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LIBRARY 
 
 UHiVlWITY Of 
 CAUFOtNlA J 
 
LAYS, LYRICS 
 
 AND 
 
 LEGENDS 
 
 BY 
 
 W. A. SHERWOOD 
 
 FIRST EDITION 
 
 
 TORONTO: 
 
 THE HUNTER-ROSE CO., LIMITED 
 
 1914 
 
Copyright, Canada, 1914 
 
 BY 
 
 W. A. Sherwood 
 
I^'l 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Having for many years contributed verse to the 
 Canadian magazines and general press, and, as 
 well, written much that was never published, I 
 deemed it best to issue a volume containing as 
 many as were suitable to that purpose. The risk 
 of losing either the scrap album collection made 
 from time to time, and the manuscript collection, 
 prompted me to permanently preserve them by 
 publishing the present volume. 
 
 W. A. S. 
 
 500 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Invocation for Dominion Day 1 
 
 The Twenty-fourth of May 2 
 
 Christmas Chimes 3 
 
 Evening in Montana 4 
 
 Autumn 5 
 
 Father of Nations 6 
 
 Ye That Go to War at Even 7 
 
 An Evening Idyl 9 
 
 An Evening Reverie , . . . 10 
 
 The New Year's Eve of Long Ago 12 
 
 The Martyrdom of the Jesuit Fathers 13 
 
 The Dainty Little MiUiner 17 
 
 To G. S. C 18 
 
 A May Morning Dream 19 
 
 Making Maple Sugar Long Ago 20 
 
 As the Glance of Envy Ever 21 
 
 On the Occasion of the Birth of the Crown 
 
 Prince of Russia 22 
 
 Haste Not 23 
 
 "Go to the Desolate Homes of the City" .... 24 
 
 Rest, Laureate, Rest! 25 
 
 How Often When Dangers 26 
 
 The Dead Statesman— Sir John A. Mac- 
 
 donald 27 
 
 Robert Browning 28 
 
 Alexander Mackenzie 29 
 
 On Viewing the Ruins of the University 30 
 
 An Eastern Idyl 31 
 
 The Petals of the Rose 32 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Beauty is an Opening Flower 33 
 
 To-day Bethlehem's Babe Was Born 34 
 
 For Silence Ever Golden Seems 35 
 
 Our Century's Wreath 36 
 
 I-sa-Cream 37 
 
 An Invocation 39 
 
 The Soldier's Last Souvenir 40 
 
 Troubadour 41 
 
 Death of Dr. Ramsay 42 
 
 They Tell Me You're Old, Uncle Tom 43 
 
 The Honey Bee 44 
 
 The Nest of the Golden Finch 44 
 
 To Rudyard Kipling 45 
 
 In the Caledon Hills 47 
 
 To Alfred Austin 48 
 
 Summer 49 
 
 I Hear the Great Voice of the Throng 50 
 
 For the Tombs of Our Heroes 52 
 
 On the Veldt 53 
 
 The Four Leaf Clover 54 
 
 Kitty Moran of Bundoran 55 
 
 The Ballad of Colonel Crocker 56 
 
 Dominion Day 61 
 
 Portugal 62 
 
 The Power of the Gods 64 
 
 The Invasion of Morocco 65 
 
 I Will Write for Your Sake, Dear, a Sonnet. . 66 
 
 Marhamah, Veiled 67 
 
 God Ordains 68 
 
 Sing On, Sons of Albion, Your Theme is 
 
 Sublime 69 
 
 'Twas Late in December 70 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Death of Lieut. Fitch 71 
 
