IRLF 
 
 fid/6 
 
GIFT OF 
 Class of 1887 
 
SONGS 
 OF 
 THE 
 WEST 
 
 By 
 MARION E. MOODIE 
 
 Toronto : 
 William Briggs 
 
 1004 
 
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year or>' 
 thousand nine hundred and four, by MARION E. MOOPIK at the Departmei 
 of Agriculture. 
 
 G-.fi 
 
 7 
 
>H Song of tbe West 
 
 ! wind that comes out of the West, 
 The land of the sunset skies, 
 Where far o'er yon mountain's crest 
 Those glorious colors rise, 
 
 You bring me the fragrance of pine, 
 The coolness of mountain snow, 
 
 The music of falling streams, 
 By the hill where the lilies grow. 
 
 Oh ! wind that comes out of the West, 
 You sigh on your way to the plain, 
 
 "The mountain land is best, 
 Will you not come back again ? ' ' 
 
 Glow skies, with your golden light ; 
 
 Blow softly, dear wind from the hill ; 
 For my heart has a longing to-night 
 
 That only the West can fill. 
 
(Tall of tbe dUoo&s 
 
 f HERE'S a murmuring in the trees, 
 And a sighing of the breeze, 
 There's a calling from the robins on the hill ; 
 And it fills my heart with pain 
 And a longing that is vain 
 To be up and out awand'ring at my will. 
 
 There are wild flowers everywhere 
 
 Shedding fragrance on the air, 
 The butterflies are hurrying to and fro. 
 
 The squirrels and the bees 
 
 Are as busy as you please, 
 Up there among the hills where 1 would go. 
 
 For it's there that one can rest, 
 
 Lying close to Nature's breast, 
 And the breeze's lullaby is low and sweet ; 
 
 So 1 turn my longing eyes 
 
 Where the stately mountains rise, 
 And the wooded hills are nestling at their feet. 
 
Western winds that softly blow 
 From dear lands far away, 
 O'er mountains white with spotless snow, 
 O'er prairies where the wild flowers grow 
 And rippling waters play, 
 
 Bring us the sound of rushing streams, 
 
 The scent of blossoms gay ; 
 Mem Vies to mingle with our dreams, 
 Of mountains bright with rosy gleams 
 
 That cheer the dying day. 
 
 For though we wander far, to thee 
 
 Our hearts turn back alway, 
 Dear Western land, and thou shalt be 
 Recalled by tender memory 
 
 Wherever we may stray. 
 
Monfcerlanfc 
 
 1 HAVE been in Wonderland. 
 T Wist you where it lies ? 
 Where the arching branches meet 
 Under Autumn skies. 
 
 All its ways are roofed with gold, 
 
 Set with jewels green, 
 Carpeted in wondrous guise, 
 
 Fit for any queen. 
 
 Wreathed branches make the walls. 
 
 Draped in colors gay, 
 And the purple aster stars 
 
 Shine the live-long day. 
 
 Snow-berries all waxy white, 
 
 Bell-wort berries red, 
 Make the beads the fairies tell 
 
 Ere they go to bed. 
 
 Mossy cushions for their rest, 
 
 Hush of charmed air, 
 Oh ! the world of Wonderland 
 
 Is most passing fair ! 
 
IS it from these the fairies drink 
 
 These painted cups of scarlet hue, 
 As nightly on the hills they lift 
 Their blossoms filled with dew ? 
 
 And do the dewdrops turn to wine 
 When gathered in a cup so fair, 
 
 Sweetened with honey which the sun 
 
 Through the long day has garnered there ? 
 
 Then let us also stoop and take 
 Refreshment for our weary day, 
 
 Deep draughts of cheerfulness and grace 
 To speed us on the upward way. 
 
 Our hill is often rough and steep, 
 
 And thorns are sharp from day to day, 
 
 But when we reach the top 1 think 
 
 We'll find a richer cup to drink, 
 Beside a thornless way. 
 
ia Creeper 
 
 r&i RANGE and russet, crimson and green, 
 Draping the waO in this wonderf ul way ; 
 
 Glimpses of old grey stone between, 
 
 Sprays of such coloring never were seen 
 
 In the garden's wealth of a summer's day, 
 
 Richest of browns and palest of gold, 
 
 Flames of the after-glow's wonderful red ; 
 The tale of the summer's sweet glory is told. 
 But these five- parted leaves all their richness unfold 
 
 In a grand after-glow of the days that have fled. 
 
 
 Hutumn 
 
 ! the green and the gold of the Autumn woods, 
 The haze o'er the Autumn sky, 
 The carpet of leaves on the soft brown earth, 
 And the warm wind's trembling sigh, 
 
 They are full of the glory of vanished days, 
 
 Of the peace of the ripened year, 
 Of the mystery deep of their coming sleep, 
 
 When the Winter snows appear. 
 
tbe flDountains 
 
 f HERE'S a wild little canyon in the mountains far away, 
 Where the foaming waters tumble o'er their rock-strewn 
 
 course to-day. 
 
 From spray" wet ferns about their feet the cliffs rise grim and grey, 
 And the hare- bells on the hillsides with the breezes are at play. 
 
 There are squirrel-haunted pathways in the mountains far away, 
 Where the pines are waving gently in the scented air to-day, 
 Where the little sweet-belled Linnaea and bird's-foot orchis grow, 
 And the butterflies are flitting round some mossy nooks I know. 
 
 There's a lovely, lonely lake in the mountains far away, 
 Whose breast the water -crowfoot decks in dainty white array, 
 Where the wild -duck leads her nestlings in the dawning of the day, 
 And the everlasting hills look down like guardians grim and grey. 
 
 Oh ! to wander once again in the mountains far away, 
 To watch the foaming water and the squirrels at their play, 
 To paddle o'er that lonely lake at the closing of the day, 
 When golden halos crown the peaks from the sun's departing ray. 
 
jtTHERE does luck come from, who can tell ? 
 
 ^*J Does it fall from the sky, is it found in the deep ? 
 
 Nay, climb for it, dig for it, never so well, 
 
 You will find no trace on the mountain's steep, 
 You will gain no hint from the depths below 
 
 Of where the treasure is lying hid. 
 You may weary of toil, and hope may go. 
 
 Luck will not come to you when you bid, 
 Yet climb again and with patient aim, 
 
 Open your heart to life s joys and cares, 
 You may wake some morn to a gleam of fame, 
 
 Luck will have found you unawares. 
 
 a ^SeIMrft lilies 
 
 that I could show you where the Selkirk lilies grow, 
 By a winding stream whose fountain-head lies in the mountain 
 
 snow, 
 
 Where spruce and pine, so dark and tall, and slender poplar trees 
 Are whispering sweetest secrets to every passing breeze. 
 
 Beyond us still the mountains in solemn grandeur rise, 
 But here what wealth of living gold would greet your wond f ring eyes ! 
 The gold that Nature's hand has made, and scattered all around, 
 Making these hills and valleys a very treasure-ground. 
 
 How thick among the glossy leaves the slender stems uprcar 
 Their crowns of gold above them as the dainty flowers appear ! 
 The sweetest perfume ever breathed they keep for those who know 
 And seek them in their woodland haunts, dear "Lilies of the Snow." 
 
AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO 5O CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $I.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 MAR 11 1937 
 
 MAY 2 
 
 LB 21-100m-8,'34 
 
bl - 
 
 Gaylorj 
 
 StocW 
 
 PAT. \ THIS BOOK IS DUE BEFORE CLOSING TIME 
 ON LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 SE 
 
 REC'D LD 
 
 MAY 2 '64.-3PW 
 
 LD 62 A 
 
 General Library