SONGS OF THB PINES 
 
 :>':■ ' BY 
 
 JAMES ERNEST CALDWELL. 
 
 Pleads for itself the fact 
 As unrepenting Nature leaves 
 Her every act.'' 
 
 TORONTO -WILLIAM BRIGGS. 
 MOISTREAL-C. W. COATES. HALIFAX-S. F. HUE3T1S. 
 
 1895 
 

 ENTERED ACCORDING TO 
 
 ACT OF THE PARLIAMENT OF CANADA 
 
 IN THE YEAR 1896, 
 
 BY JAMES ERNEST CALDWELL, 
 
 AT THE DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE. 
 
 THOBURN & CO., PRINTERS, OTTAWAt 
 
cJ^O ^^^'^^ M^^e^^ZcU.^ 
 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 Hast heard the pines upon a clay 
 
 When summer skies were gloomed and gray, 
 
 And from the west there rolled along 
 
 A windy torrent filled with song? ,0: 
 
 That were a chorus fit to rouse 
 The mourner of past broken vows— 
 To fill the heart witli valorous trust 
 In harmony and all things just. 
 
 Such be the influence benign 
 Of these poor murmurings of mine, 
 Borne from a long past summer day 
 When all the skies were gloomed and gray. 
 
 ^v^ ^ /^f /ur 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Paor. 
 
 Evening at Chaudiere 1 
 
 Driving Home the Cows 3 
 
 Sympathy 4 
 
 Love and Duty 4 
 
 Burning the L.^tlPrs 5 
 
 Going to School 7 
 
 Tragic 7 
 
 The Monument 8 
 
 June 9 
 
 In the Asylum 10 
 
 The Shipwreck 13 
 
 My Country 14 
 
 'Tis not when joy bparkies 15 
 
 Science . 16 
 
 Harvest 17 
 
 A White Sail on a Rocking Sea 18 
 
 Discontent 19 
 
 When in the old Cathedral 19 
 
 A Prayer 20 
 
 The Knight-Errant. 81 
 
 Farewell 22 
 
 Among the Cedars 23 
 
 At a Christmas Festival 24 
 
 The Snow Storm 26 
 
 Queen Victoria's Jubilee 28 
 
 Patriotism 30 
 
 In Spring 80 
 
 Pessimism 31 
 
 Hatred 31 
 
 The Volunteer 32 
 
 Cecilia (A tale of the Ottawa Valley) 33 
 
 The Star. . : 82 
 
 The Monitor 83 
 
VI CONTENTS. , , ' 
 
 Life 84 
 
 The Birth of Spring Sr- 
 
 Tlie Day is Damp and Wet and Cold 86 
 
 Thrones 87 
 
 The Canadian Farmer 88 
 
 A Song of the Brave 90 
 
 Canada to Newfoundland 91 
 
 In Memoriam 93 
 
 The Wedding at the Mill. 94 
 
 The Young Doctor's Prescription 96 
 
 The Labyrinth 99 
 
 My Expei'ience 107 
 
 On Wine 108 
 
 A Story of the War 109 
 
 Little Rideau 113 
 
 The Marketing 115 
 
 In Carleton County, Why I voted for the Scott Act 126 
 
 O, Sing me a Song, Sweet Sister 132 
 
 Tobogganing 134 
 
 Pugilist-ic 135 
 
 Advice (?) 137 
 
 Confession 138 
 
 Driving 140 
 
 Under the Limes 141 
 
 ■ :>' 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 EVENING AT CHAUDIERE. " 
 
 Here, where across the ever-surging flood 
 Hangs the frail passageway or 'vire and wood, 
 We'll rest awhile, as daylight dies away, 
 And all the northern hills grow darkly gra> . 
 
 The slow-paced teams and lumber-laden wains, 
 The teamsters, bronzed with sun and wind and rains, 
 Have made their final trip and homeward gone 
 For labour's sweeter half— rest till the dawn. 
 Out from the mill-yards swarthy labourers swarm, 
 With emptied can in hand and coat on arm ; 
 While inward turn the bands who nightly keep 
 The great saws throbbing, while their owners sleep. 
 Now comes the gig — the pleasure waggon light. 
 With steed high stepping and a girl in white; 
 Off for a spin up Aylmer's pleasant road 
 The dashing driver takes his precious load. 
 
 IjCss frequent now the trembling structure feels 
 
 The stroke of hoof, the roll of passing wheels; 
 
 By twos and threes the stragglers homeward hie 
 
 To where their homes 'mid Hull's dark shadow's lie. 
 
 Down in the gloom, upon a rock wave-wet, 
 
 A bare-legged fisher stands and casts his net. 
 
 A lonely tourist westward turns his eyes 
 
 To where the vapour columns ceaseless rise; 
 
 And what a revelation of the might 
 
 Of Nature is the torrent's downward flight ! • 
 
 A tithing of its energy unseals 
 
 The pent-up voices of a thousand whoels — f 
 
 Yields to a host of willing hands the spoil 
 
 That crowns the honest vanquisher of toil. 
 
 See how the frothing cauldron swells and rolls 
 As though it boiled o er the infernal coals ! 
 With what volcanic force the depths embrace; 
 
SONOS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Wave follows wave, and billows billows chase, 
 Laden with foamy argosies they sweep 
 Down the broad channel to the far-off deep. 
 
 Yet all in vain round yon majestic height, 
 
 "Whose spires have caught the latest gleam of light, 
 
 Frets the dark flood. Though green its hue, 
 
 With not a crag austere to mar the view, . 
 
 To subtle influence, to scathing shock, 
 
 Is turned alike th' eternal heart of rock. 
 
 Such the foundation of our country's halls, 
 
 And firm as it the basement of her walls. 
 
 Invisible — yet none the less they hold 
 
 Hearts which the test shall brighten into gold I j 
 
 Grandly those walls are rising, safe and sure, - 
 , Broad the design and fashioned to endure. 
 
 Here to our home of generous plenty, we 
 Welcome the stranger with a friendship free. 
 Here will he freedom of the purest find. 
 Freedom of speech, of conscience and of mind, 
 Yet not the liberty, the withering blight. 
 Which leaves the Wrong untrammeled as the Right. 
 Work waits on all, for hand and heart and brain, 
 Still there are foes to fight and hydras to be slain . 
 Ours not the time of palsy and decay, 
 The sated fulness of a later day; 
 . Eather the blood of youth — a rising sun, — 
 A glorious task, — and gloriously begun ! 
 
 Now comes the hush of night: the mighty fall 
 In its colossal murmur shroudeth all, 
 As it would lull to rest and slumber sweet 
 The hearts that all day long tumultuous beat; 
 And with its music mystifying still. 
 We turn away — the air is damp and chill . 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES, 8 
 
 DRIVING HOME THE COWS.. 
 
 Oft in childhood's days I wandered 
 
 O'er the fields of Hazledean, 
 Or on lovely summer mornings 
 
 Scampered up the pasture green ; 
 By my side my little sister, 
 
 Nought of care upon our brows, 
 And the only task we thought of. 
 
 Simply driving home the cows ! 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Chorus': 
 
 Driving home the cows ! Driving home the cows I 
 What happier task could childhood ask 
 Than driving home the cows ! 
 
 Many a merry prank and caper 
 
 Drew aside ) our roving feet; 
 Now to chase a robin red-breast, 
 
 Or to pull the wild-flowers sweet; 
 Many a time our rosy fingers, 
 
 Or the stains on lip and blouse, 
 Told that we had gone a-berrying, 
 
 'Stead of driving home the cows ! 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Driving home the cows ! Driving home the cows I 
 
 They all might tell by the jingling bell, 
 
 We were driving home the cows ! \ 
 
 Years have passed and we are parted. 
 
 Sundered wide our homes now lie; . 
 
 Yet I trust she still remembers, - 
 
 'Neath the far oflF western sky, 
 All the happy dream-like mornings. 
 
 Memory faintly still allows, 
 How we plann'd and played together, * 
 
 Just while driving home the cows ! 
 
 Driving home the cows ! Driving home the cows I 
 O, joy complete, with a comrade sweet, 
 Driving home the cows ! 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 Within the heart are hidden springs 
 
 That never see the light; 
 But from them gentle currents flow, 
 
 How gladdening to the sight ! 
 
 The eye that beams with kindness true 
 Spreads sunshine all around, , 
 
 And turns a spot of mother earth 
 , To happy Eden's ground. 
 
 And many a poor misguided one, » 
 
 On Error's slippery steeps. 
 Has been upheld, directed, saved. 
 
 By love that works and weeps. 
 
 A love that passes kindred's bounds. 
 Nor knoweth rank nor race. 
 
 But sees in every fellow-man 
 A glimpse of God's own face. 
 
 LOVE AND DUTY. 
 
 My lady at the wind'^w sits, 
 Just where the sun in-streaming 
 
 Amid her golden tresses flits. 
 And sets them all a-gleaming. 
 
 In through the window streams my love 
 And brightens all her beauty ; 
 
 I work beneath; she sits above ; 
 True type of Love and Duty. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES, 
 
 BURNING THE LETTERS. 
 
 He stood alone at the midnight hour 
 
 By the hearth fast growing cold. 
 And he held in his hand what had been more dear 
 
 Than their weight in yellow gold. 
 
 Messages they had been to him 
 
 Of love from a loved one dear; 
 How his heart beat fast as he opened them 
 
 Where none could see or hear. 
 
 "'■■■'■ V ..., 
 
 How he read them over when sadness came^ 
 
 Or a doubt of her truth drew near, 
 Like a silent spectre, gaunt and grim, 
 
 To fill his heart with fear. 
 
 How soon it vanished, that spectre grim, 
 
 As he turned the pages fair ! 
 And he joyed to know that a truthful hand 
 
 Had penn'd each sentence there. 
 
 How he saw in every word and line 
 
 A touch of her character ; 
 Till his heart grew glad with a wordless joy 
 
 That the world held such as her. 
 
 And a dream slid into his brain that night 
 
 Of an Indian summer day, 
 "When over all the sleeping earth 
 
 God's blessed sunshine lay. 
 
 And they walked together, hand in hand, 
 Where the yellow leaves dropped down ; 
 
 Silent celestial witnesses, 
 Yet never a one did frown. 
 
6 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 For they were pure as the skies above 
 Or the earth beneath their feet ; 
 
 For the touch of time had cleared the wine 
 Of their love, and made it sweet. 
 
 And the morning came but the dream did run 
 
 Like a golden thread all day, 
 Through the heavy web of toil he spun 
 
 To brighten its hue of gray. 
 
 Did she prove false then, or did some blight 
 Fall out of the frosty skies ? ; > 
 
 Or were they sundered by cruel words 
 Of people so worldly wise ? 
 
 Far other — 'tis not in anger he stands 
 By the hearth fast growing cold ; 
 
 Yet 'tis with sadness he glances down, 
 On the letter's dainty fold. 
 
 But 'tis her wish and he deems it best 
 That tliey pass away from sight, 
 
 As the guiding star long seen afar. 
 Melts in the morning light. 
 
 A little flame, a moment's glow, 
 
 And they are gone forever, 
 O ! had he them now I read on his brow, 
 
 He'd burn them never, no, never ! 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 GOING TO SCHOOL. ^ 
 
 See the children going to school; — - . 
 
 It's just exactly ten minutes to nine; 
 An autumn morning so clear and cool 
 
 That cheeks are touched with the glow of wine . 
 
 Hand clasped in hand they hurry along, 
 
 Arm in arm some are loitering slow; 
 Out in the yard, what a noisy throng ^ : 
 
 Are playing at leap frog, heads bending low. 
 
 Still they are coming, tiny wee to's; i 
 
 Bra\t.lv they step, with a business-like air; 
 
 Though troublesome tasks fall perchance to their lots, 
 Not a face among all shows the cloud of a care. 
 
 Maidens there are, well on in their teens, 
 Comely and fair as a morning in June; 
 
 Slowly they walk, while head to head leans. 
 And mingling tresses their shoulders have strewn. 
 
 TRAGIC. 
 
 Break, my heart ! O, break and pour 
 Thy torrent grief— then all is o'er. 
 
 Sin is sin and ruleth thee; 
 
 Break, O, heart, and thou art free. 
 
 Bliss is bliss and cometh not; 
 Break, O, heart— 'Twill be forgot. 
 
 Vain remorse doth breed despair; 
 Break, O heart — Earth claim thy share. 
 
8 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 THE MONUMENT. 
 
 'Twas a green and verdurous churchyard, 
 Far from the city's stir, ; 
 
 Where the dead lay quietly sleeping, > v 
 
 O'ershadowed by ash and fir. ' 
 
 Green were the mounds, and thickly spread, 
 Which covered the longtime-coffined dead, 
 
 And polished marble so cold and white 
 Bore record of those who had pa^ised from sight. 
 
 And there in the glow of the setting sun, 
 
 After the labour of day was done. 
 By a stately pillar, upraised that day, 
 
 Stood one whose dark locks were just touched with 
 gray. 
 
 Still silent he stood and viewed the shaft- 
 Peerless product of sculptor's craft ! 
 
 Read the inscription, the date, prayer, 
 But he thought not of her who was buried there. 
 
 She who had given her girlish hand 
 And all the love at her heart's command 
 
 Into his keeping, for weal or for woe, 
 With trusting gladness, long years ago. 
 
 Years of coldness and dull neglect 
 Had quenched not her love and deep respect, 
 
 Though it withered her cheek and youthful bloom, 
 And darken 'd her mind with a piteous gloom. 
 
 Till at length when her body, in calm repose, 
 Enjoyed the sleep which no waking knows, 
 
 Her brow was marked with deep lines of care, 
 And sorrow had whitened her once dark hair. 
 
SONGS OF THE PiyES. 9 
 
 And now by her grave the husband stands, 
 Inspecting the work of the sculptor's hands, 
 
 In memory raised of the sainted dead; 
 Think you 'twas truth that inscription said ? 
 
 Or was it a monument of the pride 
 And wealth of him who stood by its side ; 
 
 A tear, meihinks, or a sigh or groan, 
 Were a fitter one than that polished stone. 
 
 :;;;-:--■.:■; ;■ ■ ' ' june. :■ 
 
 ■ .^ '- ■ ' . ■ ■ .-■:.-. . _■ ■ ' 
 
 How do the gentle days of June 
 
 Set all dissonances in tune I 
 
 Beneath the shade of shrub-clad steeps 
 
 The broad and chastened river sweeps, 
 
 Unmarmuring and resignedly. 
 
 To the inevitable sea. 
 
 No longer bare and whistling trees ^ 
 
 Tell of the swelling of the breeze. 
 
 But myriad-mingling murmurs drowse 
 
 The lounger under summer boughs. 
 
 Soft stretcheth off the pasture green, 
 
 Where smooth-skinned herds with restful mien 
 
 Are couched on snaded breezy knolls 
 
 Around the maples' rugged boles: 
 
 O'er all the lately-furrowed fields 
 
 The tender blade dark verdance yields, 
 
 And rich wit'i honey and perfume 
 
 TMe luscious clover bursts in bloom. 
 
10 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 IN THE ASYLUM. 
 
 Within those gloomy walls where sounds 
 
 The maniac's midnight shriek; 
 Where lunacy is kept in thrall, * 
 
 I saw one worn and weak, 
 Haggard as mortals e'er can be 
 
 While life still warms ,the cheek. 
 Deep sunken eyes and palsied frame 
 
 Showed he in times gone by 
 Was racked by toil, or grief or sin, 
 
 The while he might not die. 
 Restless, he paced his prison floor, • 
 
 With downcast troubled air, ' 
 
 At times forth breaking into speech 
 
 Of bitter fierce despair. 
 Once while I watched him o'er him came 
 
 A change of brief respite, 
 The look of se<^tled madness tamed, 
 
 By Reason's heavenly light. 
 In answer to my question, he 
 
 Made audible his woe, 
 With eloquence begot of tears 
 
 Which ceased not to flow . 
 Where speeds the wide St. Lawrence on 
 
 I dwelt long, long ago; 
 How long ago I cannot tell, 
 
 An age — an age of woe . 
 I had a farm — I had a home 
 
 Beside tlie river clear; 
 O, 'twas a lovely spot that held 
 
 My wife, my child so dear. 
 I see it now, its white walls shine 
 
 Amid the maples green, 
 Around the porch the creepers twine 
 
 And golden sunflowers lean; 
 And in the garden blooms the rose 
 
 And homely marigold; 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 11 
 
 And pansies, meek and prim and chaste, 
 
 And scarlet poppies bold : 
 My wife -my child, I see them, too, 
 
 O, what is life or death ? 
 A dream, a fearful nightmare dream 
 
 That stifles every breath ! . > 
 
 I was of nervous temperament, . 
 
 The sport of joy or woe, 
 Well formed to drink of pleasure deep. 
 
 Or throb with grievous throe. 
 I drank — all drank in those past days, ! 
 
 Drank till in wrath I swore 
 God helping me for time to come 
 
 I'd touch nor taste no more. 
 What need to tell liovv oft I failed ? 
 
 My friends conspired to force 
 The cursed spirit to my lips 
 
 To pave my hell- ward course ! 
 I felt there was no liope for me 
 
 While hemmed on every side 
 By tempters, glorying in my shame. 
 
 My grief — my broken pride. 
 Back from the river forty miles 
 
 Were uncleared free grant lands: 
 There seemed a haven where I might 
 
 Escape the tempter's hands. 
 There, with hard work, we made a home, 
 
 Humble, but happy still; 
 No tavern tempted every hour 
 
 My vacillating will. 
 Two years passed by — again my wife 
 
 Forgot her husband's shame. 
 And bringing sunshine to her life 
 
 Hope for the future came. 
 O, those were happy years ! No slave 
 
 From scourge and chain set free 
 E'er joyed in freedom as I then ! 
 
 Life then was life to me ! 
 An illness came— one winter night 
 
12 SONGS OF THE PINE^. 
 
 I for the doctor went; 
 'Twas morning when I reached tlie place 
 
 Where I my youth had spent. 
 A friend was in the tavern door. 
 
 He dragged me to the bar, 
 For I WHS chilled and shivering ^ 
 
 From journeying so far. 
 One drink — farewell to wife and child— 
 
 The doctor is forgot. 
 My nerves, my blood, my brain went wild, 
 
 I drank — I raved — I fought; 
 That time seemed like a blast of hell, 
 
 Its fire was in my soul; 
 Even now, whene'er I think of it • . 
 
 My brain begins to roll ! 
 Two days went by — again I woke 
 
 To reason and to life; 
 Knew where I was— remembered all— 
 
 My child — ray dying wife ! 
 Back — fiercely back I lashed my horse, 
 
 Till down it sank and died; 
 Then on I sped on foot again, 
 
 Mv blood with horror dried ! 
 I reached my home — my wife lay dead, 
 
 My child a frozen corse — 
 Dead — dead — both dead— a murderer ! 
 Remorse ! Remorse ! Remorse ! 
 
 Again rang forth the maniac cry. 
 
 Again his rea-on fied, 
 While Pity dropt the curtain down, 
 
 Upon the vision dread. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 13 
 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 'Twas winter, and the frosty seas * 
 
 Chafed on the ice-bound shores; 
 And the steady volume of the breeze 
 
 Wasiaden Willi wintry stores. / 
 
 All night the black and heaving deep 
 
 Sucked down the melting snow, 
 Thai drifted high in many a heap 
 
 Where the billows could not go. 
 
 The ships that cleft the crests of foam 
 
 Held many hearts of fear, 
 That sighed for iDved ones far at home, , 
 
 Enjoying Christmas cheer. 
 
 In the blackness that precedes the dawn. 
 
 While the tempest round them whirled, 
 The Silver Crescent dashed upon 
 
 Ihe rocks where the white waves curled. 
 
 Ah ! Dreamers, how did ye awake. 
 When the gushing flood in-rolled 
 
 And made a deep and treacherous lake 
 Of the vessel's gorgeous hold ! 
 
 How fared ye wlipn the flinging spray 
 Drenched your pale cheek and brow, 
 
 And the wind bore prayers and shrieks away, 
 And the vessel foundered low ! 
 
 When tardy morning's struggling light 
 
 Revealed the dreadful scene. 
 No earthly help appeared in sight. 
 
 And the cruel waves did glean. 
 
14 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 The tender and the frail and young, 
 And hid them in their arms; 
 
 The loud winds o'er them hoarsely rung 
 A knell for their passing charms. 
 
 But brave men saw their dire distress, 
 
 And forth with succor tiew, 
 To save from that wide wilderness 
 
 Of waves, a long-tried few . 
 
 Poor stiffened forms that still did hold 
 The spark that ne er returns; 
 
 Oh venture quickly seamen bold ! 
 Yea, each one danger spurns. 
 
 And thus a few — alas, how few ! 
 
 Are snatched from death's wide jaws, 
 But the many are gone- -a long adieu 
 
 The beautiful that was ! 
 
 MY COUNTRY. 
 
 My Country, my Country, 
 I'm jealous for thy fame; 
 
 O, that my hands might lustre add 
 Unto thy cherished name. 
 
 My Country, my Country, 
 If thine own sons prove true, 
 
 There's not a land in all the earth 
 Shall triumph over you. 
 
 My Country, my Country, 
 Thou'st been baptized in blood 
 
 By sprinkling, but 'tis just as well 
 As plunging 'neath a flood. 
 
 My Country, my Country, 
 Thy lite line readeth true— 
 
 There's not a land in all the earth 
 Shall triumph over you. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 15 
 
 'TIS NOT WHEN JOY SPARKLES. 
 
 'Tis not when joy sparkles within thy brij^ht eyes, 
 And mirth adds fresh music to eacli silver tone, 
 
 That my heart for thy love and companionship sighs. 
 And I mourn the decree which still bids me be lone. 
 
 'Tis not when in halls where the gay mingle free, 
 
 And soft music calls for the sinuous dance. 
 That thoughts of the past come in sadness to me — 
 
 The time when for me there was bliss in thy glance. 
 
 But, oh, when the first shade of sorrow hath passed 
 And shed o'er each feature a hallowed repose; 
 
 When the light of thine eyes hath grown calmer and chaste, 
 And thy voice hath grown sweet as the breath of the rose. 
 
 O, 'tis then that thyself of the past re-appears. 
 In a flash all the coldness hath fled from my heart, 
 
 And I gladly would mingle my own with thy tears. 
 And sooth thee till sorrow and pain should depart. 
 
 But another must sooth thee, another must share 
 The raptures of love and the sorrows of earth; 
 
 May his heart be as true, and as tender his care 
 As was mine, whatsoever that wish may be worth. 
 
 Farewell, and forever, thou loved one, farewell; 
 
 'Tis a word I once thought to ne'er say unto thee 
 Until death should have Darted, and not the joy bell; 
 
 But farewell— joy be ith thee as sorrow with me. 
 
16 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 SCIENCE. 
 
 How cold the days ! How lonp the stiffening nights, 
 
 While the stars glitter through the frozen blue ! 
 
 And waving round the pole, the northern lights 
 
 Fade and retire and spread again to view; 
 
 The moon rides high, of purest silver cast, 
 
 Scarce seen the shades that tell of mount and plain; 
 
 And from the snow a wide pale light and chaste 
 
 Arises till no darkness can remain; 
 
 Yet all is cold, so cold, and so much li^ht, 
 
 And sparkling brilliancy by day and night; 
 
 And Nature pulseless, all her blood congealed; 
 
 Man shrinks into himself in chilly gloom, 
 
 Mourning the summer and its vanished bloom, 
 
 The shady, restful grove and verdant field. 
 
 Evil the time if Reason, cold and clear. 
 
 And Science with unsympathetic hand 
 
 Should reign in wintry majesty severe 
 
 And nip the heart- bred beauties of the land. 
 
 Better the darkness of i he summer night. 
 
 That draws the sweet, refreshing dews of heaven, 
 
 Leaving the world in freshened beauty bright. 
 
 When the gray clouds the crimson morn hath riven; 
 
 Than all the ghost-revealing beams that shine 
 
 From every source but one which is divine ! 
 
 O, that the sun t f Righteousness and Truth 
 
 May melt the icy fetters off our hearts, 
 
 And bathe us with the light that e'er imparts 
 
 Unto the soul pure and unfading youth ! 
 
so SOS OF THE PINES. 17 
 
 HARVEST. 
 
 ' -,' ,■* 
 
 August the tenth — a cloudlfss Hky — 
 Eight o'clock, and tlie huh high, high. 
 
 Vanished the dew of early morn, • 
 
 Save the big rh-ops hid in the broad-leaved corn. 
 
 Wide and far, like a silver sheet, 
 Stretcheth the field of ripened wheat, 
 
 Down the lane and into the field 
 Cometh the binder, ponderous wheeled. 
 
 Thi'ee dark h ^rsea, a stalwart band, 
 Move at the touch of the driver's hand— 
 
 Halt ere a sickle hath touched the wheat— .; 
 The driver climbs from his lofty seat. 
 
 His twine-ball takes and the cord unwinds, 
 And threadeth the needle of steel that binds. 
 
 Now doth the reel revolve amain, 
 
 And the knives shear closely the bended grain. 
 
 Fingers of force clasp tight the sheaves, 
 Dropping thick as the autumn leaves. 
 
