exhume her name ? ■ Extol her genius her intrinsic worth ; ^ H She sleeps and soundly with her mother Earth, H Hers was a fate oft paralleled before ; H Genius neglected for some trifling boor. H Sad-eyed and listless hidden in the crowd H While some vain ass is lauded long and loud ; ■ Yet better far to never breathe of fame, H Than rise to vanish into whence she came. H Happy our statesmen when as such they fail S Thank heaven they still can twist the muse's tail, M And fleeing far from the ignoble throng, ■ In lisping strain produce the sparrow's song.* ■ Thrice happy mortals roaming through the woods H Or haply boating on the foaming floods, H Or washing down the miday dish of ** fish" ■ WMth Adam's ale as much as heart could wish ; ■ Anon in slumber stretched upon the sod, H Forget their plans for circumventing Godt ■ Soft dreams elesyian on thy beatitude ■ No cankering cares of empire can intrude I For while the moon sheds her soft glories down ■ The monarch might forget his useless crown, I Thus Edgar may forget forensic fray I And if he choose forget to draw his pay. I Turn from these triflers lo the bright M'Gee, I Sprung from that clime of genius o'er the sea, I That little isle which sends its sons afar I To shine in council or to lead in war, I Faithful to ^hat strange destiny which sways 1 The Irish race through wild conflicting ways ; I Weird lights of genius flashing through the gloom | To light her heroes to the martyr's tomb, I He followed, subject to her fatal laws, A willing sacrifice to honor's cause. '^ | Lo from his snug department Lampman:]! strays To rant of " Heat " and white and dusty Avays, * Mr. Edgar, M.P., has felt it his duty to translate the song of that im- ported nuisance, the English sparrow. t Hamlet— '* One who could circumvent God, might it not!" t Archibald Lampman, Civil Service, Ottawa, would assuredly pass for a poet if the human interest was more strongly developed in his Terse. But " Maud " and " In M emorian " seem to bo the only criterions of poetry with our imitating bards. What will beoome of the imitations when the originals are a&eady on the wane. 49 And rapt observant with sagacious art Tells how the waggoner walks by his cart Yet pause a moment and the ^ar/ (how sad) Become? a wagon, Lampman you are mad. Yet claims he some blest power had brought him here Because his thoughts have grown so "keen and clear," More blest his brooding soft midsummer seems For there he sinks forgetful into dreams — Official cares and the c )nflicting deeps Have no effect upon the bard who sleeps. 'Tis in his April that he rules a king And pours " Libation "to awakening spring, 'Tis then he hears — for him — the flute like frog Trill '* sweet voiced " tremulous up from the bog, Poor innocents sans heed of piiu or ill They watch the hoars pass and trill and trilU Vet truth comes sometimes from the suckling's head He saw his " soul was for the most part dead," Ingenious youth that truth has long been known Nor new that secret which thou thoughtst thine own. Yet Lampman shall outgrow his present rhyme, And soar to stellar heights, alone sublime. For even his frogs display a mind that brings Deep contemplation, even to meanest things^ While the soft cadence of his verse can show A depth these poetasters ne^er can know. Lone daughter of the tribes* to thee was given A ray divine, by the all pitying heaven \ Fond Nature could not see her children fade Unmourned, unsung, to drear oblivion's shade, And thou wert gifted with a task sublime To make the redman^s last appeal to time ; Haply thy muse touched by thy people's doom Will pause beside Thayandanega s tomb. Or view the bronte memorial that wears A nativef touch of the departed years. Sad is thy lot thou spirit formed for tears Ifo view the march of the advancing years ; Before whose tread like foam upon the brine Are swept the drifting wrecks of thee and thine \ Oh strange this scene, the pale-faced sons of toil Have swept away the monarchs of the soil, And to Dossession like stern masters come And make the redmen aliens at home ; hi8t^^°* Johnaon, whooconpies poetically the most ttfti^ile position 4 i! !i 20 Not aliens long, fate points the certain way Unjust the doom but they must neef'.s obey, Yea sad thy lot thou lone ill-fated Grace To sing the wild dirge of thy dying race. From the dark realms of deep hysteric prose Arises compassed with poetic woes, A lady novelist* whose polished pen Can justly claim ♦o rival Simpson's ** Ben," Yes, let King Roberts heed his proud estate, High though he is, fair Rothwell is as great, Her verse transcendant, and her style intense, Her very fault like his the lack of sense, Perhaps compromise 'twixt them may atone And yield the king a consort to his throne. Fond old McLachlint with the heart of fire. Strong without fustian, caustic without ire, Simple yet piercing, honest without rant, And nature-loving void of barren cant ; Sick of this strained and artificial age The reader turns to thy refreshing page, And feels the shadow of the solemn woods And sees the iheen of the broad winding floods. Thank