 To the Snow 72 
 
 Bella Sloan of Portadown 73 
 
 The Death of Schiller 74 
 
 The Marguerite 75 
 
 Lakes of Aluskoka 76 
 
 The Coronation of Their Majesties 77 
 
 Lilies of the Old Romance 78 
 
 To the Architect 79 
 
 To a Little Maiden 80 
 
 The Picnic Season's Over 81 
 
 A Sailor Came Up from the Sea, One Day. ... 83 
 
 The Master Has Gone Forth 86 
 
 To Joaquin Miller 87 
 
 The Eve of the Crucifixion 88 
 
 An Invitation 89 
 
 In Memory of J. H. M 90 
 
 Two Agents to the Village Came 91 
 
 Acrostic 94 
 
 Here Dwelt the Rose 95 
 
 The Checker Club, "The Gennessee" 98 
 
 Harvest Hymn 103 
 
 Awake Men, Awake — It is War, it is War. . . 104 
 
 Omemee River 105 
 
 A Sonnet 106 
 
 Hi! Ho! for the Rink To-night 107 
 
 The Humming Bird 108 
 
 Dark O'er Our Fatherland 109 
 
 The Voice of the Prophet 110 
 
 Yellow, Yellow Butterfly Ill 
 
 If 'tis Thy Will \ 112 
 
 Sailor Jenkins 114 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGK 
 
 How We Called it British 117 
 
 Piper Jock McLean 120 
 
 Well as I Was Sayin', Brady 122 
 
 Emancipation Day 125 
 
 The Italian Fruit Vendor 127 
 
 'Ere's a 'Ealth to 'Enneker 'Eaton 129 
 
 In Erin of Old 130 
 
 The Cowboy Hits the Town 131 
 
 A Tale of Hunker Creek 134 
 
 Tim Dooley's Plighted Faith 138 
 
 The Wedding of Hickory Jim 140 
 
 The Dhrame o' Michael Casey 143 
 
 A Tale o' the Forest o' Windsor 147 
 
 The Liddle Dutch Store 149 
 
Lays, Lyrics and Legends 
 
 INVOCATION FOR DOMINION DAY! 
 
 Let the great bells of the city ring to-day their 
 joyous chimes, 
 Bringing gladness out of sadness, in our land! 
 And o'er town and distant village, as if breaking 
 into rhymes, 
 Shall the steeple make the people understand 
 Why we love our native land. 
 
 Let no note of grating discord break the concord 
 of the throng. 
 But rejoicing o'er, and voicing all that's good, 
 With the noblest purpose only let us sing each 
 sacred song — 
 As before us they that bore us understood 
 That all harmony is good. 
 
 God of Love, Infinite Father! Guide us in the way 
 of light! 
 We are mortal, yet Thy portal's opened wide; 
 May our sovereign and her nation ever seek to do 
 the right. 
 With endeavor striving ever to abide 
 By Thy precepts, pure and wide. 
 1 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE TWENTY-FOURTH OF MAY 
 
 In a little old log school-house, I remember loni:^ 
 ago, 
 How we used to greet with gladness this most 
 glorious morn of May; 
 With a spirit patriotic how our master used to glow 
 When proclaiming well the blessings on our sov- 
 ereign's natal day. 
 
 How upon the green we gathered, joining in the 
 scenes of mirth, 
 Till the forest far around us echoed with the 
 merry din; 
 With a hundred banners streaming, 'twas the finest 
 scene on earth, 
 And we laughed and ran to riot with affection 
 from within. 
 
 Ah! those days have gone forever — and the walls 
 have crumbled down, 
 And a newer, statelier structure smiles upon a 
 fairer scene; 
 All has changed. The little hamlet's widened to 
 a teeming town; 
 All has changed, save patriot ardor for the Em- 
 pire and our Queen. 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 CHRISTMAS CHIMES 
 
 Softly as the mists of even veil the autumn ris- 
 ing moon, 
 Or the vapors of the morning bathe the blossom'd 
 
 boughs of June, 
 Thus so softly peal the bell notes from St. James' 
 
 lofty spire, 
 And the anthem sweetly chiming once was sung 
 
 by Heaven's own choir. 
 E'en ten thousand hearts re-echo, "Let us hail 
 
 that glorious morn 
 Of the golden Christian dawning when the Son of 
 
 Man was born." 
 Poor and rich alike are singing how "Glad tidings 
 
 of great joy" 
 Were of old by angels borne to that little Bethlehem 
 
 Boy! 
 Unto Him within that manger came the greatest 
 
 of the land; 
 How they bow'd in adoration as He raised His 
 
 infant hand. 
 Yea! that infant benediction, ye may hear the 
 
 wide world o'er, 
 As each absent one returneth at the opening of the 
 
 door; 
 And the festive board o'erburden'd with the 
 
 tribute of the soil, 
 Smiles in joyful salutation to the weary sons of toil. 
 Now the hearth in ruddy splendor as of old gives 
 
 welcome cheer 
 
 3 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 To the loving and caressing, and perhaps a silent 
 
 tear; 
 For the world knows many changes in the circling 
 
 of a year, 
 And the vacant chair proclaimeth some loved one 
 
 will not be here. 
 
 EVENING IN MONTANA 
 
 Long doth the shadows seem to all 
 In lands where broad prairies spread, 
 
 lyong is that hour that seems to call 
 Youth's weary footsteps homeward led. 
 