 But stop, strong horses and ponderous wheels, 
 A glance some vital error reveals. 
 
 Loose 'mong the stubbles falls each sheaf. 
 All in vain the driver seeks relief. 
 
 His cord is mixed in a tangled maze, * 
 
 That never will yield to his wrathful ways. 
 
 Till he finds the clue of the tangled skein 
 Lies just in this — unwind from within. 
 
18 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 'Tis thus we stand on Life's boundless plain, 
 White with the gleam of the ripened grain. 
 
 But ever our toil hath been withstood, 
 As we seek to bind and secure the good. 
 
 Till we learn the secret as old as sin. 
 For weal or for woe we must look within. 
 
 A WHITE SAIL ON A ROCKING SEA. 
 
 A white sail on a rocking sea, 
 
 A breeze that never dies, 
 A cloud that saileth, fast and free, 
 Across the sunny skies. 
 
 A maiden fair upon the beach, 
 
 A robe around her thrown; 
 Two melting eyes that soft beseech— 
 
 A prayer of sweetest tone. 
 
 O, Ruler of the mighty deep, 
 To whom we bend the knee I 
 
 In thine own hand my lover keep 
 And bring him back to me. 
 
 The cloud melts from the sunny skies, 
 
 The sail sinks out of view ; 
 The maiden dries her dewy eyes. 
 
 Farewell, thou lover true. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 19 
 
 DISCONTENT. 
 
 I was in gloom, though knowing naught of grief ; 
 I was in sorrow, doubt and unbehef . 
 
 I knew not God, nor worshipped Him in truth, 
 Though His commandments I had known from youth. 
 
 I loved not riches, but I cursed the fate 
 That left me serving at another's gate. 
 
 I saw the looks the proud upon me cast, 
 While in their dried-up dignity thpy passed . 
 
 Their glances were like arrows, sharp and swift, 
 That deep into my angry spirit cleft. 
 
 WHEN IN THE OLD CATHEURaL. 
 
 When in the old cathedral 
 
 We listen to the swell 
 Of the organ, pealing softly 
 
 A faint funereal knell, 
 A thought of holy sadness, 
 
 A shade steals o'er my mind, 
 "The saint who enters heaven 
 
 Must leave this world behind." 
 
 Though the world at times seems worthless, 
 
 A fountain deep of tears, 
 Where the weight of sorrows gather 
 
 With the heavy growth of years, 
 Yet a power it still hath o'er us. 
 
 We cannot well o'ercome. 
 And the faintly sounding chorus 
 
 In sorrow leaves us dumb. 
 
20 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 Oh Lord, thou givest rest 
 To those that weary are ; 
 
 Weary am I Thou knowest, 
 Fretted with worldly care. 
 
 Fain would I turn to Thee, 
 But lack the strength of will 
 
 To witness faithfully — 
 My duties well fulfil. 
 
 Too oft has Satan's snare' 
 Involved my yielding frame ; 
 
 I paused beside his lair — 
 With me remains the blame. 
 
 Did I but use the strength 
 
 Thou givest unto all, 
 Victory might at length 
 
 Repay my trials all. 
 
 Oh ! shall I ever learn 
 
 To shun the breath of wrong ? 
 Experience though stern, 
 
 In teaching takes too long. 
 
 Give me a conscience clear, 
 A will devout and strong, 
 
 To turn with godly fear 
 Me from the path of wrong. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 31 
 
 THE KNIGHT-ERRANT, . 
 
 There isn't a breath on the lake, love, ' 
 
 There isn't a breeze on the plain ; 
 
 I'm going afar for your sake, love, 
 And not for the gold I may gain. 
 
 The west is the haven of gold, love, 
 The ranch and the white wheaten sea ; 
 
 Whatever the future may hold, love, 
 I'll carry its honey to thee. 
 
 For thee shall the furrow be turned, love. 
 The furrow that's black as a coal ; 
 
 Toil and trouble for thee shall be spurned, love, 
 And patience shall bear up my soul. 
 
 All day on the prairies alone, love. 
 The hum of the bees in the flowers. 
 
 Shall jingle in sweet undertone, love, 
 With music of vanished hours. 
 
 At night 1 11 remember thy face, love. 
 The darkness shall never be dark ; 
 
 To divide, more is needed than space, love. 
 And miles multiplied miss their mark. 
 
 For thee the herd shall increase, love. 
 The herbage be cropt in its prime ; 
 
 All night they shall slumber in peace, love. 
 And to gold they shall turn in due time. 
 
 And so while the land is all calm, love, 
 
 I leave thee but I shall return ; 
 " You love me just as I am," love. 
 
 But love might poverty spurn . 
 
 And if our loving be true, love, 
 'Twill keep for a yeai and a day ; 
 
 Then I'll surely be back to you, love, 
 •' So be it," then dearest one, say. 
 
22 SONGS OF THE PINES, 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 Farewell to thee, my dearest I 
 Farewell, a long farewell I 
 
 In its best sense— sincerest, 
 May good with thee still dwell. 
 
 How could I wish thee other ? 
 
 How could I wish thee less ? 
 Thy life blent with another 
 
 Sti.'l needeth happiness. 
 
 Thy heart was formed for gladness, 
 And drank from every spring ; 
 
 And turned from gloom and sadness, 
 As from some loathesome thing. 
 
 But oft-times fail the fountains 
 Beneath the summer's heat ; 
 
 And oft the barren mountains 
 Tire out the weary feet . 
 
 Then may the gi'ace of patience 
 
 Unto thy heart be given ; 
 The fruit of supplications 
 
 Poured out to listening Heaven. 
 
 O may misfortune never 
 O'erwhelm thee as it might I 
 
 May all good angels ever 
 Preserve thee spotless, white. 
 
 Then let the dream I cherished 
 
 Deep in oblivion d^;\ ell ; 
 And while I mourr -*"' ^ 
 
 I say to thee f* 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 28 
 
 AMONG THE CEDARS. 
 
 My love lives among the cedars, 
 
 Cedars pleasant to the eye ; 
 Where the wide and moonlit river 
 
 Rolls in solemn beauty by. 
 
 O the fragrance of those cedars I 
 O their sweetly pungent balm 
 
 At the hour of evening twilight 
 When Creation's pulse is calm I 
 
 O the hushed voice of the river 
 Sweeping stilly to the deep 1 
 
 O the silent starry heavens 
 
 Whence the mellow dewdrops creep I 
 
 These together fill my bosom 
 With a feeling scarce of love ; 
 
 Till ray soul goes forth in longing 
 To be lifted far above 
 
 Earth and all its cares and trials, 
 And still more its sin and shame, 
 
 And the burning of ambition. 
 And the hungering for fame. 
 
 But my love in radiant beauty 
 Comes to meet nie, — O what bliss 
 
 In a moment is concentred 
 In the rapture of a kiss ! 
 
 As I press her to my bosom 
 Life again grows wildly sweet. 
 
 Caring not for past or future 
 In the present joy complete I 
 
24 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 AT A CHRISTMAS FESTIVAL. 
 
 Once more to cheer earth's gloom and sadness 
 
 Hath beamed a day of joy and gladness, 
 A day from which rings out again 
 
 The song of, "Peace, good will to men." 
 The frosty air hath borne the chime 
 
 Of Christmas bells in joyous rhyme. 
 Again have Christmas songs been sung 
 
 In many a land by many a tongue. 
 In many a home, by many a hearth, 
 
 O'er all the wide and boundless earth. 
 Have gathered in from far and near 
 
 Friend parted oft for many a year . 
 Sons, daughters, and their children too. 
 
 About the old home circle drew. 
 Sad hearts and lonely have renewed 
 
 Youth's pleasures fair and rosy-hued, 
 And cast off care and felt the power 
 
 Of that good will which rules the hour. 
 The poor have felt the generous glow 
 
 Which Christmas brings amid the snow ; 
 And many a table scant and bare 
 
 Full oft ; to-night hath bounteous fare. 
 
 The boys and girls are fiee from schools 
 
 And all their tedious rounds and rules. 
 And now around the Christmas tree 
 
 They join in happy Christmas glee. 
 
 And all must feel that Christmas cheer 
 
 Comes in to crown the closing year. 
 
 And looking back o'er eighteen years, 
 A Christmas night again appears, 
 
 Still green in memory as the tree 
 Which seemed so wonderful to me I 
 
 The old stone chiirch upon the hill 
 So lonely now, but stalwart still, 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 35 
 
 Was fiU'd with light and mirth and song, 
 
 And held a gay and joyous throng. 
 High in the midst appeared the tree 
 
 Laden with gifts so bounteously ! 
 Fruit that it never held before ; 
 
 Books, toys and candies, now it bore. 
 From every bough the candles gleamed 
 
 And tiny banners downward streamed. 
 Kind, willing hands had busy been 
 
 And formed a marvel to be seen . 
 Those busy hands, — where are they now ? 
 
 O'er some the weeping willows bow. 
 Some far are gone yet leave behind 
 
 A memory spotless, pure and kind. 
 Some still are here grown older now 
 
 With silver locks around their brow. 
 
 Boys, girls, and ye of older years 
 
 Remember why 'tis Christmas cheers ! 
 It tell us that through Christ is given 
 
 A hope for earth, a hope of Heaven ! 
 And looking back o'er times like this 
 
 We see how much of happiness 
 The world hath gained since that first morn 
 
 When angels told the Christ was born I 
 
26 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 THE SNOW STORM. 
 
 No sky, no earth ; the gathering night 
 
 Doth onward glide 
 Like silent ghost in robes of white 
 
 O'er landscape wide, 
 And bringeth gloom and lonely shade 
 
 Upon her brow ; 
 The leafless treetops slowly fade, 
 
 'Tis darkness now. 
 
 And night hath sunk to silent du ii nij rest, 
 
 A lonely bride ; 
 Cold, cold the couch beneath her breast. 
 
 By snows supplied. 
 No twinkling stars pierce through the gloom ;. 
 
 The leaden sky 
 Seems but to canopy a tomb. 
 
 Where spirits fly. 
 
 Athwart the upturned features brush 
 
 The fairy flakes, 
 And melt like coldness in the blush 
 
 When love awakes ; 
 And from above a murmur flows, 
 
 Soft — i ndistinct, 
 As hreath of summertide that blows 
 
 With slumber link'd, 
 
 A sifting, silent winter night, 
 
 That ever throws, 
 Upon the earth a burden white 
 
 Of lifeless snows. 
 Ah, cheerless often seems my heart 
 
 As is this night, 
 No gladdening ray doth hope impart. 
 
 No welcome light. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES, 27 
 
 Thicker do fall the snows of Fate 
 
 Around my path, 
 And press on me with dreary weight, 
 
 Though not in wrath ; 
 The flowers that bloomed in early youth 
 
 Are hid from sight ; 
 Buried without remorse or ruth. 
 
 My hopes so bright. 
 
 The warffth of all my love is gone, 
 
 I dwell in gloom ; 
 Scarce hoping for a rosier dawn 
 
 Till in the tomb ; 
 Fain wouldTlibpe that then at last 
 
 I might find peace ; 
 And in that heaven my lot be cast, 
 
 Where sorrows cease. 
 
 So wrote the misanthrope, aged twenty-two ; 
 
 A restful tomb just rising to his view. 
 While as he wrote, beneath his own rooftree, 
 
 A dread disease had come insidiously. 
 Diphtheria had touched a little alien boy. 
 
 Far from his home which erst was not of joy. 
 Now by his couch our misanthrope doth stand 
 
 Taking his life, his earth life, in his hand ; 
 And for a week by day and night doth dress 
 
 The little waif's throat's putrid f ilthiness . 
 Here let him learn to turn aside from self ; 
 
 Nor live for pride or power or place or pelf. 
 
28 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 QUEEN VICTORIA'S JUBILEE. 
 
 While many a gifted pen this year Bhall trace 
 The wreath of verse— the line of loyal tone ; 
 Beloved ruler of a mighty race ! 
 
 God guard thee and thy throne. 
 
 This simple, fervent prayer comes from the land 
 
 W ' 'i, long ago, Jacques Cartier did pre-empt ; 
 Then in its primal beauty, lone and grand, 
 
 Its vastness all undreamt. 
 
 Now destiny hath wrought its sovereign will ; 
 
 No more the Fleur-de-lys floats to the breeze ; 
 Yet a right gallant banner have we still — 
 
 The Red Cross of the seas ! 
 
 Here, fifty years ago, the settlers heard — 
 
 By the slow ship and slower post 'twas borne — 
 Their king was dead, and some no doubt were stirred 
 
 To sadness, and did mourn. 
 
 But more they wondered, when they heard how on 
 
 The British throne, a gentle maiden sate ; 
 Whose life had scarcely passed its rosy dawn — 
 
 Alone — O pkice of Fate ! 
 
 Then many an earnest prayer to Heaven was sent 
 
 On thy behalf, by hearts of faith and trust. 
 That went not unrewarded when they lent 
 
 Their bodies to the dust. 
 
 Those prayers were answered — for the answer we 
 Must read the history fifty years have penned ; 
 O pages fair ! Emblazoned wondrously ! 
 
 And still not to the end. 
 
 Here, when thy girlish hand the sceptre touched. 
 
 Was a wide land but yielding to the axe ; 
 Still in the woods the beasts of ravin crouched, 
 
 Or nightly howled in packs. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 20 
 
 Disunion rife, of provinces and creeds ; 
 
 Rebellion — whatsoe'er its cause and blood, — 
 These mingle, blurring, on the paoro which reads 
 
 Of thy young womanhood. 
 
 Now, fifty years of thy benignant sway — 
 
 What have they done ? See our Dominion span 
 This continent ; while hatred dies away, 
 
 And every man's a man. 
 
 How hath the world gone ? Surely onward too 
 
 In every land swift flies the iron steed ; 
 The ship of steel cleaves the old waters blue, 
 
 • With fierce enduring speed. 
 
 Around the earth thrill the electric lines ; 
 
 Dark Afrif's heart warms 'neath another sun ; 
 No more the slave in hopeless thraldom pines ; / 
 
 War's race is nearly run. 
 
 Mankind grows closer in its brotherhood — 
 
 A Beecher dies and many millions mourn — 
 Wrong fights a losing battle with the good, 
 
 And right is onward borne. 
 
 Then, Sovereign lady, may we not assign 
 To thee a share of honor for this good ? 
 A place of high and mighty trust was thine, 
 
 And nobly hast thou stood ; 
 
 While Melbourne, Russell, Peel and Palmerston, 
 
 Gladstone and D'Israeli the hosts have led, 
 And passed from active doings one by one. 
 
 Or, joined the mighty dead. 
 
 Serene and steadily has shone thy light ; 
 
 To purity and every virtue fair 
 An inspiration ; — to the deeds of night 
 
 • Nemesis and despair. 
 
 Then let the year be marked by joyful mien, 
 
 And deep thanksgiving for the blessings past, 
 And earnest prayer for thee, beloved Queen, 
 
 O'er all thy empire vast. 
 
80 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 There is n grandeur in the words 
 
 •• I love ray native land ;*' 
 The lips that speak them cannot brook 
 
 The tyrant's harsh command. 
 
 A true and uprij2:ht soul is that 
 Which wings the patriot's breath, — 
 
 A soul that dreads far more the yoke 
 Of bondage base than death. 
 
 Yet is tljis world a common ground. 
 Where man may meet with man, 
 
 A bounteous heritage where all 
 May win such as they can , 
 
 Away with those dim eyes that see 
 
 No good beyond their land ; 
 Away with that cold boor who spurns 
 
 The stranger's proffered hand. 
 
 Welcome each guest from foreign clime, 
 Who comes in peaceful mood ; 
 
 Dwell thou with us in unity, 
 And we will do thee good. 
 
 IN SPRING, 
 
 Sweet buds and flowers that burst in spring. 
 
 From every leafy plant that grows, 
 Their mingling share of perfume fling 
 
 Upon the breeze that freshly blowg, 
 Till as it fans th' invalid cheek 
 
 And laves the fevered brow again, 
 It doth a benison bespeak 
 
 From all the gladdened hearts of men . 
 Thus each time-dweller his small share 
 
 Of good unostentatious yields. 
 To the eternal curkents' care 
 
 Wide wafting o'er the heavenly flelds. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 81 
 
 PESSIMISM. 
 
 A child upon itH mother's knee 
 
 Knows nought of sorrow or of care, 
 But in its prattling gaiety, 
 
 Counts every object passing fair. 
 And if it weep at some mishap, 
 
 Or sorrows o'er a broken toy. 
 Finds an asylum in her lap. 
 
 And soon another cause for joy . 
 
 Could we but rest aUke secure, 
 
 In faith on Him who rules us all, 
 Wo might the ills of life endure. 
 
 Nor murmur at each grievous fall. 
 But B^ate compels each man to face 
 
 The world as though he were alone. 
 And fall, still struggling, in his place. 
 
 His monument — a dying;groan 1 
 
 HATRED. 
 
 Hatred is a fearful thing, — 
 
 See it enter not thy heart. 
 Like a serpent, coil'd to spring, 
 
 Ready forth with death to dart, 
 Doth it lie in evil breasts ; 
 
 Till the tender flowers that spring- 
 Charity and kind behests, — 
 
 Love prepared its sweets to fling,- 
 All are crushed around its lair, 
 
 All are poisoned by its breath ; 
 Venom laden is the air. 
 
 Every thought portendeth death . 
 
33 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 THE VOLUNTEER. 
 
 Gloomy is the day out by. 
 Nature's brow is drooping, 
 
 And across the threatening sky 
 Sombre clouds are trooping . 
 
 But the gloom that hangs around, 
 
 Fills me not with sorrow, 
 'Tis the thought that I am bound 
 
 For the war to-morrow . 
 
 For my country I would fight 
 
 Earnestly and truly, 
 Feeling that our cause wa=» right, 
 
 And would triumph duly. 
 
 But the heart can not put down 
 
 Sorrow at the parting, 
 Though the face may smile or frown, 
 
 Still the tear is starting. 
 
 Should a bullet find my breast, 
 
 AVho will comfort Mary, 
 When far off in the North-west 
 
 I lie cold and dreary ? 
 
 Not a friend has she besides, 
 
 But the God of heaven. 
 May His peace whate'er betides, 
 
 Unto her be given ! 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 8» 
 
 CECILIA. 
 
 A Tale of the Ottawa Valley. [-':';. 
 
 '', -'>.','";■ .-'; ' Canto I. " J '''.;-:' 
 
 The sky was all a crimson glow 
 Where the August sun hung rich and low ; 
 The air was still, and the dying day 
 Like a spent, ensanguined warrior lay 
 Breathing out its latest hour, 
 Conscious of its spirit's power. 
 
 Now, Ottawa, thy bus)'- shore ' v ^ 
 
 Lists gladly to the hollow roar 
 Which, from the engine's iron throat 
 Bursting like a giant's note, 
 Bids the weary toilers cease, 
 Hushes noisy mills to peace ; 
 Fills the sidewalks soon with feet, 
 Marching to a quick "Retreat ;" 
 Lights the housewife's face with joy, 
 Stirs to life the father's boy, 
 While the evening table fair, 
 Stands with ready welcome there. 
 
 Fair placed upon that rock-built shore, 
 
 Which all its pristine wildness wore, 
 
 A life's short span ago, and yet 
 
 Hath tokens few that years beget, 
 
 The Parliamentary Halls returned 
 
 From every windowed niche and spire 
 
 The sunset glow that in them burned, 
 
 Till their vast sides seemed clothed with fire I 
 
 A peerless coronet — they crowned 
 
 The noble prospect spreading round. 
 
84 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Down 'neath the cliflf the river rolled 
 
 With all the turbulence of old ; 
 
 Writhing like a thing of fear 
 
 From the gulf of the Chaudiere ; 
 
 Whence the sounds of conflict float 
 
 Mingling in a drowsy note. 
 
 Far and near in ample files ; ^ 
 
 Stretch the ruddy lumber piles ; 
 
 Streets between them, up and down, 
 
 Like a still, deserted town. 
 
 Bright with evening's yellow fires, ^ 
 
 To ttie right the sister spires 
 
 Of old Notre Dame appear, ' 
 
 Shining forth distinct and clear. 
 
 And upQn its rocky crest 
 
 See the landmark of the west, 
 
 Christ Church — while between the two. 
 
 Pointing upward to the blue. 
 
 In a fair and stately band, 
 
 Consecrated temples stand. 
 
 Up and down the busy streets 
 
 Still the pulse of traffic beats; 
 
 Robbed of Labor's heavy measure. 
 
 Thrilling now with rest and pleasure, 
 
 Up the Rideau's pleasant waters 
 
 Glide gay freights of sons and daughters 
 
 Others wander at sweet will 
 
 In the park erst Major's Hill, 
 
 Or far down the shrub clad rock 
 
 Revel in the Lovers' Walk; 
 
 Never fairer spot than this 
 
 Since man turned from Eden'is bliss, 
 
 And stretching off to distant skies 
 
 The rich and lovely landscape lied. 
 
 Like some arena wide and fair; 
 
 A mighty amphitheatre ; 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 85 
 
 There, had been waged, through vanished years, 
 
 A strife which shed no blood nor tears; 
 
 Nor ravaged peaceful hearts and homes 
 
 To fill with dead unnumbered tombs. 
 
 But from it peaceful homes did rise; 
 
 The glad earth opened to the skies. 
 
 As the old forests, mossed and gray, 
 
 Rank after rank were hewn away, 
 
 Till all the wide and verdant land 
 
 Bore trace of man's improving hand; 
 
 And Life's resistless steady heat 
 
 Proclaims his victory complete. 
 
 Far up where smooth the river roll'd, 
 A broad expanse, 'mid islets green, ; 
 
 A skiff that cleft the mirrored gold 
 Gave living interest to the scene. ^V 
 
 Not of ten are those depths bestirred ' 
 
 By pleasure-seekers' venturous oars; 
 
 Not oft the silvery tones are heard ' 
 
 Of woman's voice between these shores. 
 
 As nears the boat the island strand. 
 
 Which midway lies 'twixt land and land, . 
 
 The rower gladly rests his arois, 
 And lays the oars like wings to rest. 
 Which long the wearied air have pressed, 
 
 And silent views his comrade's charms. 
 
 Well might he look ! such lot is given ' 
 
 To few by time and tempest driven ! 
 
 Like a tranced vision stealing 
 
 Over every thought and feeling, 
 
 Deadening with delicious slumber 
 
 All the worldly cares that cumber. 
 
 Came to him, all glorified 
 
 In the sunset's golden tide, 
 
 The face of tenderness and trust. 
 
 Such as was ne'er by sculptor shown, 
 As fair as e'er was formed of dust 
 
 Oer whicjh the charm of life is thrown; 
 
36 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Cecilia blushing 'neath his glance 
 Awoke him from his blissful trance; 
 
 " Forgive me, fairest; if I erred 
 
 Thou wert the cause; be thine the word 
 
 Which shall prescribe meet penance now; — 
 
 What'er the fate to thee I bow !" 
 
 Again she blushed; Leander's tone 
 
 Bore not the trace of jest alone; 
 
 And that she blushed, seem more confused 
 
 As though she had his words misused; 
 
 And took for truths at least for half, 
 
 What only earned coquettish laugh. 
 
 Leander, heeding not her mien. 
 
 Still on his oars did lightly lean; 
 
 And spoke in eager tones again:— 
 
 '• How, think you, doth it fare with men 
 
 Who toil for more than half the year 
 
 In distant woods so lone and drear; 
 
 Far from the usual haunts of men, 
 
 Where woman's charms are never seen; 
 
 And naught but memory yields the mind 
 
 Aught that is pure or good or kind ? 
 
 How shall the heart withstand the stress 
 
 Of avarice and worldliness ? 
 
 How fare the spirit in the hour 
 
 Of strong temptation's subtle power ? 
 
 When toil absorbs the week around. 
 
 Encroaching ev'n on sacred ground ? 
 
 Oft have I grieved that e'er my lot 
 
 Should fall in such unhallowed spot. 
 
 Yet hours of loneliness prepare 
 
 Zest to enjoy a happier share. 
 
 Paint, then, if thou canst, the bliss 
 
 Of such an evening as this ! 
 
 And, O, Cecilia, I could pray 
 
 My life might all be like to-day ! 
 
 With thy companionship so sweet 
 
 Time's cares would pass with winged feet ; 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 37 
 
 Or strengthen but the pure affection, 
 Love's best foundation and protection.*' 
 He stopped, while faded from his face 
 
 The look of hope writ there. 
 While came as quickly in its place 
 
 A shadow like despair. 
 Cecilia raised her down-cast eyes. 
 In what seemed like half -pained surprise. 
 