Heaven thou art no triton of the deep, A birch bark shallop cannot make thee weep. But thou canst smile at him who wildly shrieks A worship to the Neptune of the creeks^ Yes, laugh out-right at those whose fancies rich. See Naiads lave in each Acadian ditch. Bow down , ye scribes before the mighty IVeek, Malicious vendor o'f the base critique. Lean Egotist, that claims the ri^ht divine To whip the slavish scribblers into line,:}: High in its cob- webbed garret ^midst the dust It famished, gnaws its literary crust, And apes the journals of a bygone age To damn the poet, or exalt his page ; * Annie Rothwell, whose poetry we hope to see properlj appreciated, in point of "poetical Atllatus," as the profesflor saith, she is assuredly equal to th« Singer of Tantramar^and no doubt Mr Roberts being a gentle- man and a scholar, as well as a "canoeist," will be ready to acknowledge the extraordinary capabilities of this lady as rivalling his own. t Alexander McLachlin, Poet, requires no introduction to make him known ; his honest verses are like the man who writes them vigorous and plain ; he does not produce froth, but ideas unaffected and beauti- fully clothed. He is the first poet in Canada. t The Independent Week desires a prohibitory tax imposed upon the dime novel. Surely that most pretentious journal has no ambition to shine in the realm of fiction. y^.'-lT^r^T' "^ ■;!•■!.* >^- ■ "4A:'.. '?f' »TP- ' ii ! 'a w wv - ^ 31 Oh ! thou dictator's heart without the brainy On neutral ground I meet thee once again, And in thy teeth my gage of battle throw, My one despised — and yes — my meanest foe. What ! though you claim a high ideal to give* False the assertion, you but aim to live ; You teach no class, you elevate no aim. Your freedom and a slave's are but the same ; Crazed vehicle of the r its your ancient ways Are out of order these progressive days. Your Latin'd pedagogues and sages Greek, Thunder, but ah 1 a foreign* tongue they speak, Athens and Rome, their suns o'er ruins set This last bequeathed what we would fain forget, And for the first her lauded tongue and arts Are but a foil to show the scholar's par' « ; Their statesmen, true we have them here to-day, - Can squander revenues as fast as they. Oh ! soaring journal, what a theme for rhyme When once ■; '^r year, you swell to the sublime,. And tales contestant fill the laden air With rhyme and prose sufficient and to spare»r Oh Pope, no painter but a prophet thou — Those scenes ludicrous are exacted now, On Jordan Street the sons of Folly throng, Each with his story or competing song. Mad with ambition, nay a passion worse. Mad with the hope to clutch the promised purse, Who shall succeed among the motley crew ? Avaunt ye classics ; it is not for you . — The daring hero of a cattle boat. Who slushed the scuppers in his home-spun coat, * The Week inHtead of dominating public sentiment hassucumbed la Ihat power, and was forced to repudiate its former oracle that egre' grious Theorist,— Dr. Gk>ldwin Smith, who, has joined— in the support of the Olney doctrine— that Triumvirate, of which Michael Davitt, John Redmond and himself are the members. But we take this opportunity to teU this Dr. of The Depths that there are instincts in the human iH'east with which even his philosophy is unable to cope. ** No children are we to be flattered or feared. But bold independence we love and adore. And we'll stand by the column that victory rear'd Till the last son of freedom sucumbs in his gore." Meantime we can laugh at him and laugh alec at Principal Orant who calls it an infringement of British liberty to tell the Dr. ol Annexation to shut his mouth. EQ ill ^ ■ And piloted the bulls, across the wave,* — ■ O'er glorious him the classic Week does rave — ■ While lightly he describes the hoary pile ■ Which holds the honored of our parent isle, ■ The Week extends the purse, with weeping eyes, ■ And the rude conqnorer carries off the prize. ■ Ah, not forgotten, thou delightful Grip^ ■ The boast of Canada, her moral whip, H Lo ; with what humor all thy pages teem ■ The idle jargon of an idiot's dream. ■ Thou dull old crow with soul and brain of straw, I That knowest no music save thy croaking caw.t I Doubtless your lash is oft severe enough, I Were statesmen "made of penetrable stuff;** ■ But dull McGreevy, Connelly, Caron, I Pay no attention to your croaking song, I Vice still progresses, drop thy blunted sword I And yield the Week^ thy task undone, abhorred. I Yet Bene;ough's genius shall make good his claim I To be remembered by recording fame, I While far above his pencil's ready art 1 He shall be valued for his generous heart ; | Here is one public man that truth can claim I Who bears a liberal untarnished name. I And thou my country, fallen on evil days, I Corruption, bribery, every vice that sways, I Till those who love thee most their blush may hide, I Their shame too great to longer be denied. I Alas ! must Virtue turn with weeping eyes Toward the tomb where just Mackenzie lies ; Nor find amid the ambitious living none. In truth to rival her departed son, Nay old Macdonald, criticise