 Montana's mountains fringe the sky: 
 Curtains of velvet trimmed with gold; 
 
 Drapery drawn by hands on high 
 Out of the vastness manifold. 
 
 Nature reclines and sinks to rest, 
 A queen enrobed in gold and blue; 
 
 Last of the sun's rays gild the west. 
 Depths of the infinite veil the sky. 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 Now the golden sheaves are gathered, 
 
 And the yellow bird has flown 
 With the odor of the clover on its wing, 
 
 In the bright and sunny south land 
 
 By its pleasant cots to sing, 
 And to sip the scented draughts from blossom blown. 
 
 Yes the golden sheaves are gathered. 
 
 And the robin bids adieu 
 To the gardener, as he garners in his fruit. 
 
 Sweet they sang their songs together. 
 
 Till from yonder dome of blue 
 Carolled forth its dainty envoi dying mute. 
 
 Aye, the golden sheaves are gathered. 
 
 And o'er their dead leaves mourn 
 The lightsome birch and haughty maple tree; 
 
 Though the lonely stork be weeping, 
 
 By my hearth I'll happy be 
 Till the songsters from the sunny lands return. 
 
 All the golden sheaves are gathered 
 
 And the Autumn days are past. 
 Like a feather falls a snowflake thin and white, 
 
 Shook from Winter's vulture pinion, 
 
 And upon my casement cast, — 
 Yet I'm happy in my gladsome home to-night. 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 FATHER OF NATIONS 
 
 Father of Nations, Thou Guardian of Peace, 
 Bid the wild tumult of bigotry cease — 
 E'en in Thy sight, oh! Father Divine, 
 All of earth's children are equally Thine. 
 
 Britain, haste not, with revenge in thy soul, 
 Reason, so God-like, thy plans should control; 
 For Buddhist and Moslem, Christian or Jew, 
 There's but one measure eternally true. 
 
 Calling aloud in the name of God's Son, 
 The direst of crimes have creed's zealots done; 
 Hushed be the hatred of princeling and priest. 
 Little of Christ's in the Church of the East. 
 
 Britain, thy duty is firmly to stand, 
 Howsoe'er zealots may rave through the land; 
 Looking to Heaven alone for thy light, 
 Guard thou the innocent, battle for right. 
 
 Then, whatsoe'er may come — come ill or well. 
 Sunshine of Heaven or blackness of Hell! 
 Bear thou thine arm now, go forth in thy might, 
 Guard thou the innocent, fight for the right. 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 "YE THAT GO TO WAR AT EVEN, YE SHALL 
 PERISH WITH THE SWORD." 
 
 Unto some the gift is given to discern the course 
 
 of time, 
 And to prophesy with wisdom, in the lighter vein 
 
 of rhyme; 
 Nay to call the course of nations, as if in a vision 
 
 seen — 
 Peace upon the mountain, beauteous, or when war 
 
 doth intervene. 
 
 Strange the world has seldom hearkened to the 
 prophet s warning call ; 
 
 It has laughed as though 'twere nobler death to 
 court in camp and hall. 
 
 Long when time was veiled in darkness of a pre- 
 historic age — 
 
 Then, as now, the rude man triumphed, reason 
 yielded unto age. 
 
 Then, as now, the rude outnumbered men of peace 
 
 and godly grace. 
 Gaining gold the while they slumbered till they 
 
 slept in death's embrace; 
 Till the God of life eternal spake in trumpet tones 
 
 to men. 
 
 As on Sinai and Bethel, speaking now as He did 
 
 then. 
 
 7 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 God, forever and forever, will defend us in the right; 
 If we meekly seek His guidance, we are armtd for 
 
 the fight. 
 Woe the hour we welcome battle, court the cause 
 
 of sinful strife, 
 There is vengeance in the war god, limb for limb 
 
 and life for life. 
 
 Can it be that Celt and Saxon savagely await the 
 
 ' ' time ' ' 
 With a fiendish satisfaction to conclude life's work 
 
 in crime? 
 To conclude the course that time has honored with 
 
 a royal line. 
 Is it meet? Ah, who shall say it, who hath wrought 
 
 this dark design? 
 
 See ye not, as in a vision, far across the Eastern 
 world. 
 
 Mighty armies with their banners all triumphantly 
 unfurled; 
 
 Hear ye not a voice from Heaven, in a clear pro- 
 phetic word, 
 
 ^'Ye that go to war at even, ye shall perish with the 
 sword." 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 AN EVENING IDYL 
 
 Come list with me the vesper bells, 
 
 And while an hour aw^ay, 
 And hear them peal in solemn knells 
 
 The lullaby of day. 
 