 Sooner for this Leander spoke : 
 
 "Tell me, I pray, have I just cause 
 For thinking I have rashly broke 
 
 Through Friendship's honourable laws ? 
 Leroy McKeown has told me you 
 Have pledged him your affection true, 
 When spring again spreads o'er the land, 
 That he will then pdssess your hand." 
 '« O, base, ungenerous Leroy I 
 How long wilt thou such tales enjoy ? 
 Think me noL rude if now I say : ^ 
 
 Such is untrue in every way. 
 When sickness filled his couch with pain, 
 And rest came not in evening's train, 
 I watched beside him night and day. 
 Till death at last was driven away; 
 An orphan he and friendless here, 
 I tried to comfort him and cheer; 
 For kindred blood is in our veins, 
 Though little friendship now remains; 
 Heaven knows, of love I ne'er had thought, 
 But he for mine has vainly sought, 
 With passion fierce and uncontrolled, 
 
 Such as doth fill me ol't with fear, 
 For he is dark and stern and bold, 
 
 And nothing sacred doth revere." 
 Swift through Leander thrilled delight — 
 Fled the last cloud of chilling night, 
 While living words his lips o'erflowed 
 Of love that long in secret glowed; 
 
88 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 How through long years her name had been 
 
 An anchor to withhold from sin — 
 
 A talisman to cheer and blpss 
 
 When in the silent wilderness, 
 
 Brightening with hope the darkest hour 
 
 That ever tried its baleful power. 
 
 How much the more he might have said 
 
 Was never known, for right ahead 
 
 The fierce Chaudiere was heard , and lo ! 
 
 The stream began to swiftly flow I 
 
 God help us, was Leander's prayer ; 
 While paled Cecilia's cheek so fair, 
 But though the blackening waters tossed 
 Like demons dancing round the lost; 
 While from the gulf below there broke 
 The thunderous roar — the misty smoke — 
 No indecision faltered there. 
 But energy as of despair 
 Gave to the rower triple force 
 To turn them from their fearful course. 
 Can they but reach yon islet green, 
 Oasis like, that decks the scene. 
 They need no more the torrent fear. 
 Though still their fate will be severe. 
 Now all thy skill in strong endeavor, 
 liCander, or fai*ewell forever 1 
 
 They're near the islet's border now ! 
 They've gained it ! No, the very prow 
 Hath grazed it ! Now the current bears 
 Them swiftly down I Accept their prayers, 
 O God ! Record the heartfelt vow 
 Which each in agony nuikes now. 
 That if deliverance Thou give 
 Henceforward thej"^ for Thee will live I 
 
 But see another hope remains — 
 
 Where man hath built with needful pains 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 89 
 
 A pier to guide the impetuous wave, 
 So that he may its powers enslave, 
 May yet be reached aslant the stream- 
 Now is the moment all supreme ; 
 They're saved — Leanders arms have found 
 A death-like grasp yon beam around, 
 And nimbly up the log-built pier, 
 Nerved with the stimulus of fear, 
 Cecilia climbs, and, freed, the skiff 
 Shoots o'er the fearful surge-swept cliff — 
 Nerveless and faint, Cecilia's charms 
 Rest thankful in her lover s arms. 
 
 Now do the twain to homeward turn, 
 What more of bliss have they to learn ? 
 The blest relief from awful fear — 
 The lovely land of promise near; 
 Sweet visions of its bowers of bliss 
 Raise them above a world like this I 
 
 Slowly together on they walk. 
 
 Too happy even to wish to talk. 
 
 Till by an unfrequented way 
 
 They reached the cliff *neath which there lay 
 
 The dark and eddying river— there 
 
 Leander paused and said— "compare 
 
 Where we are now with where we might 
 
 Have been on this calm summer night !" 
 
 Cecilia raised her tear-dimmed eyes, 
 
 And whispered, "God doth right and wise.'* 
 
 Then to Cecilia's home they turned, 
 
 Where then the night lamp dimly burned. 
 
 Within that home, long spent with pain, 
 
 Cecilia's mother lies, 
 Who strove to say not all i'l vain 
 
 That God doth right and wise. 
 When, dripping from the cold, cold wave, 
 
 Home was her life's love borne, 
 And she beside a new made grave 
 
 Learnt what it was to mourn . 
 
40 SONGS OF THE FIXES. 
 
 "With thankfulness to-night she hears 
 The stoiy of their vanished fears; 
 And tenderly consent is given 
 To vows pure as the light of heaven, 
 
 Now must Leander say farewell, 
 And sadly from his lips it fell; 
 To-morrow will two hundred men 
 Start for the distant woods again, 
 With them once more his lot must be 
 Till Spring spreads forth her greenery. 
 
 'Tis when the parting moment comes 
 
 And separation shows the heart, 
 
 'Mid sighs and tears, its bitter part, 
 That cold formality succumbs, 
 And bursting free from all restraint 
 
 The inmost heart assumes the sway, 
 And makes its tender, sad complaint 
 
 In tones that melt— with lips that pray ! 
 Oh, what a strangely mingled share 
 Of bitterness and bliss was there 
 
 In that last loved embrace ! 
 The saddest — sweetest moment flies, 
 The heart beats fast, the tear-drops rise 
 
 To dim that lovely face; 
 And he who forth must sadly go 
 
 Can only say to sooth her fear, 
 In accents tender, and full low, 
 
 "Dearest ! farewell I be of good cheer, 
 Wo yet shall meet in joy again; 
 Good-bye ! God shield thee from all pain !" 
 
 And with the lover's parting seal 
 
 He left her there for woe or weal. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 41 
 
 Canto II. 
 
 Bright was tlie day at summer's close 
 When in his pride the sun arose, 
 Resolved his sovereign sway should be 
 Acknowledged still from sea to sea. 
 The harvest fields slow ripening still 
 The clustered vine beside the rill, 
 The maize with silken tassels crowned. 
 The apples growing smooth and round — 
 All court his glance with ample care. 
 And rich largesse is each one's share . 
 
 The clock is pointing round towards four, 
 The buss is at each tavern door 
 In Murray street, where flock together. 
 To spend their hours of summer weather 
 The hardy reapers of the woods — 
 The nimble riders of the floods ; 
 Now many a farewell glass is taken. 
 And many a farewell hand is shaken; 
 And many a bag and box is stored 
 Within the 'buss, then, "all aboard !" 
 Joe, Jacques, Baptiste, Francois, Xavier, 
 Dave, Peter, George; yes, all are there. 
 Fresh from the barber's unctuous hands. 
 Fingers bedecked with jewelled bands; 
 A massive chain hangs from each vest. 
 A soft slouch hat with care compressed, 
 Poised far and deftly on one side; 
 Shoes of the calf's soft, supple hide, 
 High heeled and neat for merry dance, 
 A legacy from far-off France — 
 So step they forth, their play-time o'er. 
 Gay as the cavaliers of yore . 
 Now rattling up the street they go 
 With all the speed their horses know; 
 O'er Dufferin bridge they smoothly bowl, 
 
49 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 And past "the Buildings" swiftly roll; 
 
 Now on down grade they swiftly speed, 
 
 'Tis nearly four, and great the need; 
 
 Now Pooley's bridge is reached and past — 
 
 They're at the C. P. R. at last. 
 
 Bold, reckless hearts that know not homo 
 
 Joy in a life that bids them roam, 
 
 And love the freedom of the woods, 
 
 And all the perils of the floods. 
 
 But some were here of kindlier mould. 
 
 Who felt more than their faces told. 
 
 Perchance the youth who now essayed 
 
 To test his strength iu forest glade, 
 
 Who for three-quarters of a year 
 
 No dear familiar face would cheer; 
 
 Or he who left a life behind, 
 
 That slowly wasted— who will find 
 
 Naught but a grave to weep b ;side 
 
 On coming home at summertide. 
 
 Now loud and clear the warning bell 
 Cuts short each lengthened out farewell. 
 The train glides out ia wondrous power, 
 Like army in the fateful hour. 
 To seek fair fields for mighty deeds — 
 Now faster, faster on it speeds 
 Through shrub-clad hills, o'er level plain. 
 Past smiling farms and waving grain, 
 Past uervous horses, mad with fear. 
 Now sweeping by tlie river clear. 
 With warning scream and panting breath, 
 Swift as the messenger of death. 
 
 Within the hindmont car there rode 
 Two passengers, whose features showed 
 But little trace of deeper thought 
 Than what in otiier faces wrought . 
 The one was built of medium height, 
 Stout, compact, every feature right; 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 48 
 
 Youth's freshness scarce had left his cheek, 
 
 Though lingered nothing soft or weak; 
 
 Bred from his youth to toil and care, 
 
 Well can he now sustain his share; 
 
 The threads that in some hands had been 
 
 Soon nothing but a tangled skein, 
 
 Beneath his touch ran smoothly on, 
 
 A multitude— yet as but one. 
 
 Yet now, thoi^gh much might call for thought, 
 
 The claims of business are forgot; 
 
 His thoughts dwell on a softer theme, 
 
 And memory feeds his sweet day-dream. 
 
 Behind him, lounging all at ease, 
 
 A fellow traveller wooed the breeze 
 
 That eddy d through the open pane, 
 
 Rich with the fragrance of the plain ; 
 
 Strength to excess was in his frame, 
 
 Which more than passing glance would claim; 
 
 While looking closely in his face 
 
 You might discern a certain gi-ace 
 
 Of lion-like repose and strength, 
 
 Which awed and chilled you with a dread. 
 Lest the fierce nature hid beneath 
 
 Should pour its fury on t'ly head ! 
 His eyes seem softening in repose, ' 
 
 Yet fire within them smouldering glows, 
 That oft in anger blazing forth 
 
 Hath many a strong heart filled witli fear- 
 Each deem'd it all his life were worth 
 
 To give defiant word or sneer ! 
 
 As agent doth the younger go, 
 
 To I'ange the woods through sliine and snow, 
 
 And order wiselj"^ as he may 
 
 Upon the distant Keppewa, 
 
 The doings of three hundred men. 
 
 Parted by mountain, stream and glen. 
 
 And he it is who leaves behind. 
 
44 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 In sorrow and distress of mind, 
 Cecilia, lovely, good and kind. 
 The other fills the foreman's role, 
 He of the strong and fearless soul, 
 And every man need dread the tone 
 Of anger from Leroy McKeown. 
 
 Novsr from behind its curtains red 
 
 The sun cast forth a lingering glance, 
 Then sank upon its roseate bed, 
 
 And shadow gloomed the wide expanse, 
 Where mellow twilight ruled serene. 
 Bright day and cloudless night between. 
 Still the untiring train sped on 
 With pauses brief till early dawn; 
 When, bright beneath the wakening day. 
 The roofs of Mattawa cheer the way. 
 Then wearied from its midnight race. 
 The engine slowly slacked its pace, 
 And as it paused for leisure brief 
 Heaved a great pigh of glad relief. 
 The "stopping place" forewarned can boast 
 Full tables for. a hungry host; 
 Yet softened by the ways of town, 
 That soon the strong physique let down, 
 And drowsy from their midnight ride, 
 The men pushed many a dish aside. 
 Not such light fare will satisfy 
 When one short week has wandered by I 
 
 Tis nearly noon— their boats are mann'd 
 And ranged in order on the strand. 
 And each impatient oarsman waits 
 To try the endurance of his mates. 
 Hurrah ! 'mid parting cheers they go, 
 With stroke no unskilled arms can show. 
 To the far west each prow is turned — 
 In foam the sparkling waves are spurned. 
 
SONOS OF THE PI\E3. 45 
 
 They leave behind the peopled shore, 
 The settler's home appears no more, 
 And silence o'er the desert reigns, 
 Unbroke save by the woodsman's strains 
 
 Song. 
 
 Farewell to all our hours of eose, 
 And all the charms that more than please; 
 Farewell to hearts we love so dear, 
 But now's no time to drop a tear. 
 
 Pull, boys, pull, leave home and friends behind; 
 Pull, boys, pull, this life is to our mind; 
 
 In the pine woods deep 
 
 Our camp we'll keep. 
 Where never a care will find. 
 
 To-night we'll feast beneath the sky; ^^ 
 
 To-night we'll on the green sward lie; ^^ 
 
 To-night the murmuring pines shall steep 
 Our dreams in music while we sleep. 
 
 Our camp in wintor may be bare, 
 But then 'twill never lack fresh air; 
 Our fai'e may seem a trifle rough, 
 But, don't forget, we'll have enough. 
 
 Like brothers will we toil till Spring, 
 And make the woods with music ring, 
 And when on perilous times wo fall. 
 The saints protect and save us all ! 
 
 Here leave we them with oar and song 
 To waft the pleasant hfturs along; 
 And pass at once six weeks of time, 
 Which brings us on to autumn's prime. 
 
46 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Cool nights were come, while all the days 
 
 Seeiu'd fit for sweet-and solemn praise; 
 
 A drowsy restfulness did lie 
 
 O'er all the earth and all the sky ; 
 
 A Sabbath time to sooth the powers 
 
 After the summer's strenuous hours. 
 
 The woods had lost by touch of stealth 
 
 Their vernal hues, their leafy wealth; 
 
 Awhile they blushed in rosy shame, 
 
 And lit the vales with golden flame, 
 
 Now through their branches bare and thin 
 
 The hazy sun looks softly in. 
 
 O'er the lone woods of Keppewa 
 
 The solitude of night had sunk — 
 And darkly gloomed the forest way, 
 
 Till indistinct each mossy trunk 
 Closed o'er the narrow trail which showed 
 
 The weary woodman's homeward road. 
 
 The shanty brightly glows within, 
 Their evening meal the men begin; 
 Bread, pork and beans for brawn and bone, 
 And tea in native strength and tone 
 Supply the boards, where each his best 
 Performs with an unbounded zest. 
 Then pipe and tale and jest and song 
 Pass merrily the hours along. 
 Leroy McKeown was ruler there — 
 Well fit the office he to bear — 
 Strong of limb and bold of heart, ; 
 
 A stern discipline did impart; 
 Though if their work were fitly done 
 At night their course the men might run. 
 
 To-night the agent chanced to be 
 A sharer in their gaiety; 
 His manly form and pleasant face 
 Lent to their circle kindly grace. 
 Leroy his friendship seemed to claim, 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 47 
 
 And who could well the foreman blame ? 
 Leander's manner had a charm 
 That might the direst foe disarm. 
 And much they planned and held debate 
 On work that pressed and what could wait: 
 Of streams that might improvement need, 
 That in the spring the work might speed; 
 Of roads to cut and stores to bring, 
 And many another needful thing. 
 
 And as they talked Leander said 
 
 (A spear was over the foreman's bed)— 
 
 That years had passed since he spent a night 
 
 In spearing by the torches' light. 
 
 "Such need you not much longe' 3ay — 
 
 To-night, if willing, yet we may 
 
 Search out the haunts of trout and bass 
 
 In waters clear and bright as glass , 
 
 What say you then ? Fat pine have we 
 
 Hewn from the cleft of a gummy tree; 
 
 A bark lies on the lake below — 
 
 What say you ?' "I'm willing." "Then let us go." 
 
 No moon nor stars, the darkness lay 
 
 In sombre silence o'er the bay, 
 
 Which made the rapids' meaning drear 
 
 Sound weird and lonesome to the ear. 
 
 Thither their course they did pursue 
 
 By shores where overhanging grew , . 
 
 The silent forest, dark and still, ^ ' 
 
 Pierced here and there by tinkling rill. 
 
 Now doth the ruddy torch illume 
 
 The depths so lately wrapped in gloom, 
 
 Their finny denizens display 
 
 No terror at the startling ray, T" 
 
 But like the moth (man, if you will) 
 
 Sport in the glow that's sure to kill. 
 
 And many a victim witness 'oore 
 
 Xeander learnt the art of yore. 
 
48 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 As magnet draws the needle near, 
 
 So did the fish attract the spear; 
 
 Till round him was a goodly store — 
 
 Enough for one good meal or more. 
 
 Then said he to Leroy, — "My share 
 
 Of sport I've had, 'tis only fair 
 
 That you now try your hand and skill '' 
 
 While I do your position fill." 
 
 They changed, and also changed their luck ; 
 
 Though fierce and oft Leroy forth struck. 
 
 Till with the force of blows he gave 
 
 Their bark drank almost of the wave. 
 
 No more was added to their store — 
 
 With a fierce oath Leroy gave o'er. 
 
 And by the torch's waning light 
 
 Leander saw not that a gloom 
 Black as the shrouding ebon night 
 
 Over his comrade's face did loom I 
 And through that gloom like shining stars 
 
 His eyes shot forth a boding ray, 
 Fierce as the pard's when iron bars 
 
 Restrain him from his longed-for prey ! 
 lu tones that trembled with pent wrath 
 
 He spoke — "A.nd hast thou gained the prize 
 For which thou long has dogged my path 
 
 With envy in thy jealous eyes ? 
 Think not thy plans and hopes unknown 
 Which lately have to action grown ! 
 Though skilfully the snare be drawn 
 'Twill rouse more than the timid fawn I 
 If thou dost for thy welfare care 
 Remember this one word— beware I" 
 
 "Beware of whom ? Am I thy ward ? 
 Art thou Cecilia's liege and lord ? 
 Must I move at thy touch and tone, 
 Or hide aught lest it should be known ? 
 Yet surely now no good can come 
 From strife, let all the past be dumb. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 49 
 
 Her lips declared thy suit denied — 
 She now is my aflBanced bride." . 
 
 Swift through the foreman's veins then shot 
 A fiery thrill of hell begot; 
 And murderous wrath to check untaught, 
 That ever un its way had fought, 
 Blazed in his eye and clenched his hand, 
 That swept like fallen angel's brand 
 The spear in deadly circle round, 
 So swift, the air gave forth a sound — 
 Leander from the boat was sent 
 Like rock hurled from a battlement ! 
 Once he appeared above the wave, 
 Then vanished, for the torch now ga^e 
 A dim, uncertain, flickering light 
 That feebly struggled with the night. 
 With needed skill and care, Leroy 
 Poised the canoe, that like a buoy 
 In restless waters, rocked and swayed. 
 As though at that dark deed dismayed. * 
 
 Then to the nearest shore he bent; 
 His passion cooled, his anger spent, 
 Yet never softening to relent. 
 Once on the pebbly beach, the bark 
 He turned adrift, and in the dark 
 Waded neck-deep into the flood — 
 Then homeward turned, through tangled wood, 
 O'er deep ravine and noisy brook, 
 With hasty strides his way he took . 
 Nor wonder that, though bold and strong, 
 As thus he darkly crashed along, 
 The leaves that rustle 'neath his feet — 
 The partridge startled from her seat— 
 The rabbit hiding from his path. 
 Or bear low growling in his wrath, 
 Fill him with an unwonted dread. 
 More nervous haste add to his tread. 
 Till fear o'ercoming courage quite, 
 
50 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 He rushes on ia headlong fright; 
 And when the shanty ends his race, 
 'Tis honest terror fills his face. 
 
 And then a dismal tale he told, 
 
 Still shivering with the wet and cold, , 
 
 Of how their frail canoe had burst, 
 
 And how Leander perished first; 
 
 He meanwhile struggling to maintain ' 
 
 A saving grasp, but all in vain; 
 
 All round, the men, with sorrowing faces, 
 
 Recalled the agent's many graces; 
 
 And fain they would have gone to seek 
 
 For him, but that the foreman's cheek 
 
 Grew pale— he swooned as from exhaustion. 
 
 And none knew where to seek the lost one. 
 
 Morn came; with hooks and grappling irons 
 They searched the lake and its environs; 
 But neither trace nor track was found 
 f^i Of him so treacherously drowned. 
 
 And who may bear this dreadful tale 
 
 To her whose very heart will fail ' 
 
 At the first mention of the name, 
 
 Which shall to her remain the same — 
 
 The embodiment of manly beauty. 
 
 Of purity and filial duty ? 
 
 Small matter; — hear we oft of news 
 
 Told gently — still must sorrow's dues 
 
 Remain the same, and grief its sway 
 
 Maintain for many a long, long day. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES, 51 
 
 ---■■'"•'" ■ Canto III. ".':.•:■.'■'■>■ 
 
 The winter kins hath lost his throne, 
 
 The glad earth spurns his icy chains ; 
 The glittering snow that lately shone, 
 
 Hath faded from the verdant plains . 
 Again the sun hath power to warm, 
 
 And proudly sweeps his path of blue; 
 The west wind that erst sped the storm , 
 
 Hath trained his tones to softly woo 
 The backward flowers, that glimmering peep 
 With eyes half opened from tlieir sleep; 
 The brimming floods with bearing bold 
 Speed on, with voices manifold 
 Swelling the chorus of the free, 
 The glorious song of liberty. 
 
 Through budding woods the lumberman 
 His perilous homeward course began, 
 Down myriad creeks, through rocky ways, 
 Journeying on through long spring days. 
 At night fall, by the torrent's side 
 The camp fire cast its radiance wide, 
 While tired and weary men around 
 Enjoyed the toiler's sleep profound. 
 
 Ere all had reached their homes again 
 Young summer tented on the plain. 
 
 Birth of a Nation ! Shall the day 
 By it made sacred, ere decay ? 
 Nay, let it on our calendar 
 Shine like a bright, unwavering star ; 
 The morning promise of a time 
 Rendered by noble deeds sublime 1 
 
 The city where vice-regal state 
 Is held— with joyance was elate; 
 
62 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 In festive garb did all appear; 
 The merriest time of all the year. 
 Each spot where interest belonged 
 With crowds of pleasure-seekers thronged . 
 Farmers had left the blooming clover 
 Untouched until the day was over; 
 Hushed were the sounds of busy mill, ► 
 The merchant's shop was closed and still; 
 The man of thought forgot his gloom, 
 And Beauty showed her lovely bloom. 
 
 But one home holds a weary heart, ' 
 That may not in the joy take part; 
 Smitten with a grievous pain, 
 Owning sorrow's cheoi less reign. 
 Wildly doth the Chaudiere pour 
 Its torrent down in endless store, 
 Wafting far the dewy spray, 
 Rain-bowed in the morning ray. 
 Spring floods have come— are on the wane 
 Leander comes not in their train; 
 And ever in Cecilia's mind 
 
 His words ring like a knell of pain. 
 Borne by a lonely desert wind. 
 
 From some forgotten, mouldering fane. 
 Her happy dreams of life have fled; 
 As mystic beauty moonbeams shed 
 Fades at the cold grey light of dawn, 
 So all her ideal hopes are gone. 
 And leave a dull and cheerless sky, 
 Ruled by a stern reality ! 
 "O, Heavenly Father, ever kind, 
 Though to Thy ways our eyes be blind, 
 Grant me true patience to sustain 
 This weary heaviness of pain " 
 Such is her prayer this bright spring day, 
 Around, all brilliant seems and gay; 
 Pleasure and joy ascendant seem. 
 And sorrow the shadow of a dream . 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 68 
 
 But hark ! a knocking at the door — 
 
 She who had ope'd it oft before 
 
 In joyous mood, now trembling, weak, 
 
 Turned from it with almost a shriek. ' 
 
 The past o'erwhelmed as with a flood — 
 
 Leroy McKeown before her stood. 
 
 Yet gentle courtesy declared 
 
 Its broken laws must be repaired; 
 
 She led the way into a room 
 
 Where flowers sweet-smelling were in bloom; 
 
 And from the windows summer airs 
 
 Came gently in to oanisli cares, 
 
 Yet neither felt the soothing power 
 
 That ruled the spirit of the hour. 
 
 Leroy was surely ill at ease, 
 
 And at the best would scarcely please; 
 
 Cecilia thought of but one scene • 
 
 And there Leroy alone had been, 
 
 And he alone to her might tell 
 
 Of how her lover's fate befell. 
 
 And faintly came the tones which said, 
 
 "And thou wert by Leander's side, 
 When, every hope of rescue fled, 
 
 He sank beneath the midnight tide ?" 
 "Aye, such was my unhappy lot ! 
 We long with death in darkness fought ; 
 And struggled hard to reach the shore, 
 Till strength was spent and hope was o'er. 
 Thrice in despair, with fearful grasp, 
 And fingers that may not unclasp, 
 He seized on me — in like despair 
 I rent myself free from him there ! 
 How I unto the shore did come 
 I know not— memory there is dumb." 
 He ceased, for his fair hearer's woes 
 
 Touched ev'n his heart — O, cold thy breast 
 Where woman's tears may not disclose 
 
 Some spot by pity still possest. 
 
54 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Again she spoke — * 'And did he leave 
 
 No word for me— no message dear — 
 Assm'ance that lie did receive 
 
 Sure comfort from the strong One near ?" 
 "No word I heard— death swift and fast 
 O'er took him ! Quickly all was past , 
 But these are dismal thoughts for you — 
 Forget the past and sadness, too; 
 Turn to the future, and behold 
 A path where fairer scenes unfold ! 
 And love stands waiting to fulfill 
 The sacred mandate of thy will ! 
 Think not this heart so cold and rude 
 That in it dwelleth nothing good ! 
 Heaven may have formed me ill to please, 
 Yet thou hast brought me to my knees ! 
 If aught can still my inward strife- - 
 Can reconcile me unto life — 
 Can yield a sweetness to my cup 
 Which bitterness now fillethup — 
 It is thy love — thy heart — thy hand, . 
 My all is left at thy command !" 
 
 "O, grieve me not''- -Cecilia cried. 
 
 "T never now will be a bride ! > 
 
 The heart which once was mine to give 
 
 No more can love, nor care to live. 
 
 The things of eartli no more can bless, 
 
 Or light the future wilderness, ' v' • 
 
 Through which my weary feet must stray. 
 
 Till falleth evening shadows gray. 
 
 Speak not of love, then, but i*emain 
 
 A friend — for more thou'it seek in vain." 
 
