I 
 
 ^EP 8 
 
 A FOUR-FOLD GREETING IN 
 
 »» 
 
 NUMBERS 
 
 Tor the festival of 
 Cbristc f)H masse 
 
 ANNO DOMINI MDCCCXCVII. 
 
 Being the learned toil of Francis L. Pollock, Esquytr ; 
 
 the most virtuous Ezra Hurlburt Stafford (of the 
 
 Hospice); William T. Allison (yclept John of 
 
 Gaunt); and the most renowned Maister Johan 
 
 N. E. Browne, Chirurgeon (jointly); all 
 
 members of the Maker^ Guild, and 
 
 presented to their very dear friends 
 
 at this blessed season. 
 
 ^ 
 
 JK\ the €ftv of Coromo 
 
 In the Same Year 
 
CDe Tear of Pan. 
 
 WHOSE joul remains unmoved, great Pan doth fear, 
 Who no accord will give his music here, 
 Nor harmonize with sounds which 'round are rife 
 When filled to overflow with wine of Life : 
 No cord vibrates though bird at gate of Heaven 
 In rapture sings at purple dawn or even ; 
 Nor loves the whistling wind or murmuring breeze, 
 Though playing varied music through the trees ; 
 Nor in his cot to sleep is gently sent 
 By voices of the rain on roof besprent, — 
 Who trembles when the mighty god on high 
 Sends crashing thunderbolts along the sky, 
 Nor filled with awe at ocean's mighty roar, 
 In booming breakers sounding on the shore ; 
 Nor with delight his heart is made attune 
 To hear the ripple of the brook in June ; 
 Or being moved, the impulse in his breast 
 For joining in that chorus is suppressed, 
 Dreading the censure of the little soul 
 O'er whom a proper prudence has control. 
 
 'rt<A^ 
 
 ^C^n 
 
 from TIeur de Cv$ Jo Ro$e. 
 
 WHAT sweep of circumstance and turn of Fate 
 Since Donnacona viewed the alien ships I 
 Tribe after tribe gone down in savage hate, 
 Or with the name of Christ upon their lips. 
 
 Gone are the glories of the old regime 
 
 Within the stately fortress of the north ; 
 
 And that barbarian pomp, a daring dream 
 
 In which Versailles is rudely shadowed forth. 
 
 A song, a dance, a kiss in old Quebec, 
 The voyageur has gaily said farewell ; 
 
 The intrepid wanderer takes little reck 
 Of horrid haps so easy to foretell 
 
Sons of Fair France, the wooded solitude, 
 
 The shining river, or the fields of snow, 
 Made men, like De la Salle, of foarless mood, 
 
 The real romancers of the long ago ! 
 
 But Frontenac is dead ; the Flenr de Lys, 
 
 So bravely flaunting in the face of doom, 
 Is fallen from the place of empery : 
 
 Changed is that silent land of forest gloom. 
 
 Where stood the wilderness, great cities rise ; 
 
 The Saxon holds the sombre North in fee ; 
 And Canada, a nation, glorifies 
 
 The mighty Island-Mother oversea. 
 
 Co Itldraqutta in Ittexico. 
 
 AT your window, Senorita, 
 Weeping in your heart's despair, 
 In the twilight, Maraquita, 
 
 Vv ith the fire-flies in your hair : 
 Ah, swept ever eyelids sweeter, 
 Eyes so fair ! 
 
 While the jasmines shine and glitter 
 
 In the window, iron barred. 
 Was there ever heart so bitter, 
 
 Was there ever love so hard ! 
 Ever softer cheek with fitter 
 
 Tears bestarred ! 
 
 While the coffee-blossoms whiten 
 
 In the scented moonlit field. 
 And the hammered night-stars brighten, 
 
 Golden bolts, on Night's black shield, 
 Shall it be for Love to frighten, 
 
 Love to yield ! 
 
 In your red zerape leaning 
 
 From the azotea wall, 
 Where the orange boughs are screening, 
 
 And the orange blossoms fall, 
 Kiss your fingers for the meaning. 
 
 All in all! # ^ 
 
 ^1 
 
mm T Shall Runt no more. 
 
 NOW I know how the woods on the hill are standing, '. 
 
 Bare and black on the first November snow ; j 
 
 With the waves of wind in their sounding branches stranding, J 
 While the ice-edged river frets on the rocky landing, 
 
 And the wind may cry and the stream flow on for ever, ' 
 
 Where I no more shall go. ^ 
 
 Out from the city's reek and fume and thunder =' 
 
 My heart goes back, O Woods of the North, to you ; i 
 
 To the chill grey days with the gun and the woodland plunder, ^ 
 The voice of the hounds afar that the shot breaks sharp in 
 
 sunder — i 
 
 Now the hounds run large, but for me no more for ever, ' 
 
 The fox goes safe and the ducks rise full in view. ^ 
 
 ' .i 
 Not as I knew you in June with shade and singing, 
 
 Not thus on your ways the desire of my heart is set, i 
 
 But bleak and silent save for the bare boughs swinging, | 
 
 And bound in dreams that the low sky hangs enringing, \ 
 
 That the wind runs through and the grey sun watches ever. 
 And snow-whirls stir and fret. 
 
 ) 
 
 The wild ducks splash and whirr from the marshy cover, I 
 
 Through the frozen thicket the grouse's pinions roar, 
 
 The hare slips past, and the hawk swings circling over, ^ 
 
 And high in the clouds the great gray eagles hover, I 
 And ^hcse my brothers may hunt and roam for ever, 
 
 But I hunt there no more ! 
 
 ^^.a.^ :LfM^ 
 
 J:>i 
 
 
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