 Ah! how those solemn, silvery sounds, 
 
 That melt upon the ear, 
 Seem like a dirge for those whose mounds 
 
 In twilight we see here! 
 
 Ye weird, pale sentinels of Death, 
 
 Upon whose forms I see 
 The fate of those that rest beneath; 
 
 Nay e'en what mine shall be. 
 
 Yet, welcome, hallow'd evening knells — 
 Welcome, sweet hour of rest — 
 
 With thee my weary spirit dwells, 
 And must with thee be blest. 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 AN EVENING REVERIE 
 
 I am sitting by the window looking out upon the 
 
 green, 
 Musing over childhood's dawning and on many a 
 
 happy scene, 
 Whilst I half forget the present in my reverie of joy, 
 And I join in sportive pleasures with the relish of 
 
 a boy. 
 Thus, through half a life I wander — wander in my 
 
 changing dream. 
 Now on May morn gathering flowers all along the 
 
 shady stream; 
 Now in woodlands with the autumn tint upon the 
 
 maple tree. 
 Marching with my bow and arrow — synonyms of 
 
 victory. 
 
 As I draw the curtain closer, deep the evening 
 
 shadows grow, 
 And the rustling of the curtain seems like voices 
 
 soft and low. 
 Softly! 'tis the voice of Lula, hushed, in quiet long 
 
 to rest — 
 How the cherished flame rekindles fondly in my 
 
 aching breast! 
 Coming home from school together, how I felt that 
 
 inward joy. 
 All that bashfulness of wooing, so peculiar to a boy! 
 
 10 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Aye, and when some misdemeanor found me stand- 
 ing on the floor, 
 
 School long out, and Lula, waiting, blushing, stood 
 without the door. 
 
 Lula sleeps where yonder upland spreads beneath 
 the harvest moon; 
 
 Wept I when they laid her lowly on that autumn 
 afternoon. 
 
 Strange, the watchdog's far-off baying echoes dying 
 in my room. 
 
 Floods my presence with cold faces from the haunts 
 of spectral gloom. 
 
 Yonder cloudlet, floating eastward, fraught with 
 gleams of dying day. 
 
 How it seems like morn's reflection in the evening's 
 fading ray! 
 
 So I turn me from the landscape, from the night- 
 air and the gloom. 
 
 To the glowing of the lamp-light and the pictures 
 in my room. 
 
 I remember in my boyhood, once, this thought to 
 me was given: 
 
 Living only for the living is the golden rule of 
 Heaven. 
 
 11 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE NEW YEAR'S EVE OF LONG AGO 
 
 In a round of merry voices, by the cedar's lurid 
 
 glow, 
 In an old Canadian cottage, in the years of long ago, 
 Brightened by the embers gleaming, by the rest- 
 lessness and din. 
 Watched we for the old year's dying, waited we 
 
 the New Year in. 
 Breaking softly o'er our laughter sweetly rang the 
 
 village bell. 
 From the steeple of the chapel came the quaint 
 
 funereal knell. 
 Sounding slowly; slowly sounding o'er the old 
 
 year's dying bier — 
 Then with wild and joyous clamor ringing in the 
 
 glad new year. 
 Ah, how swiftly time has speeded, how the dear 
 
 old friends have gone, 
 With the simple sports and pastimes, and the cedar 
 
 lights that shone 
 O'er the old log walls and rafters of the village 
 
 New Year' dawn! 
 
 12 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 THE MARTYRDOM OF THE JESUIT 
 FATHERS 
 
 The martyrdom of the Jesuits occurred at the 
 Old Fort, near the town of OriUia, about the 16th 
 of March, in the year 1649. The Jesuit Fathers 
 accompanied the Huron Indians and in one of 
 those awful battles with the Iroquois they suffered 
 death. It is perhaps the most thriUing event that 
 transpired during the old French regime in Upper 
 Canada. 
 