 "Say not in vain, for love hath laws 
 
 Which follow an abiding cause; 
 
 Though from tlie oak the vino bo torn, 
 
 And hang dejected and forlorn, 
 
 It yet may thrive in shine and storm 
 
 While twined around another form; 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 55 
 
 And thou hadst better school thy heart 
 To yield thee — me— a happier part; 
 Than turn away in scorn and dread 
 vi To feed thy thoughts upon the dead ! 
 
 Forgive me, for within me burns " 
 
 The fire that love to madness turns ! 
 Farewell ! may happiness hv thine 
 As wrath and bitterness are mine !" 
 
 Outward he passed, to aunliglit fair, 
 And left Cecilia silent there. 
 Nor did this visit seem to him 
 A failure, though success were slim. ^ 
 
 Not his the quick discerning eye 
 Which reads defeat in time to fly, 
 Ere unconcern, perchance distrust, 
 Be turned to loathing and disgust. 
 To an hotel his steps were bent, 
 Where woodsmen's city hours are spent, 
 And idle days and nights of revel 
 Help many onward to the devil. 
 Here thronged his mates, in jovial mood, 
 , . In truth they were a lively brood, 
 
 ... Spending in their peculiar way 
 
 Their brief and hard-earned holiday. 
 
 Leroy of welcome had the best. 
 In truth he was an honored guest, 
 For every one was ghul to make 
 Friendship with him for safety's sake; 
 .; And most had his companions been 
 For many a jovial night, and in 
 The woods for months had been together, 
 In fall and spring and winter weathei*. 
 And now the bar is seldom clear — . 
 
 Gin, brandy, whisky, ale an 1 beer, 
 A fiery vintage, are in favor, 
 Till some weak legs begin to waver: 
 And tongues grow thick and eyeballs wear 
 The inebriate's glassy, vacant stare. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Grand is the sight on battle day, 
 
 When in their glorious proud array 
 
 Two armies stand in fateful form 
 
 Deep breathing for the coming storm. 
 
 The glitter and the gleam of steel 
 
 Make to the eye a strong appeal !— 
 
 The rythmic step of thousands calls 
 
 The sluggish spirit from its halls ; 
 
 The roar of battle hath a power 
 
 To rule and deaden for the hour. 
 
 But ah, when the fearful day is done — ' ■ 
 
 The weak have failed and the strong have won, 
 
 And the setting sun looks o'er the plain 
 
 Where the dead lie thickly as sheaves of grain — 
 
 And the air is burdened with strong men's groans 
 
 And the hospital grates with the sawing of bones — 
 
 When the rush and tumult of strife is o'er • 
 
 And the living are weary and faint and sore — 
 
 Then, then is the time to answer if war 
 
 Should ride in her proud triumphal car ; 
 
 Crushing myriads beneath her wheel 
 
 That never can pity or tenderness feel ; — 
 
 So is it when the goblet bright . 
 
 Shines like a beacon of delight , 
 
 So is it when the life blood bounds 
 
 Quicker though all its vaiied rounds 
 
 At the first draught whicli surely seems 
 
 The nectar of the god of dreams ! 
 
 But widely different is the sight 
 
 When the wine-fiend hath tried his might ; 
 
 And reason hath been overturned 7 
 
 And lust and passion both have burned 
 
 Till spent, and stupid slumber holds 
 
 Its victim in disgusting folds ! 
 
 The stars of evening 'gan to peep, 
 The skies their silent tear-drops weep ; 
 Far in the east the red moon burned. 
 The pleasure-seekers homeward turned ; 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. ' 57 
 
 The multitudinous tramp of man, — 
 Was hushed as ere the day began, 
 The drunkard with bewildered head 
 In shame sought out his joyless bed ; 
 Such was Leroy's— though strong o'ercome 
 Was he, by that great spoiler — rum. 
 In heavy sleep he passed the night, 
 But stirred not with the morning light. 
 As was his wont, when with his men 
 His camp was pitched in mountain glen. 
 And when he woke his temples throbbed, 
 His mind was still of clearness robbed. 
 Moody and sullen was his tone ; 
 He seemed best pleased to be alone. 
 
 And shall this man of passions loose, 
 Who with his conscience makes a truce. 
 And scruples not at deathly deeds. 
 When that to such his purpose leads, — 
 Approach Cecilia, whom we know. 
 Is pure and spotless as the snow, 
 And with success ? What need to tell ! 
 O'er such the peal of marriage bell 
 Were but a mockery and a scorn, 
 For love hides weeping and forlorn. ., 
 
58 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Canto IV. 
 
 'Twas night and darkness held the away ; 
 
 The day was past— a suminer day ; 
 
 Tlie air was sultry and oppressed 
 
 "With a vague feeling of unrest 
 
 Oft from the black northwest there came 
 
 The li;^htning'8 fitful ghastly flame, 
 
 And threateningly was heard afar 
 
 The boding sounds of coming war. 
 
 Such war as stirs the heavens above 
 
 When on the cloud battalions move ; — 
 
 And the electric current's track 
 
 Is seeii athwart the tempest black ; , 
 
 And loud the booming thunder comes — 
 
 Louder than all earth's martial drums 
 
 Rolled in one note — until tlie hills, 
 
 Quake with the terror it instills ; 
 
 And man with ti'einbling upward glance 
 
 Declares his insignificance ! 
 
 Now shrilly piping through the pines. 
 The wind led on its phanton lines. 
 A mighty roar of conflict rose 
 As when an army meets its foes, 
 And many a veteran's towering form 
 Went headlong down amid the storm ; 
 Shattered and wrecked- to mark the path 
 Of the fierce messenger of wrath . 
 
 Within a glen a cottage stood, — 
 By where a torrent roll'd its flood 
 Southward in reckless haste along. 
 While floated far its murmured song, 
 Of logs the hut, and covered o'er 
 In the peculiar style of yore ; 
 While feebly through the gloom of night 
 Shone out its solitary light. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. «» 
 
 Inside the hut a man of age 
 
 Sat listening to the tempest's vage 
 
 His face was seared by p:\ssion's tire ; 
 
 His eyes were the abode of ire ;' 
 
 His stubborn will dwelt in a frame 
 
 Which nought but time alone could tame ; 
 
 And even that relentless foe 
 
 Must more than wonted prowess show, 
 
 Ere he would meekly bow his head, 
 
 To be a hoary captive led. — 
 
 Before him lay an unope'd book 
 
 In which none but the ungodly look. 
 
 Its leathern cover, old and torn, 
 
 Showed that by many a hand 'twas worn 5 
 
 For manj' a long year in the past 
 
 Had taught to charm, to blight, to blast ; 
 
 To heal the sick, or wring froui fate 
 
 Secrets for which men would not wait. 
 
 A book of strange, weird, curious lore 
 
 Unknown to half the world or more, 
 
 Wherein were all the mystic rites. 
 
 Which conjure up unlawful sights ; 
 
 All the dark plans which men have tried 
 
 To feed their lust, revenge or pride. 
 
 Yet had its motto been obeyed, 
 
 No one had been through it betrayed ; 
 
 For clear upon its foremost leaf 
 
 Were these two lines distinct but brief, 
 
 "Read me thou may est, but prove me not, 
 
 Or hell will surely be thy lot," 
 
 But as in ever-verdant Eden, 
 
 No tree charmed as the one forbidden ; 
 
 Until a rash unlawful hand :- 
 
 Defied the strict, unchanged command ; 
 
 So, curious fascination turned 
 
 The leaves that with strange import burned ; 
 
 Till by degrees inured to sin, 
 
 The reader paused not to begin. 
 
60 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Then wondrous were the thoughts that ran 
 
 Like lightning through his brain, 
 When he beheld how over man 
 
 He could triumphant reign ! 
 Could touch the secret springs of thought 
 
 O'ei'come the stubborn will ; 
 Joy in revenge he long had sought — 
 
 Give avarice its fill. 
 Strange were the tales told of him soon — 
 
 Few cared to earn his wrath ; 
 Twas said no shade he cast at noon 
 
 Upon the sun- bright path. 
 'Twas his to wield the broad-axe keen, 
 
 To smooth the shaggy trunk, 
 'Twas said his axe worked all unseen 
 
 When tlie dark night had sunk. 
 And oft of late strange fear had gloomed 
 
 His brow upon their homeward way, 
 When the ^erce chutes before them foamed, 
 
 TJnknown to him in earlier day. 
 And, as he sat alone this night. 
 
 While in its fury raged the storm, 
 Strange objects seemed to meet his sight — 
 
 Of mournful sad, phantasmal form. 
 Pale shadows from among the dead 
 They filled him with a fearful dread, 
 
 Twice did he ope the bolted door— 
 'Twas black as the Plutonian shore, 
 Save when the blinding flash laid bare 
 The rugged landscape to his glare. 
 Again he turned to seek within 
 Relief from haunting fears of sin, 
 And pored with dark and troubled look, 
 O'er the weird pages of his book. 
 
 Again he starts with mind unstrung, 
 And muttered curses on his tongue. 
 Pacing his narrow floor like one 
 To whom death cometh at the dawn. 
 
SONGS OF THE PISES. - 01 
 
 "Away, ye fears," 'twas thus he spake, 
 
 Too late ye come the die is cast ; — 
 For me awaits the fiery lake— 
 
 Not penance, scourge or lengthened fast 
 Can wipe away the stains of crime 
 That deepen with the toucli of time ! 
 Tell me, ye fiends, what have I gained 
 Since I have run your paths unreined ! 
 Revenge— the poisoned bait wliich seems 
 The sweetest bribe of all our dreams — 
 How it doth canker all the rest 
 Of him who warms it in his breast ! 
 O, that the past could be denied 
 From which a shadow haunts my side ; 
 
 thou who perished in thy youth 
 In pride of purity and truth, 
 Pity the soul that wrought the ill. 
 That lived to suffer— suffers still ! 
 Thou could'st not joy to see the pain — 
 Of even thy murderer ; but in vain 
 
 1 seek forgiveness — never more 
 Thou'lt greet me from the silent shore ! 
 Again I melt — O God , the tears 
 Spring from the parched fount of years ! 
 Enough ! no more the dews of sorrow 
 May damp my cheek --the dawn of morrow 
 Shines on a man by hope forsaken — 
 
 A heart no touch of love shall waken !" 
 Scarce had he settled down again 
 When dashed to earth the loosened rain ; 
 For now the thunder pealed o'er head 
 E'er the quick lightn? ig-flash had fled. 
 
 Suddenly at the bolted door 
 
 A loud-voiced stranger fumed and swore — 
 
 Oped from within it yielded now, 
 
 And in he came with scowling brow — 
 
 "Why, Westerman, why lock the door? 
 
 Did'st think that thieves might I'each thy store ? 
 
 No fear, for by my life I swear ^ 
 
62 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 'T would take a, treasure rich and rare 
 To tempt me out on such a night, 
 Were I but safely housed aright !" 
 Vh'- 1 ice before had heard that tone 
 Ct' lict 1 ot forget Leroy McKeown. 
 
 The foreman said, '"I come to see 
 
 Fulfilment of your pledge to me, 
 
 No art, entreaty, feint or scheme 
 
 Can in her eyes my fame redeem — 
 
 Were I the devil fresh from hell ' 
 
 I might have fared perhaps as well !" 
 
 The old man turned him to his book, 
 
 And becked the foreman from the door, — 
 And traced with gnarled hand that shook 
 
 The lines of dark mysterious lore : 
 "Think thou upon the dreadful rite 
 Which thou would'st have performed to-night ; 
 And read the awful malediction, 
 On him who bids that spell's infliction ! 
 No evil ever can be wrought 
 
 But that the doer shares a part ; 
 Yea, every shaft by venom fraught 
 
 Rebounding smites the sender's heart ! 
 
 "Think not that I came here to rue 
 
 And tremble at what thou canst do ! 
 
 If my eyes serve to read aright 
 
 'Tis you doth dread the task to-night !" 
 
 "Nay" cried the man of magic skill, 
 
 "Such thoughts did once my bocom fill, 
 
 But they are past — I think of her 
 
 On whom this night shall sure confer 
 
 A burden and a joyless life, 
 
 For love is more than silenced strife. / 
 
 Fain would I save you both from ill, J 
 
 But if thou wilt, then have thy will !" ' "~ 
 
 Fixed and unyielding seemed the mood 
 In which Leroy the ordeal stood; 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 63 
 
 Yet o'er his face and lips the hue 
 
 Of ashen pallor slowly spread; 
 And on his brow the gathering dew 
 
 Like tears his soul unconscious shed. 
 And then perchance was lurking near — 
 Fear — grim involuntary fear — 
 That gave strange import to the storm — 
 
 The thunder's loud resounding call, 
 As 'twould the universe alarm 
 
 Before Jehovah's wrath should fall ! 
 
 'Twas thus they stood, while every nerve 
 
 Like a shrill cord was stretched and tense, 
 From which a touch would surely serve 
 
 To bring the echo of suspense ; 
 When lo ! as with a gust of wind, 
 The door burr,t in, and plain defined, 
 Leroy beheld Leander's form, 
 All drenched and dripping from the storm ! 
 Transfixed lif stood -the haggard face 
 Brought back the ne'er forgotten place 
 Where he upon the midnight flood 
 Was guilty of his comrade's blood— 
 One step the form takes to Leroy — 
 A shriek— a scream — but not for joy — 
 Above the tempest 'oudly rang, 
 As from the c' or the foreman sprang 
 Into the black tempestuous night, 
 Like guilty spirit from the light ; 
 Too wild with fear to pause — to think, 
 He nears the ton-enfs treacherous brink — 
 Too late he hears its tones of w^rath 
 Come from the blackness of his path, 
 A fearful and unearthly cry, 
 Such as doth haunt the memory, 
 Peals through the air; it is the last, 
 Repentance for Leroy is past ! 
 
 Leander, for it e'en was he, 
 
 AndjWesterman, no more could see 
 
64 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 A trace of him so quickly lost; 
 The waters still in trouble tost, 
 But ne'er to mortal eye disclosed 
 The burden which that night imposed. 
 
 Now had the storm its fury spent, 
 
 But still the lightning backward Rent 
 
 Defiant glances, like a child 
 
 But from its anger half beguiled. 
 
 "What did Leroy so awful see 
 
 In a drenched traveller like thee ? 
 
 Methought no human being could 
 
 Have changed so quick his daring mood." 
 
 Thus did Leander's host enquire, 
 
 His eyes bright with triumphant fire. 
 
 "No mortal being could, but I 
 
 Seemed to him from eternity, 
 
 A messenger returned to time 
 
 To haunt him for his hidden crime ! 
 
 His fate was dreadful, though his deed 
 
 To me as hard an one decreed. 
 
 But sorrow must be felt for one 
 
 Who to eternity hath gone, 
 
 Without a moment to prepare 
 
 For all that may await him there." 
 
 "Sorrow ! Nay — joy the word should be 1 
 No pity filled his breast for me ! 
 Though hard all unpi'epared to go 
 Out from this world and all its woe, 
 'Tis harder still to see before, 
 Long ere we come to Death's dark door, 
 Nought but the blackness of despair 1 
 Well might I curse and rend my hair. 
 That when 'neath crushing tree I lay 
 He of all others came my way ! 
 Ere this had I upon a path 
 Entered, which leads to certain wrath. 
 Believe not thou the men who say 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 65 
 
 Witchcraft hath been explained away. 
 Man hath a soul ; there is a God ; 
 
 And evil reigns whatever its cause ; 
 And every path which I have trod 
 
 Hath been amid mysterious laws. 
 The book which thou beholdeth there 
 Had led me surely down to where 
 I might retreat, but one step more 
 Would cross the fatal limit o'er I 
 'Twas thus, when in tlie woods alone 
 Pinioned to earth, he heard my groan. 
 Ha came — I thought relief was near — 
 Good God ! What are the sounds I hear ! 
 He viewed my state — with heartless voice 
 He gave of life or death the choice — 
 The price of life a pledge must be 
 Which bade farewell to hope for me. 
 Refuse him that— he left me there 
 Food for the wolf or hungry bear ! 
 In vain I plead in every name 
 For unbought succour — 'twere the same 
 As though I to the trunk had spoken 
 That crushed me till my heart was broken ! 
 In torturing pain and almost dead, 
 Scai'ce knowing all the words I said, 
 The fatal pledge I gave to him, 
 Then mind and sense and soul grew dim; 
 When consciousness returned again 
 I deem'd repentance were in vain. 
 And marvel not with me no pain 
 Nor pity for him do remain— 
 This night had seen his purpose wrought 
 But that for shelter here you sought." 
 
 His story ended, and the night 
 Being far spent, the old man pressed 
 Food and refreshment on his guest , 
 Begged him to wait till morning's light 
 Should rid of peril all the way — 
 
66 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Thus pressed, LeanJer thought to stay. 
 
 Soon did he share the humble bed 
 
 Of Westerraan, from whom had fled 
 
 All trace of anger and remorse ; 
 
 For soon his breathing loud and hoarse 
 
 Through the small room did strangely sound, 
 
 Where utter silence reigned around. 
 
 But sleep seals not Leanders eyes — 
 Before them many a memory flies 
 In mingling tumult, till they seem 
 Chaotic fragments of a dream . 
 And as with open eyes he lay 
 His comrade might have heard him say — 
 "What use to lie in such a plight, 
 Sleep will 1 not the live long night; 
 I oft have travelled night and day 
 O'er many a more uncertain way; 
 The moon is out, and by its beam 
 I'll follow onward down the stream." 
 
 Canto V. 
 
 Now to the past turn for brief space, 
 While we Leander's wanderings trace; 
 For surely for so long his home 
 Hath not been 'neath the fountain's foam ! 
 And he would ne'er have silence kept, 
 While friends beloved in sorrow wept, 
 But that some cause beyond control 
 Bound up the currents of his soul. r^ 
 
 When from the bark Leander fell 
 Into the lake, insensible ; 
 Once he rose ; then the outward flow 
 Of water carried him swift below. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. W 
 
 Unknown the outlet thus he passed, 
 Borne onward fearfully and fast 
 Nearer to waters dark and still, 
 Whose very gloom might the living chill. 
 
 O, then, Leander, Death was near thee 
 And ready watched to grasp his prey I 
 
 No human ear was there to hear thee ; 
 No star shone on thy fearful way ! 
 
 Perchance in her dim chamber kneeling. 
 Some vague shadow o'er her stealing, 
 At this moment pleads a maider 
 For her lover, sorrow-laden ? 
 
 Chilled-shiverinjo--gasping-struggling-8inking; 
 Life, death and madness interlinking; 
 The past, a moment gone, an age 
 In distance; the tempestuous rage 
 Of waters murmuring in his ears; 
 Darkness filled with the ghosts of fears— 
 So was he when unconquered life 
 Again awoke his limbs to strife; 
 And they for long in water skilled 
 Almost unbid their part fulfilled . 
 Had reason guided as before 
 Ere long would he have reached the shore; 
 But like a bark unhelmed at sea. 
 Of winds and waves the mockery, 
 His aimless efforts failed to reach 
 ' )r long, the never-distant beach. 
 Once there, his limbs relaxed, he fell 
 Among the reeds, insensible. 
 
 Weak and fatigued and numb with cold, 
 A troubled slumber o'er him rolled. 
 Wild and delirious fancies crossed 
 His mind, while restless limbs he tossed; 
 
68 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 At times in tones devoid of fear, 
 As though menaced, he cried, "forbear !" 
 Or warding off some struggling foe 
 Convulsive tossed him to and fro, 
 And wildly stared his blood-shot eyes, 
 While "mercy !" "mercy !" were his cries ! 
 Back then to fall in weariness. 
 Which did hi.5 piteous state confess: 
 And so the night passed, and the day 
 Came smiling o'er the wood and bay; 
 High rose the mist to u{)per air — 
 . Cool blew the breeze— the sky was fair; 
 But in the shade of lofty pines 
 Leander knew not morning's signs. 
 
 Two hours the sun had upward climbed, 
 While huskily the sere leaves chimed, 
 When gliding o'er that sheltered bay 
 A birch canoe shot on its way; 
 'Twas guided by an aged man, 
 Shrivelled and wrinkled, bent and wan; 
 Skin of the hue that parchment wears 
 After long damp and mouldering years ; 
 Thin locks uncut, that far behind 
 Were wafted faintly on the wind. 
 No beard lent patriarchal grace 
 To the sharp outlines of that face; 
 His dress was a strange cross between 
 What now is worn, and what hath been, 
 When his fierce untamed ancestors 
 Rushed to their never-ending wars. 
 
 The last of all his tribe that bore 
 The unmixed Indian blood of yore 
 Was he; and oft he fiercely viewed 
 The breakers of his solitude, 
 As ever farther on they pressed 
 Towards the wild, wealth-yielding west. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. , 61^ 
 
 Rage seized him oft while pondering o'er 
 The trials that his kinsmen bore; 
 Filled with the white man's lust and crimes. 
 That rendered worse the hopeless times. 
 
 His daughter sat before him there; 
 
 Dark color dyed her cheek and hair, 
 
 Each fearless eye from deep recess 
 
 Scann'd stream and sky and wilderness 
 
 Proudly, as though she were the queen 
 
 Of all that wide and varying scene . 
 
 And deftly still the oar she plied, 
 
 And swiftly on the bark did glide, 
 
 Like a cloud that crosses the summer sky 
 
 When the sun is bright and the breeze is high . 
 
 Saw he then with his mental sight ? 
 
 Was it a spirit of darkness or light, 
 
 Or a flash of sunlight from paddles bright, 
 
 That caused Leander to lift his head 
 
 From his cold and damp reed-guai'ded bed ? 
 
 Tell he who can— the Indian gazed 
 
 A moment — then his rifle blazed — 
 
 Too late his daughter's hand depressed — 
 
 The weapon had obeyed behest ! 
 
 Loud rang the forest with alarm, 
 
 Shrieked echoes at the deed of harm ; 
 
 The wild duck strains its glossy wing. 
 
 To their far haunts the wild deer spring; 
 
 Dull bruin stops wiih startled ear. 
 
 And turns dismayed that sound to hear; 
 
 The wood-bird's tap is heard no more, 
 
 And silence reigns along the shore. 
 
 In deep chagrin the Indian cried, 
 "A mete reward for hunters' pride ! 
 Alas, my eyes grow dim: I thought 
 A bear was target for my shot I" 
 Fain would he then have fled the scene, 
 "Nay," cried his daughter, "we between 
 
70 SONGS OF THE PINES, 
 
 Two evils now must surely choose; 
 Leave him— and he his life must lose; 
 Then we are murderers indeed, 
 And worthy of the murderer's meed. 
 Bear him to where we late have past 
 And make for vengeance one repast; 
 For sure with wrath and scorn and hate 
 These men will strive to avenge their mate." 
 "And but last night," the old man said, 
 **I threatened vengeance on the head 
 Of him who dared to haunt thy path — 
 They'll swear he suffered from my wrath." 
 
 How lags dull Time when anguish wears 
 Deep in the heart that lives and bears ! 
 As though to watch with gloating eye 
 Its writhing in its agony ! 
 And all creation's face appears 
 Unmoved by all its griefs and fears ! , 
 The shining sun hides not his face, 
 No cloud stops in atrial race, 
 The wind hath no new gentleness 
 To waft its comfort or caress; 
 The notes of gladness from each bird 
 Are by no depths of feeling stirred; 
 Though he the round of nuture scan, 
 Man hath no friend so true as — man ! 
 
 So felt the twain that clear bright morn: 
 Their faces that so late had worn 
 The look of freedom untoached by care 
 Now saddened and darkened by despair. 
 . Suddenly brightened the old man's l^row — 
 Surely relief hath come to him now — 
 "Not far from here there still doth stand 
 The lodge built by our hunting band, 
 Ere we removed to lonelier shades, 
 Before the white man, whoever invades. 
 Thither we'll bear this stranger — tend 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. M 
 
 Him till his strength doth some amend; 
 
 His wound once healed, his friendship gained 
 
 By kindness free and unrestrained, 
 
 Then we can bear him, where he may 
 
 Return himself, and haste away." 
 
 Again they started on tlieir way, 
 
 And left behind the fateful bay; 
 
 And paddled swiftly down the stream 
 
 Till cast the sun his mid-day beam — 
 
 Ascended then a tribute tide 
 
 Two furlongs up the forest wide. 
 
 There on the low grass-mantled shore, 
 
 That marks of habitation bore, 
 
 Stood a small lodge of poles and bark, 
 
 On which decay had placed its mark; 
 
 There did they gladly stay their hand 
 
 And pushed their laden bark to land . 
 
 Food, fire and shelter furnished then 
 Soon brought Leander strength again. 
 The Indian's skill in healing, too, 
 Gave nature aid, her part to do; 
 And large the breach she will repair, 
 
 Where man hath not abused his frame. 
 With sins that on his face declare 
 
 Their sovereign power, their victim's shame 
 Ere long Leander strong had grown, 
 Yet reason trembled on her throne. 
 
 All memory of the past was gone— 
 
 The present seemed of life the dawn. 
 
 A strange, weird spell was round him cast, 
 
 That left in mystery all the past. 
 