who may, Would scorn the peurile tactics of to-day, What though his methods strained at times the laws, blill in the van he placed his country's cause. Dishonored land, unhappy is thy fate When even the Turk:}: can sneer at thy estate, * This was the class of literature that carried the laurel away from all competitorp a few yearf> ago, and tbe award of the Week was the sub- jectl of much mirth at the time. One Kentleman, of our acquaintance, i>uppo^ed that the victor'a prize of |50 probably cost him a hundred. He had been in the newspaper busineBs himself and "epoke as one ha\ ing authority and not as the Scribes and " envious ** Pharisees." t The lately deceased Grip may justly demand this record, that it died in defence of its principles. t A writer, some lime since, in Saturday Night, who had travelled in the Balkans is authority for this statement. .. 1 f When common gossip passes thee and thine For vice a byword far beyond the brine, Oh sacred truth find champion for her cause To bring back prestige to her trampled lawsy Restore the nation to a patriot's hand, And boodlers scourge from the polluted land. Behold convicted Vice with brazen face Transferred from jail to fill a statesman's place And hear the filthy rabble's senseless voice, Shameless proclaim a criminal their choice, A seat he takes among the nation's best. And not a coward who would dare protest. Jocond, he enters 'midst his old colleagues Forgets his crime and prison life fatigues ; Degenerate age, stamped with the brand of shame When truth found none to vindicate her name, Nay golden silence gave consent to crime And vilest precedent to coming time. When such as this is borne without rebuke . Dark may the patriot on the future look — If he must judge that future by the past To what vile depths will they descend at last ? Manipulated by each parly tool Till blood-red anarchy at last must rule. The country shall assert her latent right, And sweep thesevampires to eternal night ; "Vice oft hath flourished 'twas but for a time, Justice at length will surely punish crime. Time strips the gilding from emblazoned ill, Alone is sacred Truth immortal still. It may be asked why I should thus presume To drag these shadow^:^ from their native gloom^ I do not seek a Government reward. Nor to be branded Honored, Sir or Lord, Nor threat to leave this stupid country's clime,* Unless the people will peruse my rhyme ; Ye jostling bards, *'lay unction to your soul," Great minds have compassed no immediate goal. The barren heights of ultimate success Yield the dark guerdor» of a long distress, For mountain summits in their gorgeous glow Know not the verdure of the plains below. Yield me your thanks ye parasites of fame, Earth but for me had never known your name ; One of our bards threatened to voluntarily exile himself because '"^"j^na refused to bo charmed with hl« rhyme ; ho, however, reoon- )red htQ intention although he is as deep in oblivion as ever. •T' • ^4 The fame so long deniedis yours at last Broad as the sky and liberal as the blast — Without exception, graphic, terse, and true> Nor first submitted to its subject's view. Tis said advice is folly, still ye bards Reform your verse if you would win rewards* Fame is not bought, nor is the critic's pen An open sesame to the hearts of men — ^\ssumption is not genius, nor is rhyme From known necessities perforce sublime, Simplicity and truth need not be great, Tis simply true that four and four make eight, 'Tis oft indeed the versifyers' curse, That they mistake impression for their verse. But oftener far they force th' unwilling muse J?Vho yields no rapture when she would refuse; Reform ye scribblers, leave your mists and frogs,, Lakes, Loons and Injuns and Acadian bogs — And hang the eternal paddle up to dry ; Canoes good sooth r when Pegasus can fly, To read our bards the world might well mistake Our wide Dominion for an endless lake, Dotted with isles where birch expressly grows The raw material for bark canoes. Ye trifling bards, leave these and kindred themes^ Your crude philosophy and petty dreams : Leave Southern critics to their native songfr And homage yield where loyalty belongs — Content to win your native land's applause,. Toil for her gloryt and support her laws. * One of the most ancient perogatives of poetry was to correct, or at least punish, the vices to which it is traditionally opposed ; but our gentleman prefer to paddle a canoe, address pumpkins, frogs, or some ^imilar subject to striking those degraded, vioious, and mercenary Boodlers who are a blet upon this age and country. t Nearly all our bards occupy positions where Government salaries prevent them speaking ; but the auth<» of this poem congratulates him- self upon tbe fact that he is free and will so remain; at the same time he considers it but just to himself to state that truth and integrity are to him of much greater importance than the frown cir condemnation of the 00 Rest slave or the most illustrious eriminal. yrect, or at * ; but our Sf or some Mercenary nt salaries tiates him- Mme tljne Tityareto tion of tlie