 Deeply, darkly, ever westward, winding drifts the 
 
 river Wye, 
 Past yon old dismantled fortress, where the sainted 
 
 fathers lie; 
 Dark reflections limn the shore-land clad with cedar, 
 
 towering pine,^ 
 And the mountain ash and hemlock clasped in 
 
 wreaths of purpling vine; 
 Darker far than thy reflections are the legends ye 
 
 might tell. 
 Guarded by your clump of sumach, golden rod 
 
 and asphodel. 
 Long in dust, the Martyred Fathers sleep these 
 
 centuries gone by. 
 With no monument to mark them, save the silent 
 
 River Wye; 
 
 13 
 
LAYS. LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 And yon wall of stone and cedar overgrown with 
 
 wild shrub'ry, 
 Remnants of the old fort Ignace and the church 
 
 of Ste. Marie. 
 There then died brave Father Brebeuf; there 
 
 the gentle Lallemont fell, 
 There, the waving pines above them, rang out 
 
 Nature's funeral knell! 
 When the Ides of March sang requiem for the 
 
 winter's hoary dead. 
 And a paean for the spring-time, whilst the priest 
 
 his masses said, 
 E'en unto the day appointed, all within told happy 
 
 cheer 
 Till a prostrate speeding Warder cries, "The 
 
 Iroquois are near!" 
 Then, as sweeps a mighty torrent madly down 
 
 the mountain side, 
 Came the Iroquois' fierce threatenings burdened 
 
 with their battle pride. 
 From the little church, with blessings far and wide, 
 
 the Huron sped, 
 Crying to the Virgin Mary, Holy Mother, as they 
 
 fled. 
 Swiftly flew the flinted arrow, through the clear 
 
 and frosty morn; 
 Swiftly swept the battle hatchet, by the furiate 
 
 victors borne. 
 On they come, their wolfish war-whoop echoes 
 
 wildly thro' the wood. 
 
 Not the shout of valiant warriors, but the fiendish 
 
 shriek for blood. 
 
 14 
 
LA YS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Slowly to the church's portals, holding up the 
 
 Host on high, 
 With a martyr's conscious triumph, came the 
 
 Fathers forth to die. 
 
 They who gather in the vineyard may not sip the 
 
 roseate wine; 
 They who greet the early morning may not view 
 
 the day's decline, — 
 Nay the builder of yon mansion may not pace 
 
 within its halls. 
 And the Priest who rears the temple may not bless 
 
 its sacred walls. 
 
 Now the great chief of the redmen doth upon the 
 
 fathers wait, 
 Whilst in strong and thickening circles warriors 
 
 gather round the gate. 
 "Cast to earth thy cross and chalice; cast thy 
 
 book upon the earth!" 
 Cries the chieftain, but they heed not though the 
 
 fiat hath gone forth. 
 
 Hearing not the murd'rous howling, nor menacing 
 
 violence heed, 
 Fervently their souls so sweetly chant the Atha- 
 
 nasian creed: 
 Oft repeated, the Te Deum echoes far within the 
 
 wood, 
 [Mingled with the martyr's praises ever is the 
 
 martyr's blood]. 
 
 15 
 
LAYS. LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Fierce the burning brands are blazing closely on 
 
 the smarting flesh, 
 And the tomahawk still deeper tears the bleeding 
 
 wounds afresh. 
 God of Heaven! is there no mercy? Look, the 
 
 savage thirsty brood 
 With the selfsame hand that, smiting, lifts and sips 
 
 the martyr's blood. 
 
 Ah! they've fallen, and upon them leaps a chief- 
 tain strong and rough. 
 
 But the Norman knows no flinching — as he lived 
 so died Brebeuf; 
 
 On his brow the sacred signet cross of Christ he 
 fondly pressed, 
 
 Calmly in his death's last struggle clasps the book 
 unto his breast. 
 
 Lallemont the gentle, dying, cries behold! the 
 
 Glorious prize. 
 Borne by angels — crowned and sceptered, thro' 
 
 the gates of Paradise. 
 
 Thus they died in western wild-land, far from 
 
 Dagnon's sunny dales, 
 Men from out the Norman vineland, and from 
 
 Calais' pleasant vales; 
 E'en whilst they, unto the redman giving light for 
 
 darkness — shone 
 Like the stars that ever brightly herald in the 
 
 glorious dawn. 
 
 16 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE DAINTY LITTLE MILLINER 
 
 The dainty little milliner has come into the city, 
 Her lips and cheeks so rosy, her eyes so bright and 
 
 pretty; 
 Full of merriment and laughter lingering lightly on 
 
 each word, 
 'Mongst the artificial flowers flitting like an airy 
 
 bird. 
 Ah, the drummer! He so deftly treats her to the 
 
 latest fashion, 
 Tells of Worth and other worthies and an endless 
 
 lot of trash on 
 The newly-imported feathers, but it seems to me 
 
 absurd 
 Thus to sprinkle scent on roses or to plume a 
 
 tropic bird. 
 The dainty little milliner so plump and white her arm, 
 In the presence of such beauty, who could help 
 
 but feel a charm? 
 All those sentimental glances that the Grecians 
 
 loved to trace — 
 One in dealing with such subjects sure must bring 
 
 them face to face. 
 Oft I wished I was a drummer, talking to the pretty 
 
 girls. 
 Showing them how light blue ribbons match their 
 
 flood of golden curls; 
 After all it's well I am not, for to me somehow it 
 
 seems 
 That my poor head would grow weary with those 
 
 millineric dreams, 
 17 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 Some may boast their costly treasures stored upon 
 
 the dusty shelf, — 
 Japanese and Indian relics and rare antiquated 
 
 delf — 
 Such for those who love the antique, as for me I 
 
 love the pretty, 
 The dainty little milliner, who's just come to the 
 
 city. 
 