 And pressed him back, as 'twere, in years 
 
 To when the hope of youth appears; 
 
 Yet not a child — disconsolate, , _ 
 
 Though realizing not his state; 
 
 He loved the sunshine, bright and clear; u_ _^ 
 
 He loved the river's voice to hear, 
 
72 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 And oft would wander by the shore, 
 As studying deep its mystic lore; 
 Or viewing pictured scenes, where deep 
 It flowed on witli resistless sweep. 
 
 Kind were the Indians to him then, 
 
 And asked him o'er and o'er again, 
 
 Whence he had come, anci where he willed 
 
 To go, but still his answer tilled 
 
 Them both with trouble, for he prayed 
 
 But for their company and aid, 
 
 And begged them not to leave him there, 
 
 But let him in their journey share. 
 
 Up stream, o'er lake and portage wide, 
 
 And water-shed, whence eastward glide 
 
 The streams that swell the Gatineau 
 
 In its romantic southward flow ; 
 
 Off to a region wild and lone. 
 
 Unsettled and almost unknown; 
 
 There finds the moose congenial home, 
 
 And through the wilds the shy deer roam; 
 
 And hungry wolves in nightly race, 
 
 With horrid yells maintain the chase. 
 
 On noiseless pinions, soft and wide, 
 
 At eve the snowy owl doth glide ; 
 
 While from the dusky birch-clad hill 
 
 Calls forth the mournful whip-poor-will. 
 
 When night hath sunk o'er stream and wood 
 
 How gloomy is the solitude ! 
 
 The shrill bark of the prowling fox — 
 
 The fishes plunging in the stream — 
 The bull-frogs bellowing, that mocks 
 
 The roar of Afric's king supreme — 
 These break the stillness but to show 
 How great the silence earth may know ! 
 The Indians for this place were bound 
 When they Leander strangely found. 
 Ten days the lodge they tenanted. 
 Till the last summer's birds were fled; 
 
SONGS OF THE P1.\ES. 
 
 Then warned that winter came apaco 
 They started for tlieir destined place, 
 Where did their kin in wildwood dwell — 
 Thither Leander went as well. 
 
 Long time their journey did require, 
 And welcome was the nightly lire 
 Ere they with joy did it complete ; 
 For rain and snow and colder sleet, 
 And cloudy days, that joyless see:iied. 
 Were scarce by some all bright redeemed. 
 
 So winter came and winter jjassed, 
 And genial spring came round at lai-t. 
 And spring was merged in "leafy June," 
 And June was lost in summer's noon. 
 
 Then was it on a sultry day 
 
 Leander by the stream did stray; 
 
 The fisher's rod was in his hand, 
 
 Though cast he not its slender strand. 
 
 Ere long he reached a spreading tree, 
 
 Which might a restful arbor be; 
 
 Its drooping bows o'erhung the stream. 
 
 While through them shot no scorching beam. 
 
 The old year's leaves, that 'neath it lay, 
 
 Seemed a fit couch for such a day; 
 
 And there Leander laid him down — 
 
 The fly's light buzzing wing might drown 
 
 All sounds that nature murmured there — 
 
 No zephyr stirred the hazy air; 
 
 The stream, tired of the rapid's sport, 
 
 A drowsy motion seemed to court, 
 
 That scarcely showed a stranger s eye 
 
 Which way its volume wandered by. 
 
 Hushed we/e the warblers of the morn, 
 
 Their restless wings were drooping borne; 
 
 Deep in the shade they sought retreat '~ — 
 
 From the fierce, scorching noontide heat. 
 
74 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Soon o'er Leander's senses crept 
 Oblivion sweet, at length he slept. 
 
 Again he saw his home of yore, 
 
 Beside the Rideau's pleasant shore; 
 
 Again youth's gladness, wild and sweet. 
 
 Urged on his never- wearying feet 
 
 O'tJ many a path, while pleasure led 
 
 And hope's bright landscape round him spread; 
 
 Then shadows, darkened with their gloom, 
 
 From which there dimly shone a tomb — 
 
 That passed, and in a wildering train, 
 
 Strange phantasies swept through his brain; 
 
 Perilous moments he had known 
 
 In vividness again were shown ! ' 
 
 While fancy framed unique designs 
 
 From her unfathomable mines. 
 
 In distant climes his pathway lay, 
 Where burning heats cc ime the day; 
 Far as the eye in distance reached 
 A bare, unverdured desert stretched. 
 No fount to cool the traveller's tongue 
 From out its fiery surface sprung. 
 No palm, bespeaking future rest, 
 Broke the monotony of its breast . 
 Around his feet amid the sands 
 Lurked the fell serpent's dusky bands. 
 And as he gazed, in mute despair, 
 Swept on the desert's poisonous air; 
 Whirling the sand in sleetv hail, 
 That filled the suffocating gale. 
 Gasping for breath amid the storm 
 That surged around his prostrate form, 
 He feebly prayed for help; it came. 
 And tender accents breathed his name; 
 An angel form beside him knelt; 
 His brow the cooling presence felt; 
 A gentle hand was in his placed; -^ - 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 75 
 
 The storm was o'er and calmed the waste. 
 He turned to view his heavenly friend, 
 And saw Cecilia o'er him bend, 
 In joyous transport clasped the form — 
 Alas, it vanished with the storm ; 
 Such grief and anguish o'er him came 
 He woko with on his lips her name; 
 While from his mind was cast the thrall 
 Which had o'erhung it like a pall; 
 Quickly as vanishes the gloom 
 Of some long-closed, deserted room 
 Before the beam of noonday bright. 
 Fled the black clouds of mental night; 
 And all the lovely things of thought, 
 80 long unseen, so long forgot, 
 Again returned, and from his eyes 
 Looked out with wonder and surprise ! 
 
 Long did Leander, wonderingly, 
 
 Gaze round on mount and stream and tree. 
 
 As though he ne'er before had seen 
 
 Those granite rocks, those boughs of green. 
 
 But soon the past, in dread detail. 
 
 Which well nigh caused his heart to fail, 
 
 Was understood — he breathed a prayer 
 
 For help and guidance and all care . 
 
 Then by a sinuous path that wound 
 
 By marge of etream and woodland ground, 
 
 He reached the spot wher ^ he had spent 
 
 Nine months in what seemed like content. 
 
 The old man sat within the tent : 
 His daughter o'er a basket bent, 
 Which she with skilful fingers wove 
 From spoils ta'en from the mountain grove. 
 Leander entered ; both amazed 
 In wonderment upon him gazed ; 
 And seemed embarrassed by his mien, 
 As though ho had a stranger been. 
 
 * * Vr * * * 
 
76 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 The summer sun was sinking low, 
 And shadows had begun to grow, 
 When by the shore Leander stood. 
 His bark kissed by the limpid flood. 
 His Indian friends around him drew 
 And filled with gifts the light canoe . 
 Think you Leander well could leave 
 Those dusky foresters nor grieve ? 
 Or that no sadness fill'd his mind 
 At leaving friends so true behind ? 
 JFarewells are said and from the shore 
 The fragile craft is turned once more 
 Adown the sun-besparkled stream, 
 Fair as the river of a dream. 
 The Indians watched it slowly pass 
 Till calmness did the waters glass. 
 
 Canto VI. 
 
 A darkened room — a watchei' pale — 
 
 A form life hasteneth to leave ; 
 Daylight is fading, soon will fail ; 
 The lamp renewal must receive. 
 The sick-room knoweth no lonelier hour 
 Than twilight, in the twenty-four. 
 The gathering gloom of nigiit at)pear8 
 To suit the silent growth of fears ; 
 What shall the midnight watches bring 
 The rustling of Death's shadowy wing? 
 The ebbing breath— shall it remain 
 Till the grey morning break again ? 
 Or shall its light the awful seal 
 That quells each lingering hope reveal ? 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 77 
 
 "Mother, how is it with thee now ? 
 A brightness seems upon thy brow ; 
 The lines that pain too long have traced 
 Seem fading ;— O that I might taste 
 The bitter cup for thee and save 
 Thee from the anguish of the grave !,, ' 
 
 "O speak not thus, my daughter dear ! 
 The grave hath neither dread nor fear. 
 The path ahead is bright and clear ; 
 The path the Holy One of God, 
 In earthly pain and sorrow trod. 
 And smoothed the way for weary feet ; 
 And Him ere long my eyes shall greet. 
 Yes, when I look ahead my heart 
 With joy, no earthly hopes impart. 
 Is filled ; I long to stand with those, 
 Where not a tear of sorrow flows, 
 Who have in triumph passed the vale 
 Of shadows,— why so quail my dearest? 
 'Tis not death that thou only fearest ; 
 The separation —Oh 'tis pain, 
 But hope— We yet shall meet again . 
 To thy young Jieart such promise bears 
 A dreary comfort fr^m thy fears. 
 But t'j the ear of long-tried faith 
 It bringeth peace 'mid shades of death." 
 
 "V7e yet shall meet, but O the woe 
 Which I in loneliness must know ! 
 O ihat I might now with thee fly 
 And breathe out life in one long sigh !"' 
 
 "Nay, daughter do not thus repine ; 
 Great happiness may yet be thine. 
 Last night when slumber seemed to rest 
 
 Upon my eyes, in dreams I saw 
 Thee happy and supremely blest, 
 
 And still from this my heart doth draw 
 Much comfort ; for I oft before 
 
7d SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Have found truth in such mystic signs, 
 Wafted from some mysterious shore, 
 
 Along unseen connecting lines. 
 Her voice grew fainter and her eye, 
 With weakness and infirmity . 
 Clouded and closed, and unsought slumber 
 Filled up her hours that few did number. 
 
 Slowly and sadly doth the gloom 
 
 Of sadness round Cecilia close ; 
 Her mother passing to the tomb 
 
 The bitter cup o'er flows ; 
 Her lover — since that happy eve 
 How well hath she been taught to grieve I 
 Ah me, rebellious thoughts will rise 
 Scarce thinks she now that God doth wise ; 
 Though no such thought her lips expressed 
 She could not drive it from htr breast. 
 
 Scarce had she left her mother's side 
 
 When in a messenger did glide ; 
 
 And placed a letter in her care ; 
 
 Unthinking what its page may bear 
 
 She breaks the seal — Alas for me 
 
 How can I paint the mystery - 
 
 The 'wildering sense of unbelief — 
 
 The beam of joy intensely brief — 
 
 The rush of thoughts that stun the brain 
 
 And dim the eyes that read in vain 
 
 Till faint she sinks into a chair 
 
 Weak, giddy ; yet not in despair ? 
 
 Hearts that have borne through anguish long 
 
 And stood the strain of grief when strong, 
 
 After long vigils, sad and lone, ' 
 
 That rob the mind of strength and tone. 
 
 Oft sink beneath the sudden weight 
 
 Of joy ; as when the feeble fire 
 In the long-unreplenished grate 
 
 Beneath fresh fuel doth expire. 
 
80NOS OF THE PINES. 79 
 
 And when upon that hasty page 
 
 Cecilia saw the words which told 
 
 She yet might know the joys of old — 
 
 That still Leander lived — the age 
 
 Of sorrow she had known had been 
 
 The bitter fruit of others sin ; — 
 
 The thronging thoughts did crowding come 
 So sudden that they seem'd to press 
 The life from out her heart, which less 
 
 With joy than wonderment was dumb. 
 
 Few moments passed, though long it seemed 
 While thus she indistinctly dreamed, 
 When a qaick step approaching o'er 
 The noiseless softly-covered floor, 
 Awoke her from her trance-like mood ; 
 And glancing up, before her stood 
 Leander — O how quickly fled 
 The doubt, the torment and the dread. 
 Which waited but the pioof that brings 
 Conviction — sight assutes all things. 
 Again she saw the same dear face 
 Where pain had left perchance a trace — 
 The same dear eyes that seem'd to her 
 Filled with a new love tenderer I 
 She rose— she sprang to find relief 
 Upon his breast from joy, from grief ; 
 And o'er both hearts a softening came 
 Which is not joy — which hath no name — 
 A tenderness, which joy and peace, 
 And of long sorrow sweet surcease. 
 Shed o'er the heart till it would fain 
 For such reward endure again ! 
 
 Once more amid the shadow land 
 Which stretches round on every hand, 
 Invisible to daily eyt s, , 
 
 That never scan the distant skies, *, 
 
80 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 They stoorl bf side the bed of death 
 Where a pure soul resigned her breath. 
 
 "No pang is left— no cause for pain 
 For thou wilt Hootlie Cecilia's woe : 
 
 Till peace and comfort come again 
 After I forth forever go. 
 
 * * * * * •' 
 
 I trusted in the T^ord and lie 
 Hath not forgotttMi mine nor nie. 
 
 * * * ■» * . 
 
 No fear appals my heart, for One 
 Is with me, even G'od's Holy Son. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 He lights the way - the heaven of light 
 Is beaming on my raptured sight. 
 
 ***** 
 
 O God, thy help in this last trial 
 Is worth an age of pain — denial ! 
 The waves of Jordon round me swell — 
 Farewell— ye weeping ones — Farewell 1" 
 
 Pain, grief and woe, all have their gloomy day, 
 Yet like the clouds that check the heavenly ray 
 They pass; and once again the earth appears 
 In radiant beauty, though bedew'd with tears. 
 The hearts are not, that all their lives must pine, 
 And every hope and every joy resign ; 
 Shivering at every blast, so cold and rude, 
 That sweeps about them in their solitude, 
 cTntil toward the entire universe 
 E ich glance is blasphemy— each thought a curse I 
 Wearing themselves away in bootless strife 
 With unsought burdens and the greatest, life. 
 No, no— the world was never framed for this ! 
 All must know sorrow, but all may know bliss. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 81 
 
 The snows of Winter may pile cold and high, 
 
 But they must melt beneath Spring's sunny eye; 
 
 The stream beneath its icy burden groans, 
 
 But it shall yet rejoice in happy tones; 
 
 The night may thicken till the stars are hid, 
 
 But light shall come from morning's lifted lid. 
 
 And though death come — friends go— or slander speak^ 
 
 Or wrong triumphant should oppress the weak; 
 
 The wind untempered nip the opening flower, 
 
 Or sin o'ercome thee in unguarded hour; 
 
 Despair not — falter not— sp(iak no rash word. 
 
 Thy thoughts are open, and thy speecli o'erheard. 
 
 And trust— just recompense shall yet repay 
 
 Thy every trial at no distant day. 
 
 What though that portion of thy course should lie. 
 
 Which bringeth it within eternity ? 
 
 'Tis not so distant yet— we all shall tread 
 
 Ere long the Court of Justice of the dead. 
 
 Yea, mourner, thou dost well to shed the tear, 
 And bend in anguish by the loved one's biei. 
 'Tis V)etter for the heart that grief's excess 
 Be lost in tears, than work in bitterness. 
 And thou dost well to dry thy tears and take 
 The burden up of life for love's own sake. 
 Then shall thy days in bright succession run- 
 All is not vanity beneath the sun. 
 
 End of Cecilia. 
 
 '■' ^'H.' ■■». 
 
SOXOS OF THE PINES. 
 
 THE STAR. 
 
 In the cold hoavtms, hoforo tho dawn, 
 A Htar of wondrouH beauty Hliono. 
 
 Earth .still Hlopt on; tho windH wvni still; 
 No nmrinur from tho frozon rill. 
 
 Tho 8(arry tlironjjj o'erKproad tho Hky, 
 An inimniorablo company. 
 
 But, brightoHt far of all tho hoHt, 
 
 This star of [)romiHo oharmod iiui nio.st. 
 
 It told tho nij^ht vvaw nearly dono ; 
 It heralilod the coming Hun. 
 
 It hold my gaze; I watched it long, 
 Ah listening for tlu^ angels' song. 
 
 The song that still with sweetness fills 
 The memory of Judea's hills. 
 
 I thought of those wise men of old, 
 Whose lives are wrapped in mystery's fold 5 
 
 And of the star that guided them 
 To the dear Child of Bethleliem; 
 
 Whose life had taught to every clime 
 That lowly paths may be sublime. 
 
 Again niturns to glad the earth, 
 The day made sacred by His birth. 
 
 Again from out the ages dim 
 
 Comes echoing aweet the angel's hymn; 
 
 Joy-bringing now, with i)romise bright 
 To cheer the watches of the night; 
 
 Though marred are its seraphic tones 
 By clamor of discordant thrones, 
 
 Yet nearer now the time tljan then 
 Of peace and good will unto men. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 88 
 
 TITK MONITOR. 
 
 1 havo u monitor, to wit, 
 
 A ('look of c-iirioUH /<«*ar, 
 Thut in tlid morn, at moment fit, 
 
 IVialw forlii a warninjjf dear. 
 
 "(iet uj) ! («et uj) !" it Hoems to nay, 
 
 "Your daily task lie|i;in; 
 No longtjr linger or <l(!lay, 
 
 •Sloth sun^ly breedeth Bin." 
 
 If to ItH (;all I (|uie,k n^Hpond, 
 
 All goetli Hinootli and well, 
 But if, of Hlumber IxMng fond, 
 
 1 linger, then farewell I 
 
 Again to dreamland 1 am ofF, 
 Till the bright Hun lookH in. 
 
 And Ke(MUH to Hay, with laughing seofF, 
 "What hIuiII this Hluggard win ?'' 
 
 If thiH few timeH T do repeat, 
 
 My monitor may call 
 In vain; amid my shnnl)er sweet 
 
 I hear it not at all. 
 
 Another monitor have I — 
 A conHcieneo God liaH given, 
 
 To warn me when to Hin I'm nigh. 
 To rouHe me up for heaven. 
 
 Oh ! may I ever give good heed 
 
 Unto ItH feeblest call. 
 Lest, from its voice of warning freed, 
 
 I into error fall 1 
 
84 SONUS OF T/rr: pinks. 
 
 lAVh). 
 
 '•LIfo'H n fjiiliiro," m<nirnH thn woriiuri 
 Kf'ft of cliJirniK tliiit otwc <'iitlinilU«l, 
 
 " Y«'Ml'n''«<ti looking in lliti mirror, 
 1 wuH troulilod an<l upimllcd." * 
 
 "fiifo'H a failuro," (jrlfM {,\ui HfalfHrium, 
 |'i<>nMt(i hy poiHonnd dartH, iiialiKn; 
 
 "Such i\ui r«'(!oiii|).'riH(^ now ^^ivnn 
 For a lii'o Hprnl uh vv;ih iiiinn." 
 
 "liifo'H a faiiiiro,*' jj;roanH iho iiiorciiant, 
 OriiHlicd and hrokon, wiUioiit hot><t; 
 
 T)ifTi(tidiJ('H KallMU- round him, 
 
 With thorn Httarcii h<i (hircH to <;(>p<«. 
 
 "liifo'H afaihin*," Hi^liH the* farm«fr, 
 lU'nt with t(»il and whit(i with yi^arn; 
 
 How<id hf oft in pain and Horrow, 
 KoapH ho now th(t hiirvoHt tcarH. 
 
 "Lifo'H a faihini," writ«!H tJjo poot, 
 "Kamo MO happinoHH (;an hrinx; 
 
 Only wh<'n wo cuni not for it, 
 Loudly will tho plauditH ri/iK." 
 
 •'f/if<! H a failuro," wo«!pH tho tnourntu', 
 Htandin^ hy tho lov<'d ono'H hior, 
 
 •*Wo muHt livo alono, unfricfudod, 
 Nfju^Jit wo lovo roniainoth horo,"' 
 
 "Lifo'H a tiiumph," JoyH tho (JhriHtian, 
 Who luitli loarnt that Htorm and Hood 
 
 Ilarnt not him who ordy truHtuth 
 In tho UnsvorHal (iood. 
 

 SONGS OF Tiff': riM'lS 85 
 
 TIIK MMtTII ()l'HIMtIN(;. 
 Co\(\ wititnr Htiihhoriily j^ivoH (it> IiIh Hway, 
 
 With many a HtniKKl*' of (Iccliriiii^ powjir; 
 AikI oft nf^aiiiH tlm iiiuHtfTy for a <la.y, 
 
 And nii(>H with fornKM- ^niinloiir for thn hour; 
 Thon all hin (•MiiHi-iarit'H Hportivo play; 
 
 Tho Hnow HkipH frantic o'or tho HliiuldcrinK oartli, 
 And fiirionH windH, hri^l in th(t cJondlandH yi;viiy, 
 
 WhiHtln and Hhrink in wild an I fra^ntic. mirth, 
 Lik(tnvilH)>iril/H that ri\j<>ii;(H)'(trdark anddn^ary (h)urth. 
 
 And HO tlu) Htrifn j^ooh on from day to day, 
 
 Ihit mild<4' inlliinncn inont ascnndant k>*<>wh> 
 Till from tlio north <larl( wintcr'n <lriv<!n away, 
 
 Whilo o'or tho land th() halm of HiimmiM* IIowh; 
 An<l, roHiirnM-tod from hor dcathliko hIo(^p, 
 
 Natiint puthi on Imu* frcHh and fair attiro, 
 Ih'i^ht HunhniiniH li^hliui up the fort'HtH <hM>p, 
 
 Tho trocH, cm-apturcd, urj^c tlK^ir hranclmH hij^hor, 
 Wliorn j^ontlo hnui/cH Hoiitnl tlm niurMUirinjjj lyro. 
 
 Thon man ^^och forth with glad and (liaidcful lioart 
 
 Into till) fioIdH that wait hin (piick'nin^ iiand, 
 Which, under l'r()vidon(!(), Hlial! Kivn the ..tart 
 
 To a.ll that (^rowH, to f('(!i| and <dotho tho lund; 
 And from tho martH the HountlH of oommonro riHO, 
 
 With froHh roni'wod vi>j;or liny ar<i lillod; 
 Man foolH aK'tin tlio Htron^^th of ittndor tioH 
 
 That hind him to thiH oarth, whoro nono may huild 
 Th(;ir hopoH, wtiioh oft hy moHt unkindly hhiHtH arc Rpill'd* 
 
 Bright Hummor ! thou art doiihly woloomo horo, 
 
 And all tin; Hplondorw of thy goi^couH train, 
 WlH»ro wintor roij.^nH for rntarly half thoycrar, 
 
 And HW<>opH with ohillimr win<lH tho opctn plain. 
 So from iill ploaHuroH half tho onJoymtMit Hprings 
 
 By nwiHon of tho trouhh'H wo havo paHuM, 
 For ploaHtintH that hath not alloy noon hrinj^s 
 
 A fuha-HH to tho houI, that <1uIIh tho tawtfs 
 And mak(!H thiH world, bo heuutif ul unci fuii, ap|)L'ar a waste. 
 
86 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 THE DAY IS DAMP AND WET AND COLD. 
 
 The day is damp and wet and cold. 
 The sky hath her veil of cloud unroU'd, 
 The sun shines not from his throne of gold, 
 
 The nerveless raindrops fall . 
 The earth is muddy and smears the foot, 
 A teardrop hangs from each bended shoot, 
 The trees bedraggled, the winds all mute, 
 
 And sorrow, like a pall. 
 Seemeth to rest on Nature's breast, 
 
 And on the hearts of all. 
 
 Why might not ever the warm sun shine, 
 And the soft breeze rustle the purpling vine. 
 And the birds pour forth in songs divine, 
 
 God-given prayer and praise? 
 And the grass be green for roving feet, 
 The flowers fling forth their perfume sweet, 
 The trees sigh over a cool retreat 
 
 Through ever pleasant days ; 
 Pointing each thought to God, who wrought 
 
 The pattern ot our ways ? 
 
 Oh, heedless heart ! Did yon sun shine 
 XJndimmed upon the corn— the vine. 
 And did the clouds their task r«'"\gn 
 
 And weep o'er us no more 
 And drying breeze play o'er th earth — 
 Oh ! bitter were thy day of birth 1 
 Soon desert void and hopeless dearth 
 
 Would reign from shore to shore ; 
 And solitude, all unsubdued, 
 
 Mantle in silence oer. 
 
 And thus, oh heart I when sorrow pours 
 Its floods around thy bursting doors. 
 
SONGS OF THE PISES. 8t 
 
 And dark thy heaven around thee lowers, ^ 
 
 Thou pinest wrongfully. 
 Grief and affliction richness give, ' 
 
 And teach thy tenderness to live 
 And keep thee pure and sensitive — 
 
 A garden fair to see; 
 Where bloom the flowers bred by the showerft 
 
 Of dark adversity. 
 
 THRONES. 
 
 O, dearest, would you rather share 
 A throne with some grandee ; 
 
 Or on a dear old sofa fare, 
 And just with,— me ? 
 
 Or would you wed a Vanderbilt 
 With millions at his hand ? 
 
 I have no palace richly gilt — 
 No miles of land. 
 
 But I have got a heart, and he 
 
 At best has little more ; 
 And all the universe \.-ill be 
 
 Our boundless store . 
 
 And from it we will draw the best. 
 
 As day succeeds to day; 
 And by all deeds the kindliest 
 
 The debt repay. ; ; 
 
 And so I trust you nsed riot fear 
 To share a seal with me; 
 
 And if it should too small appear 
 Just try — my knee ! 
 
88 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 THE CANADIAN FARMER. 
 
 A happy man, I wot, is he 
 
 Who tills his five good score 
 Of acres, rich and fair and free, 
 Between the lakes — the mighty three — 
 
 Or by St. Laurent's shore. 
 