 TO G. S. C. 
 
 Four goodly kings of Brunswick House 
 Bore well an honoured name. 
 
 My friend, to whom this is addressed, 
 Why, he deserves the same. 
 
 His second name a Forest is 
 Where robbers dwelt of old; 
 
 The line above, you know, not this, 
 Doth well that name unfold. 
 
 Amongst the elder Scottish lines 
 My third is known to fame — 
 
 Was second of our governors. 
 One worthy of the name. 
 
 18 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 A MAY MORNING DREAM 
 
 On a morning last May, whilst Venus was shining, 
 
 O'er the white, airy blossoms her golden light 
 
 streaming; 
 
 A pretty young maid on her couch was reclining, 
 
 And talked to the young God of Love in her 
 
 dreaming : 
 
 "You're naughty. Sir Cupid, to always be keeping 
 Your little ears open to hear all we say; 
 
 Your eyes gently closed, one would think you 
 were sleeping; 
 But, no, sir, you sleep not by night nor by day. 
 
 "You have sweet coral lips, and your cheek's like 
 a peach; 
 Oh, dear! I could kiss you, but, then, we all 
 know 
 That dare we approach you — just come within 
 reach — 
 You'd fire a sharp dart from your cute little bow. 
 
 " But won't you forgive me. Sir Cupid, for asking — 
 I know you have told it time over again; 
 
 Your dear little brain I don't like to be tasking, 
 But, say, in which town dwell the nicest young 
 men?" 
 
 Now, just at this juncture, whilst poor Cupid 
 quizzing. 
 Her sweet face all glowing with love's warmest 
 beam; 
 She thought of her hair — did it really need frizzing? 
 And woke with a smile from her beautiful dream. 
 19 
 
LA YS, L YRWS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 MAKING MAPLE SUGAR LONG AGO 
 
 In the balmy, breezy springtime, 
 When the brooks break forth with joy, 
 
 See the maple sap is boiling in the pot; 
 
 Whilst the purple smoke's ascending 
 
 From the cedar and the lime, 
 
 Do you think I had forgot? 
 The dear scenes that made life happy when a boy. 
 
 Thro' the wood the sap was flowing, 
 
 And the troughs were everywhere; 
 Draughts of rich Canadian nector filled our pail 
 
 From the dawn of April morning, 
 
 We unto the bush returning, 
 
 To keep the pot from burning, 
 And to see the cakes of sugar without fail. 
 
 Far above the crows were cawing! 
 
 And the little chipmunks gnawing 
 At the crusts of hardtack tossed upon the snow; 
 
 All the world was gay with brightness, 
 
 My heart was filled with lightness, 
 
 When chopping logs or sawing, 
 Just to make the maple sugar, long ago. 
 
 20 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 'AS THE GLANCE OF ENVY EVER 
 
 As the glance of envy ever 
 
 Glares upon the wedding gown, 
 
 vSo the sweet-lit face of childhood 
 Doth reflect a covert frown. 
 
 Never lovely bride or bridegroom 
 
 Stood before the altar rail, 
 That some evil, crouching creature 
 
 Did not seek to clutch the veil. 
 
 How the hard glint of the goodly. 
 Glares into the face of God; 
 
 How the hoary-bearded sinner, 
 Doth the path of evil trod. 
 
 Nay, the finest fabric woven. 
 
 Hath somewhere a weakened thread; 
 
 And the strongest mortal living, 
 Bears some imprint of the dead. 
 
 All proclaims that man is mortal. 
 That all forms of earth is dust; 
 
 Evil unto evil goeth, 
 
 And the just unto the just. 
 
 21 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OF THE BIRTH OF 
 THE CROWN PRINCE OF RUwSSIA 
 
 The birth of the Crown Prince of Russia occurred 
 at the time of the Russo-Japanese war, when 
 strained relations existed between Russia and 
 many of the nations of Europe. 
 
 Now amid the boom of arms 
 And the darkness of alarms, 
 Comes a little trooper tripping 
 
 To the palace of the Czar. 
 He's the darling of his father. 
 And a goodly mother, rather! 
 The baby prince of Russia 
 And a scion of Victoria, 
 
 Whatsoe'er may hap in war. 
 
 There are times when blood seems thicker, 
 E'en tho' shots fall fast and thicker 
 Than the lava of Vesuvius 
 
 O'er Italian plains afar; 
 War like love is often blind — - 
 Reason, rise and rule mankind, 
 'Til we wish all future blessings, 
 To the baby prince of Russia, 
 
 To the palace of the Czar! 
 
 22 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 HASTE NOT 
 
 Haste not, my friend, the noblest names 
 That lend their lustre to Fame's scroll, 
 
 Ring ever out this sacred truth; 
 
 Great thought, the product of the soul, 
 
 Comes not with haste; Fame ever rears 
 
 Her structure grand, thro' laboring years. 
 
 Haste not, my friend, for what is gained 
 By years of toil, has honored worth. 
 
 Too many smart men, evil-trained. 
 Vaunt their ill-gainings on this earth. 
 
 The good alone are great, my friend. 
 
 And greatness liveth to the end. 
 
 Haste not, my friend, 'tis better far 
 
 By thought to reach, by high endeavor, 
 
 Untimely fruit so soon decays. 
 The ripened liveth on, forever. 
 
 For though, at times, its germs seem slain. 
 
 It springs to grander life again. 
 
 Haste not, my friend, the tuned lyre 
 Grows sweeter by the touch of time, 
 
 And, swept by hoary minstrel sire. 
 
 Spurs on our thoughts to deeds sublime 
 
 Make right the maxim of thy life; 
 
 To restless babblers leave the strife. 
 
 23 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 "GO TO THE DESOLATE HOMES OF THE 
 CITY" 
 
 Go to the desolate homes of the city, 
 
 Lady of fortune, oh, lady so fair! 
 Then if thine heart feels the raptures of pity, 
 
 Spread thou the garland of charity there! 
 
 Why in the velvety pews of your churches 
 
 Waste your bright noon in the vague dream of 
 prayer? 
 
 Go to the homes of the sick and distracted, 
 Spreading the mantle of charity there! 
 
 Haste to thy watch, lest the light should be dark* 
 ened. 
 
 Genius may sink on the couch of despair; 
 Rush to the rescue; sighs cannot save him! 
 
 What, if he perish, availeth your prayer? 
 
 24 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 REST, LAUREATE, REST! 
 
 Rest, Laureate, rest! Thy work is done! 
 Rest, Laureate, rest! Thy nation weeps- 
 Rest, Laureate, rest! The lion keeps 
 
 Eternal watch about the throne! 
 
 That which God wills is surely best; 
 Rest, Laureate, rest! 
 
 Thank God another English son 
 The nobler race of life has run, 
 The throne of fame through faith has won 
 Our Alfred Tennyson ! 
 
 To him the gilded epaulets, 
 The brazen, flashing coronets 
 Of sycophants in social sets, 
 
 No theme of art could raise. 
 He loved his sovereign for her sake, 
 His lyre a loftier note did wake ; 
 He sang as though his soul would break 
 
 In patriotic praise. 
 
 The nation and the nation's Queen 
 Together one have ever been 
 In faith, in love, in hope serene, 
 
 Thus sang he unto them. 
 Forever honored be the race, 
 Whose test of power is virtue's mace 
 And manliness a regal grace. 
 
 Beneath the Diadem! 
 
 25 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Rest, Laureate, rest! Thy work is done! 
 
 Rest, Laureate, rest! Thy nation weeps. 
 
 Rest, Laureate, rest! The lion keeps 
 Eternal watch around the throne. 
 That which God wills is surely best; 
 Rest, Laureate, rest! 
 
 HOW OFTEN WHEN DANGERS 
 
 How often when danger o'er darkens our way; 
 And the storm-clouded heaven lowers sullen and 
 
 gray. 
 Unconscious we smile as if all will be well; 
 And we welcome the morrow our gloom to dispel. 
 
 Ye angels of heaven perchance in your flight 
 With the missions of mercy on pinions of light 
 May pause as ye pass till your splendor of grace 
 For a moment illumines a care-ridden face. 
 
 Even life's lamp low lain in ashes of sin, 
 Long unsought or neglected now lit from within 
 vShines forth from the mantel its soft glowing light 
 Encircled by halos enhallows our night. 
 