 He knows not of his ancestry — 
 
 Their deeds were never sung — 
 He knows his parents crossed the sea 
 In 'thirty-two or thirty-three,' 
 
 When he was very young. 
 
 He can remember very well 
 
 How through the wood-bound way 
 They came, and on a gentle swell, 
 By where a creek ran through the dell, 
 They pitched their tent to stay. 
 
 The hardwood forest tliickly grew, 
 
 But soon the sun looked in, 
 And smiling from the clearing drew 
 The blades of richly verdant hue — 
 
 No sickly braird nor thin . 
 
 Days — years of honest, manly toil. 
 
 Passed all too quickly o'er; 
 Naught was there t liat could fright or f oil— 
 The mastered genii of the soul 
 
 Unlocked their treasure store. *- 
 
 The church — the school soon came to stay, 
 
 The weekly paper, too; 
 The train rolled by a mile away; 
 Elections, fairs filled many a day 
 
 Weddings and christenings, too. 
 
 And there were days when tears were shed, 
 
 As some brave pioneer, 
 Gone to his rest among the dead, 
 A long and sad procession led, 
 
 Borne high upon his bier. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 89 
 
 Gone are they all, save some lone few, 
 
 Who came in manhood's prime 
 To lay, far deeper than they knew, 
 A broad foundation, tried and true. 
 To stand the shocks of time. 
 
 Brave souls, your memory shall inspire 
 
 Our weaker hearts to dare 
 The trial — be it as by fire. 
 And fill us with a fierce desire 
 
 To nobly do our share 
 
 Ye toiled not for yourselves alone. 
 
 The faculty divine 
 Was yours — ye sought not all your own; 
 We reap the harvests that were sown 
 
 With unpropitJous sign. 
 
 Hardships ye knew are known no more ; 
 
 The axe and sickle rust. 
 The stony fields turn faultless score, 
 The stumps that oft your patience wore 
 
 Have vanished into dust. 
 
 Now, year by year, rich autumn showers 
 
 Her horn of plenty forth; 
 Wealth oozes from a thousand pores, 
 While spreads between gigantic shores 
 
 The nation of the north. 
 
 Unfelt, unseen the pride of power 
 
 True reverence abounds. 
 And Faith— a bulwark and a tower 
 Against the evil day and hour, 
 
 Her admonition sounds. 
 
 Then surely he should happy be, 
 
 Who tills his five good score 
 Of acres, rich and fair and free. 
 Between the lakes— the mighty three— 
 
 Or by St. Laurent's shore. 
 
90 SONGS OB' THE PINES. 
 
 A SONG OF THE BRAVE. 
 
 Oh ! hearken, Canadians, to this little song, 
 Which to our country alone doth belong ; 
 Its theme should awaken response in each breast — 
 The heroes who fought in the distant Northwest ! 
 
 Our fair land was threatened with dark civil strife, 
 The red man had taken up musket and knife, 
 But when the call came they did nobly reply. 
 And each went forth ready to conquer or die. 
 
 Oh I who but a traitor can think of their rush 
 On the grim hidden foe at the back of Batoche ; 
 Or of Otter's bold march into Poundmaker's den, 
 And love not the land that could nourish such men I 
 
 Sons of Canada ! none may your courage revile — 
 On Saskatchewan's borders, in ambushed defile, 
 Ye have shown forth the spirit that danger doth dare — 
 Won the praise of the brave and the smile of the fair. 
 
 Though proudly we tell of the deeds of the brave, 
 Yet the honest tear flows when we stand by the grave, 
 And think of the treasures deep hid in its breast — 
 Those who died for their land in the distant Northwest. 
 
 We'll remember them ! Yea, while our land hath a name. 
 While 'tis honor to die on the field of bright fame ; 
 While self-sacrifice casts o'er its victims a charm, 
 Will our sorrow be deep and our gratitude warm. 
 
 May the spirit that nerved them immortal remain. 
 
 To call forth fresh heroes if need be again ; 
 
 May their deeds give fresh hope to the weak and dis- 
 
 tress'd — 
 The deeds that brought peace to the distant Northwest ! 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 91 
 
 CANADA TO NEWFOUNDLAND. 
 
 Respected Miss Newfoundland, 
 Do you think 'twas in good taste 
 
 To reject my late proposal 
 In such unbecoming haste ? 
 
 I pray you don't imagine 
 
 I had selfish ends in view, 
 Or that I was fortune-hunting 
 
 When I set my cap for you. 
 
 I have got a fair-sized holding ; 
 
 I can scarcely wish for more, 
 And I envy not your cottage 
 
 Down beside the ocean shore. 
 
 No — I've honest admiration 
 For your independent mind, 
 
 And I know, though somewhat frigid, 
 That your heart is very kind. 
 
 And I know it must be lonely 
 For you dwelling there alone, 
 
 While waves around are making 
 Their everlasting moan. 
 
 And, dearest Miss Newfoundland, 
 Don't think me rude or bold. 
 
 If I should drop a hint that you 
 Are getting rather— old. 
 
 You're the eldest of the family, 
 I should judge, by some few years, 
 
 And you shouldn't keep your mamma 
 In such distressing fears. 
 
92 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 No doiibt a little coquetry 
 
 At times does very well, 
 But sometimes it develops quite 
 
 An antiquated belle . 
 
 Now pray don't be affronted 
 
 At what I've writ above, 
 For you know that we are cousins, 
 
 And I've written it in love. 
 
 So if you'll reconsider 
 
 What you'vG said, and what I say, 
 I think at our next meeting 
 
 You will surely name the day. 
 
 Ottawa, April 12, 1888. 
 
 INMEMORIAM. 
 
 (AT^THE UNVEILING OF THE MONUMENT TO THE OTTAWA SHARP- 
 f'HOOTERS WHO FELL IN THE NORTHWEST REBELLION). 
 
 / Sons of Canada ! to-day 
 
 Turn from party strife away, 
 • ; Backward let a glance be cast 
 
 To the bright deeds of the past ; ^ 
 
 Still they shine undimmed by years, 
 
 Mute rebuke of craven fears ; 
 
 Bright the pathway that they mark 
 
 Leading from the ages dark ;, - ■-,''■_ ^^«^ 
 
 Out into the brighter glow 
 
 Of the happier time we know. 
 
 Cartier, Champlain, Frontenac 
 
 Bla.iing out the forest track; 
 
 D'Iberville and Dollard bold 
 
 Guarding well the trembling fold; 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 98 
 
 Wolfe, Montcalm ;— chivalrous pair, 
 Rivals generous and fair; 
 Gallant Brock, the soldiers' pride — 
 These, how gloriously they died ! 
 
 Not in vain such blood is spilt, 
 Be it grievous, if thou wilt ; 
 Not in vain did perish TiifiY 
 In whose memory to day 
 Raise we high the sculptured stone. 
 While abroad the folds are thrown 
 Of the glorious flag which still 
 • Millions love and millions will I 
 
 Then beneath its folds to-day 
 Let base passions die away ; 
 Let the blood of heroes spilled— 
 Let the thought of brave hearts stilled- 
 Let the nearness of the tomb, 
 Glory robs not of its gloom, 
 Banish coldness and distrust. 
 Thoughts unkind and deeds unjust. 
 
 Let us glory not that we 
 Dominate from sea to sea ; 
 Nor that our young nation's veins 
 Blood of bravest sires contains— 
 That our sons have learnt to know 
 Duty's tones or high or low, 
 Not for these put joyance on — 
 Let us glory — we are one ! 
 
 Ottawa, November 1, 1888. 
 
94 SONOS OF THE PINES. 
 
 THE WEDDING AT THE MILL. 
 
 There's a breeze amid the branches 
 
 Of the the poplars old and tall, 
 There's a gleam of morning glories 
 
 In the vines against the wall, 
 There is music in the meadows. 
 
 Where the bobolink's astir, 
 Trilling out the joyous measure 
 
 With a most delicious slur ; 
 The willows sweep the bosom 
 
 Of the millpond deep and still. 
 But the miller's wheel is idle — 
 
 There's a wedding at the mill. 
 
 Fair as an untarnished lily 
 
 Gentle Annie stands to-day 
 At the altar, where the preacher 
 
 Tells the twain what they shall say ; 
 Soft and low the murmured answer 
 
 Down the hushed and quiet aisle, 
 Like the breath of early summer, 
 
 Lingers lovingly avvhile. 
 Soon the final word is spoken, 
 
 And the final seal impressed, 
 And the bride is held a moment 
 
 To a loving father's breast. 
 Then the church is still and quiet, . 
 
 And the bridegroom with a will 
 Leads the carriages, joy-laden. 
 
 To the cottage by the mill. • 
 
 There the tables in profusion "^ 
 
 With the choicest are arrayed, 
 
 And the cake of snowy whiteness 
 At the topmost is displayed; 
 
 And a piece for each to dream on 
 By the bride is duly given— 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 For such kindly divination 
 
 May each happy soul be shriven ! 
 Soon the parlor and piazza . 
 
 Mirth and music overfill, 
 While some Cupid-stricken couples 
 
 Wander by the quiet mill. 
 Soon the time for parting cometh, 
 
 When the bride must leave for aye 
 The dear home where tlioughts will wander 
 
 As the long yeai's drift away ; 
 And the miller's voice is husky, 
 
 And his eyes betray their tears, 
 And his thoughts have borne him swiftly 
 
 Back amid the vanished years. 
 To the day in early manhood 
 
 Which hath precious memories still. 
 When he brought a bride of beauty 
 
 To his cottage by the mill. 
 
 Low she lieth now. There waveth 
 
 O'er her bed the green grass long — 
 Hush, sad, sacred memories, hush ye ! 
 
 'Tis the day for joy and song . , 
 Swiftly southward rolls the carriage. 
 
 While good wishes follow fast. 
 And good luck in mirthful symbol 
 
 Fair hands lavishly have cast. 
 One by one, the guests departing 
 
 Leave the cottage hushed and still, 
 And a dream for memory only 
 
 Is the wedding at the mill. 
 
96 SONOS OF THE PINES. 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR'S PRESCRIPTION. 
 
 Young Mr. Frederick Jones has been three years at college 
 studying for a do(;tor'8 degree. His father is a farmer, not 
 much richer or poorer than ihousands of others. Young Mr. 
 Frederick never felt much of the hardships of the farm. having 
 attended school pretty reguhiriy till his entrance at college. 
 There, among many richer than himself, he got into ways of 
 spending money railier freely, although he might have known, 
 had he thought, that his father earr'.ed it hard enough. One 
 night, as he was going out for some "fun," he received a letter, 
 not very gracefully directed, with the stamn on the wrong 
 comer. "From home, I guess," he muttered, and thrust it 
 quickly in his pocket. ' 
 
 That night when he came back to his room he thought of 
 his letter, and taking it from his pocket, and smoothing it out, 
 he read something very nearly like the following : — 
 
 Dear Freddy, I'm thin kin' of writin' 
 * A few lines to you to-night. 
 
 To tell you we're all still livin*, , " 
 ' And things is mostly all right. 
 
 Only mother's ailin' a little, 
 
 And often I feel afraid, 
 For though she's not givin' to complain', 
 • ' 'Twas only last night she said, 
 
 "If I only could see my Freddy 
 
 Away from that godless set. 
 And safely started somewhere, 
 
 I wouldn't half so fret, 
 But I often think h '11 get harden'd, 
 
 And maybe wild and bad, 
 And I know that I'll soon be goin', " 
 
 I tell you I did feel sad ! 
 And help is so scare and uncertain. 
 
 And wages a regular fright. 
 That she and poor Kitty are nearly kill'd, 
 
 A slavin' from morn till night. 
 
SONOS OF THE PINES. 97 
 
 Poor Kitty last night was u cryin' 
 
 And sayin' 'twas nothin' but work, 
 And not a minute for anything else- 
 Might as well 1)6 a slave or a Turk. 
 But I told her we mightn't expect much 
 
 Of pleasure this side the grave ; — 
 If we only can earn some beyond it, 
 
 It'll cheer us vip to be brave. 
 But I mustn't be writin' so mournful, 
 
 For likely you're lonely enough ; 
 Though they do say you fellows are jolly, 
 
 But likely that's only stutt". 
 The grain didn't turn out extra, 
 
 (I think 'twas the rust or the fly) 
 The wheat was shrunken and snrivell'd, — 
 
 A chance if it sells by and by. 
 They may say that we farmers are stingy, 
 
 And work twice as hard as we need. 
 But I tell you when crops are a failure. 
 
 And don't yield more than the seed, 
 That you've got to be savin' and careful, 
 
 And bend your own back to the \vork ; 
 Or you'll find yourself safe in a mortgage, 
 
 Which isn't so easy to shirk. 
 And that colt that I promised to give you 
 
 When you got to be M. D. , 
 Kicked over just in the pasture , ' 
 
 For no reason I could see ; 
 But never you mind the fellar — 
 
 There's plenty more to be got — 
 If I don't have another waitin'. 
 
 You may give it to me hot. 
 1 think I must close this letter, — , .; 
 
 My fingers are cramped and sore ; 
 They can hold a pitchfork better, 
 
 As I think I've said afore. 
 But there's one thing I might mention,— 
 
 I've a pain in my breast of nights, 
 Kind of around my heart, it seems — 
 
918 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 You might say next time you write ; r 
 
 If you know of what'll help it ■-/■:■-■. 
 
 (You're learning about all such) ,, V: 
 
 I would have been to a doctor, 
 
 But goodness, they charge so much ! 1 
 
 So if you'd please to remember. ' 
 
 I'd give your med'cine a try. 
 Mother and Kitty they send best love 
 
 And join in say in' Good-Bye. 
 
 I'm afraid if Freddy's chum hadn't been snoring in bed be- 
 fore that young man was through reading this simple epistle, 
 he would have noticed a very unusual amount of moisture in 
 "Freddy's" eyes. For Frederick Jones really wasn't a bad 
 boy at heart. And after the tears had dried in his eyes, he set 
 to work on an answer; then going to his trunk he took out 
 fifty dollars from a pretty comfortable store and enclosed it 
 witn the following : — 
 
 Dear father, I've read your kind letter, ;; 
 
 I'm so sorrv that mother's not well, - 
 
 But tell her I'm bound to do better — 
 
 I'm quite through with acting the swell. : 
 
 I really can't tell what gets in one ■ v 
 
 When left in this hangnable place, • ■ v? , i : - 
 But if in the past you've not been one, :/ Aij 
 
 You're apt to turn out a scapegrace. 
 And money don't seem the same metal 
 
 That's so hard to be got on the farm. 
 When your old father's I'eady to settle 
 
 The bills that CDUie round to a charm. 
 I tell you my eyes were a swimming, 
 
 Why, I should be ashamed to say. 
 When I thought of you and the women 
 
 A toiling from day to day ; 
 And how I was spending so freely 
 
 The money you earn'd hard and slow — 
 When I thought it all over, I really 
 
 Felt meaner than you can know. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES, 
 
 I send you enclosed in this letter 
 
 What I think will ease your breast ; 
 I'm sure that I'll be better _ 
 
 Just doing with the rest. 
 Just take those fifty dollars 
 
 And put a man in your place, 
 And begin and wear white collars, 
 
 And get a smile on your face, 
 And cheer up mother and Kitty, 
 
 And tell them I'll soon be home ; 
 That I'll leave behind the city 
 
 And its ways when I come. 
 So try your son's prescription. 
 
 If it won't cure give me the lie — 
 With lov(; of every description, 
 
 For the present I say, Good-Bye. 
 
 THE LABYRINTH. 
 
 It was a day of heat and sultriness ; 
 The cool breeze languished, and the open plain 
 Shone glimmering in the hazy noontide light, 
 Shed by a sun unclouded, but which seem'd 
 Shrouded in a thin smoke, as though the air 
 Were ready to inflame and scorch the earth. 
 Feebly and faint the swain moved in his fields ; 
 The powdered dust raised 'mid the stubbles brown, 
 At his slow tread, and bending at his toil. 
 The sweat-drops fell from off his wearied brow. 
 On such a day the body seems a clog — 
 A burden pressing heavy on the soul, 
 That fain would shake it off and range the air 
 Free as tli' electric spirk or mountain wind. 
 On such a day I wandered where the hills 
 Arose in massive bastions clad with green. 
 Far o'er my head the silent pines arose, 
 Unmoved and still : and not a note was heard 
 
100 SONaS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Of woodland bird to break the deathlike calm. 
 Wearied with travel, and oppressed with heat, 
 Perceived I then a darksome grove of trees 
 That stretched far up the perpendicular wall 
 That rose behind ; thick mossy trunks beneath, 
 And dense, unilmigeous mass of leaves above, 
 Seem'd to invite to their cool arbor'd walks ;— 
 Thither I went with quickened steps, and pleased, 
 There, on the gnarled and fantastic root 
 Of a huge pine, that reared it3 giant form 
 Above the heads of all its fellows tall, 
 I sat me down. Cool was the pir and sweet 
 With the rich odour of the fragrant grove ; 
 All round the earth was carpeted and brown 
 ' With fallen tres&es from the boughs above. 
 There, with uncovered head I sate, as in , 
 
 A temple, pillared, vast and high, but void 
 Of worshippers and silent as the grave. 
 Slowly my eyes searched through its gloomy aisles 
 To where, in sombre gloom, the rock arose 
 Like a steep prison wall to bar the path . 
 There on its craggy face appeared, methought. 
 The semblance of an arched cavern's mouth. 
 That only showed in the dim shade o'erspread 
 By its more utter blackness, strangely drawn 
 Towards it, I surveyed the vast vault's gloom 
 That stretched, impenetrably black, within 
 The very bowels of the mighty dome. ■ * 
 
 With slow and hesitating step I entered, then. 
 Scarce knowing why, or what I did, 
 Till darkness closed about me : the last ray 
 Of daylight was extinguished in the gloom. 
 Onward t groped and downward led the path— 
 'Twas smooth and even to my cautious tread — 
 Till with involuntary fear I stopped. 
 While in my ears the beating blood throbbed hard 
 And each pulsation of my heart was heard 
 With bated breath ; e'en as I listening stood, 
 From far beneath arose the gentle ebb 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 101 
 
 Of water lapsing o'er its sullen bed, 
 
 Whither I dared not think. Slowly I felt 
 
 My footing firm give crumb ingly away, 
 
 But in my limbs there was no motion swift 
 
 To drag me from the dead abyss beneath— 
 
 Dizzy, I fell down, down chaotic depths 
 
 Till the cold waters closed above my head. 
 
 Then thought I. can this chilly stream be Death ? 
 
 The gloomy waters that all men must pass 
 
 And struggle with alone as I am now 1 
 
 But soon, from out the suffocating depths, 
 
 I gasping came — felt I was borne along 
 
 With the strong current of the silent stream, 
 
 To some unknown und ij^ystic reservoir. 
 
 Yet did I feel no fear — no shuddering dread. 
 
 .#; ,:.•»■ -«. ,# # ., * # . 
 
 Slowly appeared, through that sepulchral gloom, .. , 
 
 The faint, far glimmer of a distant dawn ; 
 
 Like the first low-spread arch ihat lights the east ; ; 
 
 Forerunner of the glorious light of day. 
 
 Brighter it grew : —the welcome rays did gild i 
 
 The wavelets far ahead upon my course ; 
 
 And the damp dripping walls o'eravched above, 
 
 'Gan distinctly to appear ; and soon 
 
 From the dark, noisome gorge did I emerge : 
 
 Then did ray eyes survey a wondrous sight ! 
 
 Large prospect of a country wondrous fair ! 
 
 Through meadows, flower-gemm'd,wide and richly clad> 
 
 V/ith a soft herbage, succulent and sweet. 
 
 Wound smoothly on the dark -begotten stream ; 
 
 Clear and pellucid now, while in its depths 
 
 The sportive fishes played like sunbeams bright. 
 
 Soft and mild-tempered was the air that moved 
 
 In gentle cuirents through that favored climo :— 
 
 No rude wind swept with fell destroying force — 
 
 No withering gales— nor yet the stagnant calm. 
 
 But light-winged zephyrs served to waft along 
 
 The balmy odors of the clustered grove. 
 
102 ::ONQS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Nor was that clime unpeopled, lonely, void ;— L ; 
 
 Each gently-swelling hill was crowned with 
 
 The habitations of a gentle race ; " 
 
 That dwelt in happy unity and peace. 
 
 No jarring strife arose where all were just ; — 
 
 No war was known where each one loved his friend ; 
 
 And Envy's poisoned fangs their potence lost. 
 
 Cold Avarice was unknown— each had enough, 
 
 And Wealth seemed not the goa' of each one's hopes . 
 
 Ah ! lovely seemed that land at ev ->ntide 
 
 When the sun's mellow rays did gild the scene ! 
 
 Then was the sound of silvery music heard ; 
 
 The joyful hymn of thanksgiving an^^ praise 
 
 Arose in all the land, like the sweet strains 
 
 Of heavenly choirs. 
 
 ' Entranced I stood, until 
 
 A voice beside me asked, in mellow tones, - ' 
 
 ^'Stranger — what would stthou here ?" — I turned to view 
 The being or whateer it was that spoke. 
 Beside me was a form, thin and ethereal, 
 Like to the mist that floats at early dawn 
 Over the dewy vale : while as I gazed ; ' 
 
 With concentrated look, it was defined 
 More plainly, and grew bright and clear. 
 Beautiful was it as the angels are, , fvi; 
 
 Or sainted spirits in the land of light. 
 Again with questioning aspect did it speak, 
 ^*What is thy wish, or wherefore art thou here !" 
 *'0h I Spirit bright ! a mortal— I have passed 
 A darksome way from mine own land, and view 
 This scene with rapture and delight, unknown 
 To me in my most happy hours before ! 
 I know not if this land be Paradise. 
 Or some such favored spot, where man hath dwelt 
 In innocence and peace since Eden's days, 
 Yet here would I most glad remain for aye ; 
 Secure from all the ills which render life 
 A doubtful boon ; O say then if I may 
 The state of citizen attain." "Stranger," — 
 
SONOS OF THE PINES. . 103 
 
 The Spirit said,— "hast thou discovered all, 
 And viewed the entire state and workings of 
 The land which thou dost so admire and love ? ' 
 Follow my steps, and for thyself be judge." 
 Swift through the pictured fields I followed on, 
 Led by my luminous guide ; till on my view - 
 
 Appeared a vast and high built wall of stone. 
 Solid the blocks of granite lay, unpierced 
 By aught of window that might light within. ^ 
 
 But in the centre did appear a breach. 
 Yet little wider than a door it seem'd. 
 Where the high walls abruptly- stopp'd, as though 
 The builders, weary grown, had ceased their toil. 
 Within 'twas seamed with deep ravines ; and high 
 Between arose oer towering rugged cliffs > 
 
 So steep that not the foot of man might climb. 
 Along the narrow vales which lay between 
 Were clustered trees of rich and varied forms ; 
 And from their greenness glinted forth the bright 
 And golden hue of luscious fruit. Methought 
 A fragrant odor came, with subtle charm, 
 Bespeaking pleasures ravishingly rare. 
 There too I saw, near to the entrance place, 
 Fair beings from the happy lands around ; 
 . And seem'd they of a heightened beauty, too, 
 If such were possible : — upon their cheeks 
 There glow'd the roseate hue of youthful joy i^ 
 
 And mirth and gladness — happy tones ' ' r 
 
 Were backward borne as on tb ^y roved, ' ■• 
 Plucking the yielding fruit, ana culling gems 
 Of beauty from the bright-hued walks around. 
 Soon faintly came the murmur of their words, 
 As farther on they passed along the paths, 
 That wound about till th.y were lost to view. 
 Then turned I to my spirit guide, who view'd 
 The tempting scene with sadness which seem'd strange. 
 •'Is this the heaven of this happy place ? 
 Do those who walk in the Elysian paths 
 Enter them as a place of rest and peace — 
 
104 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 A fit reward for lives in wisdom spent ?" 
 
 "Be thine own judge, O man, and for thyself 
 
 See if this place be Heaven." Again was I 
 
 Borne onward in his wake, with quickened speed. 
 
 Through the wide fields of air we silent moved, ' 
 
 Above the labyrinthine walks, to where 
 
 The rtter limit of that place appeared. 
 
 There in the walls, and there alone, was seen 
 
 An opening wide and free for all to pass . 
 
 And many paths to it did there converge ; — 
 
 Dark gloomy gorges, from 'mid barren rocks. 
 
 Where no green tender plant did glad the eye ; 
 
 But mightj'^ rocks were poised upon those cliflfs 
 
 Like ready thunderbolts, to crush the soul 
 
 That clambered up their sides in grim despair ! 
 
 And tattered rags waved in the troubled wind. 
 
 From thorny shrubs — in briery tangles deep ; — 
 
 The desperate course of some poor wanderer. 
 
 Upon the splintered rocks that strewed the path 
 
 Were blood marks of sore-pierced and wearv feet 
 
 And gliding reptiles tilled the soul with fear 
 
 That trod those paths in horror, and forlorn ; 
 
 Then thought I, — what a glad relief to those 
 
 Who have, way-worn, at length coaie to this pass, 
 
 When once again they may, 'mid verdant fields, 
 
 Eest wearied limbs and drink of cooling stream. 
 
 I turned to view the pass. O God ! what sight 
 
 Appeared ! Where I had thought to see the same 
 
 Fair land as the entrance stretched, was darkness 
 
 And impenetrably deep an awful gulf ! 
 
 E'en as I gazed, a sickening hori'or ran 
 
 Through all my veins ; and reel'd my brain with fear. 
 
 "And this then is the end, the fearful goal 
 
 To which those seeming pleasant paths converge 1 
 
 The haven which awaits the weary one, 
 
 Longing to pass again from those dread walls, 
 
 And bask in happy freedom once again !" 
 
 "Even so,'" — my guide made answer,— "if they find 
 
 Not the same path by which they entered first ; 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. / 105 
 
 And that is hard, for still a subtle power 
 
 Which reigns within, doth ever wildly urge 
 
 Them to explore its grim tortuous course, 
 
 And many that do once escape, return. 
 
 And linger fascinated by the gate, 
 
 To plunge again into its fatal maze." 
 
 Even as he spoke, appeared from out the gorge 
 
 A being terrible to look upon, 
 
 With tattered raiment and dishevelled locks, 
 
 And features haggard with an agony— 
 
 A wild despair ! Pursued he seem'd to be, 
 
 By some unseen and direful haunting foes ; 
 
 For ever as he sped upon his cruel path 
 
 His blood-shot eyes were backward turned in dread. 
 
 And trembling, gnarled hands convulsive fought 
 
 To rid him of his unseen foes in vain. 
 
 Soon to the end — the dreadful end he came ; 
 
 He saw the pri cipice— the dark abyss ; , 
 
 He paused transfixed — a moment gazed 
 
 With strange far-reaching look down — down below ^ 
 
 A moment only — one convulsive leap — 
 
 He sank, with streaming locks — dilated eyes, 
 
 And darkness swallowed up his ghastly form I 
 
 Motionless I stood — benumbed with awe. 
 
 Gazing upon that final scene of woe. 
 
 Till from the spell of fear my spirit broke, 
 
 And soul-abhorrence of that dreadful place 
 
 Gave to my tongue a freedom not its own : — , 
 
 I turned unto my guide and fiercely asked, 
 
 "Why is this suffered to remain a snai-e — ' 
 
 A living grave, to swallow up the fair, 
 
 The helpless and the strong ; the young, the old ; 
 
 Who wander here in misery untold ? 
 
 Why is yon tempting side alone display' d — 
 
 This hidden till the victims are betray d ? 
 
 Why do those walls, so nearly joined, still stand 
 
 A monument of weakness to the land ? 
 
 Rather block up yon breach with human souls 
 
 And stop the tide that ever through it rolls. 
 
106 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Than that it should, for ever, thus enslave 
 
 Its victims in a thrall worse than the grave ! 
 
 Foul blot of blots ! and curse of deepest dye ! 
 
 From thee, and from thy land, I now must fly ! 
 
 Not all the charms I viewed, entranced at first, 
 
 Can gild the land by thee forever curst I 
 
 Back to mine own hot barren clime I go — 
 
 Though death await in that black cave of woe, 
 
 Still would I dare it rather than to dwell 
 
 Where on the living waits yon tempting hell ! " 
 
 I turned to go ; — My spirit guardian said, 
 
 In tones of sadness, as I onward sped, 
 
 *'l8 there no curse like this in thine own land ?" 
 
 I heeded not, nor did I understand — 
 
 How that dark-flowing tide I stemm'd again 
 
 I know not ; for a fire was in my brain. 
 
 Like a dark, troubled dream all seem'd, when I 
 
 Again stood 'neath the quiet evening sky 
 
 In my own land, with thankful, wondering heart ; 
 
 Till came a thought that would not soon depart ; — 
 
 "Is thine own country free from such a curse — 
 
 Or hath it one, if possible, still worse ?" 
 
 I pondered as I walked, and from this drew 
 
 A moral and a lesson— so may you. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 107 
 
 ,/ ^f 
 
 i 
 
 MY EXPERIENCE. 
 
 A slave was I long to the taskmaster sin, 
 
 And burdens most grievous I bore. 
 While I thought by my labors salvation to win, 
 
 And a home on the evergreen shore. 
 
 No rest could I know, though oft weary and worn ; 
 
 No comfort on earth could I find ; 
 In sorrow and sadness my heart did oft rnourn, 
 
 And a tempest of doubt was my mind. 
 
 Till the night of despair had nigh darkened my soul. 
 And love had withdrawn her pure rays ; 
 
 And the funeral bell was beginning to toll 
 O'er the dead hopes of vanishing days. 
 
 'Twas then in his brightness and beauty I saw 
 
 The Star of Redemption appear ; 
 And the thunderous clouds of Mount Sinai's law 
 
 Grew brighter and silvery clear. 
 
 My burden was lifted by pierced hands, divine ; 
 
 My steps were made very secure ; 
 And a hope was imparted, and still it is mine, ' 
 
 That I to the end should endure. 
 
 The Star of Redemption still lights up my way, 
 And I still his goodness make known ; 
 
 For that he hath led me from darkness to day, 
 ^rom the pathway of sin to his own. 
 
108 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 ,■,-■ r ' ON WINE. : .' : - . , . 
 
 "Fill the goblet again" — said Lord Byron, in mirth, 
 When he deeply had qualFed of the pleasures of earth — 
 •'Let us drown in its depths the dark cares that annoy, 
 'Tis the only true fountain of pleasure and joy !" . 
 
 Was he I'ight? all allow that it oft causeth mirth, — 
 To revels, loud, long and protracted, gives birth ; — 
 In the bright flush of youth it may gladden the soul. 
 But,— is wisdom e'er found in the depths of the bowl ? 
 
 ."V ■ 
 
 Wine can do much, 'tis true. It can rob us of health, 
 It will help the young spendthrift to squander his wealth ; 
 It can wean us from home — to that home can bring pain; — 
 It has oft broken hearts. Can it heal them again ? 
 
 With the clear, ruddy glow which health paints on the 
 
 cheek, 
 And a frame which knows not what it is to be weak, 
 We may dare the false spirit which dwelleth in wine — 
 Will such daring bring credit to your name or mine ? 
 
 When the fire brightly burns and the lights are aglow, 
 When the mind is impatient and time moves too slow, 
 When pleasure's proud minions come forth at her call, — 
 Then wine — rosy wine — may be fairest of all . 
 
 But when o'er the frame comes the cold chill of age, 
 And the soul flutters hard in its woor fleshly cage, 
 When, with laboi-, comes hardly the quick-failing breath 
 Wine may deaden the sense, — Will it cheer us in death ? 
 
 Far better, ere comes the last hour of great need. 
 To rely on a Friend who a friend is indeed ; 
 Trust not in false wine, for the courage to brave 
 The cold shades of death, and the gloom of the grave. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 109 
 
 A. STORY OF THE WAR. 
 
 Twas after the battle of Shiloh, 
 'Way down on the Tennessee ; 
 
 I saw the saddest sight, sir, 
 I ever expect to see. 
 
 We were all of us green young fellows, 
 Not knowing a thing of war, 
 
 Just fresh from our homes up country. 
 Half wond'ring what 'twas for. 
 
 We had some qualms and quailings ; 
 
 There's no denying that ; 
 But we only thought the war then 
 
 A sort of friendly spat. ■' 
 
 There had been some sharp fighting, 
 And many a m;in had died ; 
 
 But we little expected the conflict 
 That soon raged far and wide. 
 
 And when men in tens of thousands 
 
 Are passing to the front, 
 One's apt to think that maybe 
 
 He'll escape the hardest brunt. , 
 
 But 'twasn't that way with us, sir ; 
 
 We lit right down to fight ; 
 And bullets were singing 'round before 
 
 We could load our muskets right. 
 
 'Twas a blamed poor time for cowards ; 
 
 You'll agree with me on that ; 
 And some big calculations 
 
 Soon simmered down quite flat. 
 
 There's only one way in a battle— 
 
 Don't count your life your own- 
 But hold it payable on demand, 
 Like any other loan. 
 
110 SONOS OF THE PINES. 
 
 If yoii once get dodging and watching, 
 
 And thinking every shot 
 May tear you into atoms 
 
 You might as well die on the spot. 
 
 For if you don't sneak, shaking, 
 Away from the ranks to hide, 
 
 You'll have stood as much pure torture 
 As would served you to have died I 
 
 I somehow got into the spirit 
 
 Of the battle right away : 
 Felt no more fear, 'tis true, sir, 
 
 Than if I had been at play. 
 
 We had it hot and heavy 
 All through that Sunday long ; 
 
 For prayer the groan of anguish. 
 And the roar of guns for song. 
 
 That day the rebels beat us, 
 And slowly drove us back, ' 
 
 Till night came down upon us ; 
 And that was the night was black ! 
 
 And rain came down in torrents 
 And drenched us to the skin ; 
 
 Ah ! that was the dreariest plight, sir, 
 That ever I was in ! 
 
 Hard fighting is nothing to brag of ; 
 
 And hungry marching is sad ; 
 But after all that a wet bivouac 
 
 Makes things look ten times as bad. 
 
 And after so much confusion. 
 And horrible sights and sounds. 
 
 One's dreams are apt to be mingled 
 With visions of terrible wounds. 
 
* 
 
 I 
 
 . I, 
 
 SONQS OF THE PINES. Ill 
 
 And groans not to be forgotten 
 Keep wandering through the head, 
 
 That would make your rest unpleasant, 
 Though you slept on a downy bed, 
 
 * ' Next morning, we "up and at them" ; 
 
 'Twa8 always Grant's way when voxt — 
 You might beat hinv liollow one day ; 
 He'd straigliten you up the next. 
 
 We sent the rebels backward, 
 Far faster than they had come ; 
 
 And at 2 p. m. they were sounding , 
 The mournful retreating drum. 
 
 Then we turn'id to the dead and dying — 
 Oh ! heavens, what a sight ! 
 
 While the battle raged we hardly 
 Took time to see them right. 
 
 "< Some places they lay so thickly 
 You could walk a furlong good 
 And step all the time on corpses ; 
 And the grass black-red with blood ! 
 
 We got our orders that evening 
 To bury them — friend and foe ; 
 
 In graves dug wide and deeply 
 Wo buried them row on row. 
 
 Carried them in on stretchers, 
 Like sheaves, till the field was clear ; 
 
 Carried them in by hundreds, 
 And never dropped a tear. 
 
 Till we found a dead lieutenant, 
 (A rebel) shot through the heart;, 
 
 With a smile upon his features, 
 And his eyelids wide apart. 
 
113 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 And somehow we both felt curious 
 (My chum and me were alone) 
 
 And we searched in coat breast-pocket 
 To see if he could be known. 
 
 And what do you think we found there 
 In a thin book, bound wuth calf ? 
 
 Nothing strange, you will be saying, 
 When I say, a photograph . 
 
 Of whom, we might never be certain, 
 For the bullet that laid him dead, 
 
 As it went to his heart, had carried 
 Away the picture's bead. 
 
 'Twas a woman ; — we knew his mother 
 By the dress so plain and grave : 
 
 Who would soon in some distant homestead 
 Weep over her darling, brave. 
 
 I tell you I've seen some sad sights. 
 
 As ever a mortal well can ; * " : 
 
 But I never cried like a child till then, ;. 
 Since I grew to be a man. 
 
 It opened our eyes, that did, sir, 
 
 To the bitter side of war. 
 That sets men to slay their fellows — 
 
 The darlings of homes afar. 
 
 And my chum just felt the same as I, 
 
 And we both did feel afraid 
 To touch that corpse like a common thing 
 
 So a separate grave we made. 
 
 Under a tree, on a grassy bank, 
 
 We buried him, Jim and I, 
 And though the funeral wasn't large. 
 
 There wasn't one dry eye. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 118 
 
 LITTLE RIDE AU. 
 
 When evening shades sink calmly down 
 Upon the Switzer's peaceful glen, 
 
 The setting sun doth seem to crown 
 The mountains with a diadem. 
 
 And fair and lovely is the mount, 
 'Neath which the peasant village lies, 
 
 Where, from each home, as fi-om a fount, 
 The evening smoke-wreaths slowly rise. 
 
 And in a hundred happy homes 
 
 Tho evening table stands arrayed ; ' 
 
 And tacii. as slow the evening gloams. 
 
 In genial die. r joins undismayed. 
 
 While on that mountain's haughty brow 
 
 Some wof ul agent is at work, 
 But, till at morn the cock shall crow, 
 
 Unseen doth in its malice lurk. 
 
 Then gathering all its strength, it rolls 
 Its fierce destruction on the plain — 
 
 The village, with its slumbering souls, 
 Wakes but to sink to sleep again, 
 
 Sleep that on earth no waking knows ; 
 
 The homesteads wreck'd and buried lie, 
 And when the morning breeze fresh blows, 
 
 Few are left there to hear it sigh, 
 
 So, o'er a home within our land, 
 Hath swept an avalanche of woe ; 
 
 The murderer with his blood-red hand 
 Hath laid its cherished loved ones low. 
 
114 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Weep though we may, and mingle tears 
 With 1 hose whose lot is to survive, 
 
 We cannot soothe the grief of years, 
 Give aught whence they may balm derive. 
 
 And he, whose brain devised — whose arm 
 Unparalyzed its purpose wrought, 
 
 Shall he wlio did the grievous harm • 
 By a just vengeance be forgot ? . 
 
 Nay, — let his life, far as it may, 
 The more than fourfold debt atone, 
 
 A warning prove to tJiose who stray 
 From righteous paths to tread their own. 
 
 And if one arm such ravage makes, 
 
 How is it when vast armies go 
 With f^re and sword, when wildly wakes 
 
 Destruction from its bed of woe ? . , 
 
 Though it more glorious be to die 
 By bayonet than by woodman's axe. 
 
 Alike in death the corses lie — 
 Death grants no discount on his tax. 
 
 And as this New Year happy dawn'd 
 
 Upon a family, broken soon, 
 So we hold neither deed nor bond 
 
 For happiness, or lasting boon. 
 
SONGS OF THE PI.\ES. 115 
 
 THE MARKET [NG. 
 '■■''■'. Part I. , V' '■-"■■ 
 
 The morn was breaking, dull and drear, 
 In that cold month which ends the year ; 
 Deep, soft and pure the fresh snow lay 
 In woods and fields and broad highway ; 
 No wind had yet disturbed its rest, 
 Or marred the smoothness of its breast. , 
 Last eve the sleigh bells' merry peals 
 Rang out the knell of lumbering wheels ; 
 To-day o'er all the country wide 
 The runner gracefully shall glide. 
 
 At this time of our northern year :, 
 
 The farmer deems his harvest near : — 
 
 Though through long days of heat and toil v 
 
 He cheerfully hath tilled the soil, .; 
 
 And filled his hungry barns again 
 
 With tons of hay and sheaves of grain ; 
 
 And from the thresher's dust and roar 
 
 Replenished well the granary's store ; 
 
 Yet, dwelling oftentimes afar 
 
 From where the seats of commerce are, 
 
 And busied with autumnal care, 
 
 Or speeding on the shining shai-e, 
 
 His purse neglected shrinks and pines. 
 
 Betraying true consumptive signs. 
 
 So when sharp frosts and snow have made 
 
 For him a road of smoothest grade. 
 
 And when the plow hath been retired 
 
 And all the cattle have been byred ; 
 
 Potatoes in the cellar stored. 
 
 The threshing mill, which long hath roared 
 
 At every neighbor's in succession 
 
 Along the whole of the) concession. 
 
 Hath vanished ; then the time is come, 
 
116 SONOS OF THE PINES. 
 
 He deems his richest harvest home. 
 The sun, late rising, slowly drove 
 The lurking shadows from the grove, 
 Which stretched in sombre silence still 
 Across the brow of Harding's Hill ; 
 And tardily the pale light falls 
 Upon the dusky cottage walls, 
 And thiough the frost-enamelled pane , 
 Seeks a faint entrance to attain. •,. 
 
 Within the cottage all was bright, , ■*,■ 
 
 The lamp had long abridged the night, y ' 
 While briskly round the housewife flew, 
 For there was much that day to do. 
 And plans both deep and dai'k were laid 
 That had a weaker heart dismay'd. 
 To-day will death on stall and coop > 
 Descend witb desolating swcop ! , . 
 
 Now down the stairs the children run, • ' , 
 
 Expectant of what must be done ; 
 
 And ready each to do a share. 
 
 And each was ruddy, bright and fair. 
 
 While Susie set the breakfast table, ': 
 
 And Minnie did what she was able. 
 
 And Johnnie o'er his laces wrought, 
 
 The warm cow-byre the mother sought. 
 
 There four sleek bossies feeding stood : — 
 
 Old Blossom, patient, kind and good ; 
 
 Her, Jessie's father gave when Will 
 
 Brought his young bride to Harding's Hill. 
 
 She was a blossom then indeed. 
 
 Spotless as fair Priscilla's steed, 
 
 And gentle, tractable and kind, 
 
 Above the common herd refined, 
 
 And many a flowing pail she filled, 
 
 But now, alas ! she must be killed. 
 
 Ten summers hot, ten winters cold. 
 
 Have done their work and left her old. 
 
 Jessie would fain have given her free 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 117 
 
 And unrestricted liberty / 
 
 To live as long— well — as she could, 
 And let her milk just as she would ; 
 But Will was colder, and declared 
 For butchers' meat she'd be prepared. 
 So Blossom got a roomy stall 
 And wasn't asked to milk at all, 
 Revelled in turnips thrice a day. 
 And plenty of the sweetest hay ; 
 Not mentioning the provender, 
 Which was a dainty dish to her, 
 Till now she stood with glossy side 
 And ribs that searching liands defied. 
 The other three were from her bred, 
 Rosie, Spider and Clierry Red ; 
 Rosie was Blossom s counterpai't. 
 So kind, who'd doubt she had a heart ? 
 On summer evenings, like her mother. 
 She'd be milked first or give some bother. 
 Spider was not so nice, in fact 
 Her bearing would not soon attract ; 
 And, strange enougli, her heels as well 
 Had often shown she could repel. • 
 This morning Jessie's task was small, 
 To just milk Cherry, that was all. . , 
 
 Soon ready was the breakfast table, 
 And Will was called in from the stable ; 
 With faces clean and tidy hair, 
 From Sue to baby in his chair, 
 They all sit quietly in place. 
 While Will, in reverent tones, says grace. 
 And when the simple meal is o'er, 
 A chapter from the good Book's store 
 Is read, and earnest prayer ascends. 
 While each in suppliance lowly bepds. 
 Then all arise, prepared to blend 
 Love with the hours in toil they spend. 
 
 Now for the day's peculiar care 
 
118 SONGS OF THE PINES, 
 
 The husband and the wife prepare. 
 
 Jessie must see the eggs well packed 
 
 In bran, so that they be not cracked ; 
 
 The butter prints so deftly made > 
 
 In snowy napkined baskets laid 
 
 The turkeys oft indulgent fed 
 
 Must pay the price now with their head. 
 
 Tired fingers there will be 'ere they 
 
 Are ready for the market day. ; '^ ' 
 
 Now coming up the lane appears 
 
 The rural butcher for long years, 
 
 John Ramsay, who ne'er learnt the trade, 
 
 But native shrewdness this outweighed ; 
 
 And he could wield the deadly axe 
 
 So that few victims left their tracks, ,. 
 
 And to a shade the weight could tell 
 
 And handled knife and steel right well, 
 
 And knew who'd fed the heaviest steer, ; 
 
 The fattest hog, for many a year ; 
 
 And now he view'd his latest case 
 
 With grave and calculating face, 
 
 And felt her brisket, ribs and flank. 
 
 And then pronounced her "good" point blank. 
 
 The children, with awe-stricken look, 
 
 Peered out from mournful hiding nook. 
 
 And watched with dread the two prepare 
 
 The rope, the knife, with cruel care. 
 
 But ah, they couldn't stand to sea 
 
 Their poor old favorite's agony ; 
 
 Fast fled they to the barns retreat, 
 
 And while their hearts in terror beat, 
 
 With hands hard pressed upon their ears 
 
 And eyes fast brimming up with tears, • 
 
 Old Blossom calmly met her fat^, 
 
 Nor scented treason till too late. 
 
 Fast plied their knives the murd'rous pair, * 
 
 Soon swung the carcase up in air ; — 
 
80NGS OF THE PINES. 119 
 
 When Jessie from the kitchen door 
 Waved welcome sign, their task was o'er. 
 After the midday meal is past 
 The reign of terror thickens fast ; 
 The block — the guillotine is nigh ; • 
 The Communistic turkeys dij ! 
 No more they'll strut with pompous air 
 Through stubble fields in summer fair, 
 Or in the barnyard strive to drown 
 All argument with noise alone ; 
 A plan which people sometimes find 
 The most congenial to their mind . 
 
 And there were busy fingers soon. 
 That flagg'd not all the afternoon, 
 While featherless the victims grew, 
 Till at the last the task was through. 
 
 The early evening shadows lay 
 
 Across the landscape snowy white. 
 
 And the blue canopy of day 
 Became the starry crown of night, 
 
 And restful hours the days denied 
 
 Came with the blessed eventide. 
 
 Ten years before, Will Wright had brought 
 His young wife to their half -cleared lot. 
 Their home was plain and humble, too, 
 But there was work enough to do, 
 And hope enough in each young heart 
 That bade anxiety depart ; 
 And love that made the prospect dull 
 Look pleasing, yea, and beautiful ! 
 
 So they were not a bit in dread. 
 Though small the house and barn and shed. 
 And few the fields and rough withal. 
 And thick the forest grim and tall. 
 
120 SONGS OF THE PINES, 
 
 And worse than these, a trifling debt, 
 'Twould scarce be felt by some, and yet 
 To them it proved a fearful thing. 
 To check and clog and climb and cling. 
 
 Like all beginners, they had found 
 'Twas toilsome laboring on new ground, 
 And at the best oft poorly paid 
 For all the efforts tliey had made ; 
 Yet slowly larger grew their fields, 
 And gave them larger, sui-er yields ; 
 And there was increase from tlie stall 
 That gave the ])est return of all ; 
 This season things had promised well. 
 Good rates for all they had to sell ; 
 And Will, while others ploughed at home, 
 Preparing for the time to come. 
 Had many a trip n^axle to the town, " 
 Ere prices should come tumbling down. 
 Their little hoard had faster grown 
 Than ever they before had known ; - 
 And now they tliought to gatlier all 
 They could, f lom sources great and small. 
 And roll it up till it would cover 
 The grim old debt forever over. 
 
 The cocks crowed in the cliilly morning, 
 Giving the slothful ample warning, 
 Long, long before the first red ray 
 Bespoke the coming of the day. 
 
 Ah, three o'clock's a woful hour 
 
 To face the west wind blowing sour ! 
 
 Yet even then on distant roads 
 
 Are moving slowly town ward, loads 
 
 Of beef and pork or grain and hay 
 
 To feed the city for a day. 
 
 And Will was up -a day begun 
 Long, long before the tardy sun, 
 
soyas OF the pines. 121 
 
 And Jessie, too, was there to see 
 That all was right — the toast, the tea, 
 The ham and eggs— a bill of fare 
 Most appetizing, though not rare . 
 Soon at the door the loaded sleigh i 
 
 Stood ready quick to glide away, 
 And Jessie's wants \veie well rehearsed, 
 With explanations interspersed : 
 The boots for little tireless feet- 
 She liked to see the children neat — 
 The making of a suit of blue 
 For Johnnie, braid to match it, too ; 
 Then raisins, currants, likewise rice. 
 Tea, fruit and several kinds of spice — 
 Father and mother had sent to say 
 They were coming up on Christmas Day — 
 And then the organ long expected. 
 And long for sorer needs neglected — 
 Minnie could learn so quick to play, 
 'Twas wrong to keep her back a day — 
 And Will resolved that, corae what might, 
 It should come home that very night. 
 Now on the seat, well happ'd with care ^ . 
 Against the frost3^ piercing air, 
 He takes his seat, the ol<l robe ilirows 
 About his knees, and off he goes. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 See now the market — since the dawn 
 Load after load has crowded on, 
 Each road convergent to the town 
 Has borne a heavy tribute down ; 
 Russell has sent a goodly share, 
 But Carleton far outnumbers there ; 
 Though Grenville, Lanark and Dundas 
 Have not let this occasion pass ; 
 
133 SONGS OF THE PINES, 
 
 And distant Renf lew from Arnprior 
 Sends something in to tempt the buyer, 
 While from Laurentian vales has come 
 The thrifty habitant — Bonhomme. 
 
 The scjuares are filled, they overflow- 
 Far up the street extends the row, 
 Sleiglis single, double, old and mean. 
 Some shining new in gold and green ; 
 Horses to every breed allied 
 From fiery "^'-^od' to strong-limbed Clyde ; 
 Wealthy old squires in buffalo coats. 
 With loads of pork or beef or oats ; 
 Housewives prudent and serene 
 With poultry diessed might there be seen, 
 Or bashful youths in suit of grey 
 Trying their first market day. 
 And round in throngs the buyers came — 
 Hotelmen looking out for game — 
 Butchers for beef or lamb or veal — 
 Hide buyers with vehement zeal — 
 Grocers potatoes bought with care, 
 Lest they had felt the frosty air ; 
 Butter and cheese and eggs changed hands. 
 And careful matrons c;itne in bands 
 To be at earliest cost supplied 
 With turkeys for the Christmastide. 
 
 Will found himself among the rest 
 
 A little nervous, 'tis contest ; 
 
 He was not of the kind whose forte 
 
 Is banter, jest or sharp retort ; 
 
 Who deem that as in Jove or war 
 
 All means are fair — or nearly are ; 
 
 To whom to barter and to trade 
 
 Seems just for what the world was made. 
 
 Yet he for this could claim no praise — 
 
 'Twas not his nature all his days ; 
 
 In fact he often wished he could 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 188 
 
 Hold out as hard as others would ; 
 But for the rest no profit huge 
 Could tempt him to a subterfuge, 
 And often, though one word had sped 
 A doubtful bargain, 'twas unsaid ; 
 When others loudly told their tales 
 Of wonderfully clever sales, 
 He held his peace, abashed to know 
 That they should thus outshine him so. 
 
 To-day the rush from far and near 
 Had put the market out of gear. 
 What Will had counted little on r" . 
 
 Were dear, and ere he knew were gone. 
 What he had deemed his chief mainstay 
 Was heaped in piles on every slRigh 
 And when, at nearly noon, he stood 
 Chilled, hungry, by his half-sold load, 
 And thought of Jessie far away, 
 Waiting in hope the long, long day, 
 His heart grew bittsr, and a mood 
 Came o'er him which was far fro»u good. 
 
 He thought of all his years of toil. 
 To wring wealth from the stubborn soil — 
 The warm moist days of spring, when he 
 From movn to eve turned o er the lea — 
 Or in the forest's blackened edge 
 Labored with handspike, axe and wedge : 
 Of summer days in fi Ids or mow, 
 The salt sweat dripping from his brow ; 
 And how he'd slowly hauled his loads 
 To town, o'er wintry, drifting roads. 
 True, be forgot that all this time 
 Hope sang a silvery song sublime, 
 And love's soft glances made the road 
 Seem smooth, and lightened all the load ; 
 Ihat he had never for a day 
 Heard what the tones of sorrow say, 
 
194 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 For every [_day the bread was sure, 
 
 Health to en joy— strength to endure ; ■ 
 
 At night oblivion sweet was given, 
 
 And Ijlessed rest one day in seven. 
 
 And he forgot success abides 
 
 Far, far up rugged mountivin sides. 
 
 Where none but treach'rous pathways lead. 
 
 Where hand must cling and foot must bleed, 
 
 And eye be fixed with changeless glance 
 
 On the cold summits in advance. 
 
 These he forgot— shall we forget 
 
 He had not had his dinner yet? 
 
 That hunger makes one think things far. 
 
 Far darker than they really are ? 
 
 So when Will, having sold his load, ' 
 
 Or rather, as he said, bestow'd. v. 
 
 Had dined in the accustomed place, 
 
 A brighter look was in his face. 
 
 Which still remained when ho had found, 
 
 The mortgage paid, he was aground, 
 
 Or nearly so ; enough there was 
 
 To satisfy kind Santa Glaus ; 
 
 To furnish generous Christmas cheer. 
 
 Or celebrate the glad New Year ; 
 
 But for the organ it was plain 
 
 To think of it was only vain. 
 
 That night the children kept awake 
 Till ten o'clock, for papa's sake. 
 And still he came not ; then they said 
 Their sleepy prayers and went to bed 
 
 Another hour passed slowly by. 
 And then the sleigh bells sounded nigh * 
 Their chiming ceasing at the door 
 Marked that a long day's toil wae o'er ; 
 For Will was there, right glad to feel 
 Shelter from air as keen as steel. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 135 
 
 And Jesaie met him at the door 
 
 With the bright look Hhe always wore. 
 
 Kind hands had spread the tempting fare, 
 
 Kind words made sweetest music there, . 
 
 Such as was never heavenward sent 
 
 By any earthly instrument ! , 
 
 Sad if such harmony were broken 
 
 By words expressed or thoughts unspoken ; 
 
 So Jessie thought, and so no word 
 
 Of murmuring that night was heard ; 
 
 No tone of petulance repaid 
 
 The efforts Will that day had tnade, - 
 
 Though the results had scarcely been 
 
 What both expected to have seen. 
 
 But in her eyes love's true light shone 
 
 And sympathy, as Will went on ' 
 
 To tell, while sitting by tiie fire, 
 
 How things had balked his heart's desire, 
 
 And how his sales that day had been 
 
 Tlie worst that he for years had seen, 
 
 Till Jessie interposed to say 
 
 That they would n'er forget that day, 
 
 "For it has brought one blessing yet, 
 
 Thank God for it — we're out of debt l" 
 
 And thankful were their prayers that night, 
 
 Sweet was their sleep, their dreams were bright, 
 
 And brightly shone the morrow's sun 
 
 Ere in that household it waked one. 
 
188 SONOS OF THE PINES. 
 
 IN CARLETON COUNTY. 
 
 "WHY I VOTED FOR THE SCOTT ACT (AS TOLD BY BENJAMIN BARI- 
 TONE, YEOMAN). 
 
 1885 
 
 Well, John, the whiskey's voted out 
 
 By nigh a thousand strong, 
 And likely lots'll think the \/orld 
 
 Won't stand sucli doings long ; 
 And likely you will think it strange 
 
 That T should turn my coat, 
 ■ And after fighting for the grog, 
 ,:s?: : •:; ' Drop in a Scott Act vote. ^ ' ', u; 
 
 And if you do, I won't complain— ^ 
 
 It does seem mighty queer , "v ; 
 
 That after forty tippling j^ears ' ' 
 
 I should go back on beer. 
 
 I never liked those temperance folks, 
 
 Their pledges or their rules ; 
 And often I have called them all 
 
 A set of jumjied up fools ! 
 I went for doin' as you please, 
 
 The grog did me no harm, 
 And many a cold and stormy day 
 
 I'm sure it kept me warm . 
 And Jim, that oldest chap of mine. 
 
 Could take his glass of beer ; 
 Though when I aaw him at the bar 
 
 I sometimes did feel queer. 
 But surely he can diink, says I, 
 
 Without agoin' too far. 
 And so with some excuse like that, 
 
 I m.maged not to care. 
 
 So when, last June, they came to get 
 Their old petition signed, 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 127 
 
 I puckered up a bit, you bet, 
 
 And let them have my mind. 
 I didn t go behind their backs 
 
 To tell them what I thought, 
 And mind, I coax you, they weren't long 
 
 A-gettin' off the lot ! 
 So alj the fall I toughed it out, 
 
 I didn't want to hear 
 No argument about the curse 
 
 That comes from rum. and beei. f 
 
 Says I, if others wish to drink. 
 And make themselves like swine, 
 
 They've only got themselves to blame, 
 It's no concern of mine. 
 
 And I was mighty thick all fall 
 
 With all the tipplers round ; 
 Though sometimes I began to stare 
 
 To see where I was found ; 
 For from the first the people seemed 
 
 To make a clean divide, 
 And I could see with half an eye 
 
 Mine was tlie scaly side ! 
 I didn't like it much, but still 
 
 Says 1 we must endure, 
 And though my backers ain't the best, 
 
 I'm right, that's certain sure 1 
 
 Well, just the day before the vote, 
 
 Jim took a load of hay 
 To town, 'twas selling well, they said, 
 
 (It's down, I heard, to-day). 
 Thinking near night he should be home, 
 
 I walked down to the gate, 
 A-wondering to myself the while 
 
 What could have kept him late. 
 I hadn't been a minute there 
 
 When Jim came tearing home. 
 
128 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 A-whooping like a proper fiend, 
 
 His horses in a foam. 
 I didn't quite know what was up, 
 
 And hadn't long to think, 
 For they were nearly on to me 
 
 As quick as you could wink ! 
 Although the lines were trailin' loose, 
 
 The horses kne }v the gate ; 
 They tried their best to turn in, but 
 
 They didn't do it straight. 
 They smashed against the gate post like 
 
 A ship against a rock : 
 I thought they were all ruined, John, 
 
 I tell you 'twas a shock ! 
 Jim tuuibled headway in a drift, v 
 
 Wluneby he saved his neck, 
 And though the horsf s came off safe. 
 
 The sleigh was all a wreck. 
 
 Well, anyway, I set to work 
 
 And got things straightened up ; ■ ,; 
 And Jim began to tell me how 
 
 He'd only had a "sup ' — 
 I didn't talk much then, you bet, 
 
 I got him home to bed ; 
 I tell you, John, I felt that mean 
 
 1 couldn't lift my head ! 
 I couldn't blame the boy so much 
 
 For getting on ahead 
 Upon the road that I had tramped, 
 
 Well knowing where it led. 
 
 » 
 
 I did some solid thinking, John, 
 That night, as you may think ; 
 
 'Twas all of twelve o'clock before 
 I slept a single wink. 
 
 I wondered how I could have been 
 So bliad, and selfish, too, 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 129 
 
 For when the whiskey touched my home 
 I soon knew what to do. 
 
 I didn't stand on taxes then, 
 
 Or barley or hotels ; 
 I got a glimpse of what makes some 
 
 Call drinkin' houses "hells." 
 It kind of chill'd me when I thought 
 
 Of how I would have felt 
 If Jim had been killed outright then ; 
 
 It made my old heart melt. 
 
 I tried to picture to myself 
 
 How drunken rascals' wives, } 
 
 Or boys with drinking parents, 
 
 Put in their battered lives. 
 I saw some sides to temperance, \ 
 
 Or intemperance, you will say, 
 That put me in a mood that night 
 
 The opposite of gay . 
 Next morning I was up betimes 
 
 And first to poll my vote. 
 And now I think you ought to know 
 
 What made me turn my coat. 
 
 1889. 
 
 Well, John, the Scott Act 's in the air. 
 
 The day will soon be here 
 When by our ballots we'll decide 
 
 The fate of licensed beer. 
 You ask me how I think I'll vote — 
 
 I tell you plank and plain, 
 I voted for the Act before. 
 
 And mean to now again. 
 
180 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 I've gripped the plough with both my hands, 
 
 I'm looking straight before, 
 A id just as far as in me lies 
 
 111 turn a steady score. 
 
 1 had some reasons at the first ' 
 
 For voting for the Act ; * - 
 
 These reasons still hold good and are 
 
 By several others backed. 
 I didn't like much then to see 
 
 Some neighbors nearly broke 
 By having half their trade wiped out 
 
 With one tremendous stroke ! 
 Their trade was bad, I don't deny, 
 
 But many a bad thing will ' 
 
 Touch in your heart a tender chord 
 
 When you're about to kill. 
 But that is past — the question now 
 
 Seems easier far iadeed — / 
 Shall we, instead of hoeing up, 
 
 Begin and sow fresh seed I 
 
 It's good to sow, and I for one 
 
 Have tramped o'er lots of fields ; 
 But when we scatter seed we should 
 
 Think what the harvest yields . 
 We don't sow mustard or wild peas 
 
 Or "scutch grass" if we know. 
 Though after all our care we still 
 
 Have any amount to hoe. 
 And don't you think that every time 
 
 We open up a bar 
 Some bitter harvests will be reaped — 
 
 You know there always are. 
 
 That bar will always draw some in 
 
 That wouldn't go elsewhere, 
 A'neighbor or a neighbor's son, 
 
 Perhaps your own— don't stare ! 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 181 
 
 The like has happened times enough ; 
 
 The place we don't expect 
 Is very often just the spot : • 
 
 Our happiness gets wrecked. . 
 
 You say they're selling just as much, 
 
 A likely story, too, *. 
 
 And somewhat overdone of late, 
 
 But even if they do — 
 Our hands are clean, our conscience clear. 
 
 The blood of souls, if shed. 
 
 Will never call us to account, 
 
 'Twill be upon their head I 
 
 There's many a change has taken place 
 
 Within the last three years. 
 
 But whiskey when it has the chance 
 About the same appears . 
 
 We won't say if it causes crime. 
 
 Or merely is crime's tool ; 
 But that they both go hand in hand 
 
 Is certainly the rule. 
 
 And as a man may be judged by 
 
 The friends he most admires, • 
 So whiskey's villainous allies 
 
 Of lust and base desires. 
 Of murders and of midnight brawls, 
 
 Should cause each decent man 
 To keep it just as far away 
 
 As ever he well can. 
 And on this line I mean to go, 
 
 I tell you plank and plain, 
 I voted for the Act before, 
 
 I'll do the same again. 
 
189 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 O, SING ME A SONG, SWEET SISTER. 
 
 O, sing me a song, sweet sister, 
 
 A song of the olden time , 
 When hearts were full of music. 
 
 And lips were full of rhyme. 
 And a song shall bear me backward 
 
 To happier times than these. 
 When flowers were in the pastures 
 
 And birds were in the trees ; 
 And the robin's song at morning 
 
 Awoke from happy dreams, ; 
 
 As into the attic window 
 
 Came the sun's first ruddy beams. 
 
 Gone now are the happy songsters, 
 
 And gone from the fields the flowers; 
 And few the trees that sigli for 
 
 The gentle summer showers ; 
 And never a juicy berry 
 
 To color the finger tips, 
 And dust in hillside fountains. 
 
 Where we drank with eager lips. 
 Now never from out the greenwood, 
 
 In the days of blooming spring, 
 Like the roll of distant thunder. 
 
 Comes the throb of the partridge wing. 
 
 Over the world the shadow 
 
 Of Mammon slowly rolls. 
 And a sacreligious humor 
 
 Hath seared uncounted souls ; 
 Nothing too pure and holy. 
 
 Nothing too fair and sweet. 
 To earn the scornful gibing 
 
 That comes from the jester's seat I 
 
SONOS OF THE PINES. 188 
 
 Then sing me a song, sweet sister, 
 A song of the olden time, 
 
 When hearts were full of music, 
 And lips were full of rhyme. 
 
 O, how can I sing, my brother, ; ; 
 
 A song, if such be true ? 
 'T would fill my heart with anguish 
 
 If time dealt so with you. 
 For I know the world grows better 
 
 As the years roll swiftly by ; A. 
 
 And the time of happy promise 
 
 Is surely drawing nigh. 
 Though the wild birds' notes be scarcer, 
 
 Yet the song of Peace, Goodwill, 
 On other tongues than angels'. 
 
 Doth a wider measure fill. 
 And wider o'er the regions .; ' 
 
 Of sin and cloudy night : , 
 
 Is shed the wondrous radiance 
 
 Of the one eternal Light. 
 And fewer hearts are smitten 
 
 With cruel want and pain. 
 And the cry of the weak oppressed 
 
 Is seldom heard in vain . 
 And, O, my brother, remember 
 
 It is ourselves that make 
 The world seem growing darker, 
 
 If we live for our own sake ; 
 But if like One, our Master, 
 
 We wash each other's feet. 
 The path will still grow brighter. 
 
 And the days will be more sweet. 
 
184 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 TOBOGGANING. 
 
 Oh, love, do you remember 
 That night in cold December, 
 
 When down the chute, 
 
 In transport mute. 
 Our swift toboggan glided I 
 As we the steps ascended 
 My doubts were far from ended ; 
 ( To love or not — 
 
 Tormenting thought — 
 O, pray, be not offended. 
 
 The guests had all departed. 
 With joyous song, light-hearted, 
 
 Save one lone friend, 
 
 Whom heaven defend. 
 Who our toboggan started . 
 Then downward, lightly speeding, 
 All thoughts of care unheeding, 
 
 Into the night 
 
 We sank from sight, 
 Like comet swift receding. 
 
 Some fault in gravitation 
 O'ercame our calculation. 
 
 dire upset I 
 
 You can't forget ; 
 
 Our swift disembarkation ! 
 
 *Twas then tny doubt all ended, 
 My soul with thine was blended. 
 
 Ah, doubly blest 
 
 Was love confessed 
 As we once more ascended ! 
 
 All in that wintry weather 
 We climbed the hill together ; 
 
 1 can avow 
 That until now 
 
 We've ceased our journey never ! 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 188 
 
 . PUGI-LIST-IC. 
 
 Seen some fightin' ? yes, you bet — 
 Some I'd just as lief forget ! 
 Seen what's called by men o' sense 
 Noble art o' self-defence. 
 Sullivan I've seen, and Jake : 
 Made some money on that stake ; 
 Talked enough 'bout fights to fill 
 The stomach of a paper mill ! 
 
 Train you ? give you points ? Not quite ! 
 You're born to better things than fight. 
 No doubt, my boy, you're squarely built ; 
 Some school-boy blood, perhaps, you've spilt ; 
 And with six months of training might 
 Be tough enough to lose a fight. 
 I tell you what, it's not all talk ; 
 You've got to learn to stand a knock, 
 A stunner — make you reel, and feel 
 As if you'd met a horse's heel ; 
 And see more stars and curious sights 
 Than in a couple o' months of nights I ' 
 
 You needn't laugh, my boy, it's true — ;■ 
 Outside the ropes and inside, too, 
 I've been, and know it like a book ; 
 Moreover, something in your look, 
 Half reckless like, and half refined, 
 Brings up another to my mind, — 
 Tom Collins, just about your size, 
 Same complexion, same black eyes. 
 Good scholar, too — great friend of mine — 
 Temperate— never tasted wine. 
 And smart he was, as a steel trap. 
 But rather a hot-tempered chap. 
 Got the pugilistic craz. ' — 
 Punched the bag for days and days, 
 
 \ 
 
186 SONOS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Got to think the world a thing 
 
 Where people stood and watched the ring. 
 
 Had some bouts— did fairly well, 
 
 Felt himself begin to swell. 
 
 He liked me and I liked him ; 
 
 TYuth told, he was a lively limb. 
 
 Backed him, I did, to a finish 
 
 With the mid-weight, Mick McGinnis. 
 
 Fight came off— a big crowd there, 
 
 Lots of money in the air ; ;, 
 
 Tom was favorite, three to two, 
 
 Looked a champion through and through. 
 
 Fought like tigers— Tom was there 
 
 Till the sixth round, fair and square, ' 
 
 Then he weakened by degrees 
 
 Till he dwibled at the knees ; " 
 
 Can't tell how it happened quite — ^^ 
 
 Sudden as a flash of light 
 
 Mick had 'reached him— Tom went down 
 
 'Mid the yells of half the town. 
 
 Stiff and rigid, all a-quiver, 
 
 With a look that made me shiver. 
 
 Never whispered, never stirred, 
 
 Time was called, Tom nevt r heard ; 
 
 Home we bore him, cold and dying. 
 
 Left him on the sofa lying. 
 
 Widow'd mother's darling he — 
 
 Sisters sweet as you could see. 
 
 Knew 'twas ghastly mean to go 
 
 And leave them that way, don't you know, 
 
 But I couldn't stand to see 
 
 The way these women looked at me ! 
 
 He died next daj"^ ; the hue and cry 
 Was raised and I was forced to fly. 
 Mick got hard labor for a year, 
 After a spell of sickening fear. 
 We were all as bad as he. 
 Not a difference I could see. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 187 
 
 That did me— the manly art 
 
 Had stilled for once a brave boy's heart, 
 
 And left three women nearly wild 
 
 With grief and shame unreconciled. 
 
 So call me coward if you will, 
 
 Or any name will fill the bill ; 
 
 I've learnt the truth I once thought weak— 
 
 The bravest turn the other cheek ; 
 
 And best defence for old and young 
 
 Is just a civil, truthful tongue. 
 
 ADVICE (?) ' 
 
 Never, never say "I'm sorry;"' 
 'Tis a phrase you should detest, ■ ' 
 
 For if you've been acting truly 
 You should know all's for the best, 
 
 And if you've been acting meanly. 
 It were best to stop and say, 
 
 "From the very present moment 
 I will walk the higher way.*' 
 
 If you never grieve the spirit, 
 Ever near, of truth and love, 
 
 Then all things will touch you lightly 
 As a lady's silken glove. 
 
 Thus the world will miss your mourning 
 
 And I doubt if it will care. 
 For of people that are "sorry" 
 
 It has always some to spare I 
 
18S SONGS OF THE PINES, 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 Once I loved him ; he a friend 
 
 In need had been to me : 
 Before him of t my secret foes 
 
 Ingloriously did flee . ' ' ' 
 
 But praised and pampered to his hurt 
 
 How soon he changed became ! 
 Quenched — utterly by selfishness 
 
 Was Duty's dying flame. 
 
 .,1 
 And soon amid the sensual tide ■ 
 
 All honesty was lost ; "^ ■ , 
 He lived to feed his appetite, ' 
 
 He cared not at what cost. '' ■[ 
 
 The widow and the orphans' crumbs, 
 
 The rich man's lordly hall, 
 Alike to him were goodly spoil ; 
 
 He plundered one and all. 
 
 To eat and drink and spend in sloth 
 
 The fruitful hours of day ; 
 To gpeed in revels fierce the night, 
 
 .At last became his way. 
 
 Patiehfee which long with me had plead 
 
 At length confused retired, 
 And to a dreadful recompense 
 
 My soul at last was fired . 
 
 One morning as the dawn did break, 
 
 Fresh from his guilty joys, 
 I met him — knew my time had come 
 
 Justice to counterpoise. 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. is9 
 
 What murderer ever lacked a tool 
 
 Made ready to his hand ? 
 Before a knobbed and iron bar 
 
 Brief time had he to stand. 
 
 I would have dared the dawn of day, 
 The press, the public eye ; 
 
 Well knowing that the deed I did 
 They each would justify. 
 
 But he, alas, had but one friend, 
 
 A little maiden fair, 
 Of tender heart and hazel eyes, 
 
 And long and yellow hair. 
 
 She loved him and forgave each fault, 
 I knew 'twould grieve her sore, 
 
 So far away ere dawn did break 
 His corpse I quickly bore. 
 
 Upon a lone hillside I found 
 A cairn both high and wide ; 
 
 1 hid him while the waning moon 
 Blanched at the felicide I 
 
 Tho oftt oamt bauk 1' I m 
 
 an dfiDtj ill aluiiLl), lliimi i yy ^Jia y^y' 
 Mnwt h i bunial utlf i^ 
 
140 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 DRIVING. . 
 
 Alone, alone, my love and I, 
 
 Far, far from man's abode ; 
 Alonp, alone, my love and I, 
 
 Behind our good steed rode. ' 
 
 The snow was white, the snow was cold : 
 
 Was ever different snow ? 
 My love was fair, my love was kind, 
 
 Was ever like her ? No 1 
 
 We talked of themes both grave and gay, 
 
 As lovers mostly will ; 
 And whether they were grave or gay « ^ 
 
 Her words were music still . 
 
 And ever from the west did blow 
 
 The wind that bearetb cold, 
 And ever in the west did glow 
 
 The dim, grey sun of old. 
 
 And I bethought me, "Though my love 
 
 Doth bear a heart so warm, 
 Perchance the little hand is cold 
 
 That rests beside my arm . " 
 
 I asked her, and she suddenly 
 
 Dropped off her gauntlet sleek, 
 And glancing gaily up at me, 
 
 Her warm hand pressed my cheek . 
 
 Her warm hand pressed my cheek, and then 
 
 She, blushing, let it fall. 
 For right ahead appeared a man, 
 
 Most grim and grey and tall. 
 
 He gazed at us — we glanced at him ; 
 
 Although our steed was fleet, 
 I doubt not that he'll know us both 
 
 The next time that we meet ! 
 
 'v-'4'S'- 
 
 
SONGS OF THE PINES. 141 
 
 UNDER THE LIMES. 
 
 Glide on, sweet hours of summertide ! 
 
 Glide on while dims the western sky, 
 And from tiie silent river' s side 
 
 The sounds of ti-affic faint and die ; 
 While from the distant tower there swings 
 
 The sluggish note of vesper chimes ; 
 Each passing moment nearer brings 
 
 Glad greeting 'mid the broad-leaved limes. 
 
 There 'mid her halls, so wide and fair, 
 
 I see young Isabel — Ah, me, 
 She surely hath more than her shar^ 
 
 Of youth's bewitching gaiety I 
 The youngest of the family ring 
 
 And pertest pirate of the times, 
 Each at her glance contributing 
 
 A benison beneath the limes. 
 
 I see her lily fingers strike 
 
 The tense piano's ivory keys, 
 Now deep, percussive, thunder-like. 
 
 Now soft as hum of summer bees, 
 She flings the reckless notes abroad, 
 
 As poet prodigal of rhymes. 
 While we, entranced, forget to laud 
 
 The fair musician of the limes. 
 
 And now beside her Arthur stands ; 
 
 A noble youth, I ween, is he, 
 Who hath a pair of helpful hands, 
 
 An honest face as one could see ; 
 Life's mystery ne'er hath lined his brow, 
 
 Nor sorer problem of the times, 
 Content that for the present now 
 
 'Tis pleasant 'mid the broad-leaved limes. 
 
142 
 
 SONGS OF THE PINES. 
 
 Thrice blessed hours of guileless youth, 
 
 Thrice happy Arthur in thy dreams ; 
 I would my heart like thine in truth 
 
 Could slake its thirst at such sweet streams I 
 But see 1 far up the southern sky 
 
 The crystal-faced full moon climbs, 
 I must away — Good-bye— Good-bye ! 
 
 God bless the home amid the limes ! 
 
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