 26 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE DEAD STATESMAN— vSIR JOHN A. 
 MACDONALD 
 
 No voice is heard within the vSenate walls; 
 The crape- wrapped mace records a nation's gloom; 
 The pale young page, half-startled, quits the room; 
 Thinks still he hears and lingers on his calls. 
 The hallowed stillness muffled murmurings bear 
 On this June Sabbath morn, albeit our prayer: 
 "Thy will be done" ascends from every heart; 
 It is our own sad rite; no creed-couched part 
 We play, since sorrow's cup a fuller draught denies; 
 God! how a nation weeps when her loved patriot 
 dies. 
 
 Deep rests the gloom o'er many a distant home, 
 Where'er Canadians venture forth to dwell; 
 For all he loved and all have loved him well; 
 Such grateful tribute wreaths our patriot's tomb, 
 As Athens gave to every worthy sire. 
 Far fades Athenian power, funeral pyre, 
 Alone proclaim the glories they have wrought, 
 (The broken fragment from their temple brought;) 
 Whilst we, through him we mourn, see earth's first 
 
 nation's dawn — 
 The Greater Britain built on lines that he has 
 
 drawn. 
 
 27 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Macdonald, thee we mourn, first architect 
 And builder of our throne; yet more than all 
 We mourn the one we loved: How at thy call 
 Our young hearts beat in unison, direct 
 In sympathy with thy heart's impulse warm. 
 E'en they who ventured word or deed of harm, 
 Stand mute; nay, even now whisper surcease; 
 With grander requiem grant thy soul sweet peace; 
 Nor hath Victoria's crown or Greater Britain's wand 
 A rarer gem than ours, gift of our honoured land. 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 No more thro' marble aisles, where genius wrought 
 vSublime and solemn master forms of thought, 
 Wendeth thy wandering footstep, nor shall time 
 Silence the echoing thro' the vaulted dome. 
 Whither thy willing spirit bade thee come. 
 Singing, to silvery songs, Angelo's themes. 
 Weaving in glory's robe thy golden dreams 
 Of thy Venetian home — the poet's clime, 
 And clime of birds and sunny skies sublime. 
 England and Venice well may learn of thee 
 How near may mortal reach divinity. 
 
 28 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 ALEXANDER MACKENZIE 
 
 Not in the flush of unripe early youth, 
 The golden blossom-time of manly powers, 
 But in the silvery shadow-less'ning hours 
 Of waning autumn-tide, the honored seer 
 Laid down his weary, burdened head to rest. 
 Long since the quarry felt the chisel stroke, 
 Long since the mallet ringing nobly woke 
 Thro' caverns ancient, granite words of truth; 
 Whilst echoes exiled oft are heard as clear 
 As when they wakened nobly at his task 
 The splendid note of life, "Sincerity," 
 Constant in duty, fearless in the right, 
 Mackenzie, manlike, spurned vile Mammon's mask, 
 The crown of petty demigods, whose light 
 Fades in the fulsome fitness of their night. 
 Vain, not of social place; nay, 'twas for thee, 
 Great Commoner, the end of all things best 
 To serve; the State subservient unto none 
 Save to the Master Christ, thy guide alone. 
 
 29 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 ON VIEWING THE RUINS OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY, FEBRUARY, 1889 
 
 Cold, crumbling earthward fall thy carnell'd walls, 
 Whilst February winds wail o'er each aisle 
 And ashy corridor, thou lonely pile, 
 
 Deserted and abased. Proud classic halls, 
 Festooned in death's gray draperies; silent 
 
 The footfall of the anxious youth. The sage, 
 To whom each little nook bequeathed content. 
 Beholds thy ruin now and doth lament; 
 
 And thus commingling weepeth youth and age. 
 
 Soon, soon shall rise from out thy ashy mould 
 A statelier structure, yet of form like thine. 
 Thou turret-terraced temple, erst divine. 
 
 Soon, too, shall honored sage rich truths unfold 
 From wisdom's golden texts. And soon the light 
 
 From Science' lamp shall yield its cheery glow. 
 E'en mirth again shall greet the festive night 
 And forth from out thy halls shall men of might 
 
 Empow^ered for life's high call to duty go. 
 
 30 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 AN EASTERN IDYL 
 
 I came to the temple, 
 
 I bow'd me there lowly, 
 
 At eve to the temple, 
 
 In soft twilight glow. 
 
 I prayed to Jehovah; 
 
 "Wilt thou make me holy, 
 
 Thy love would I feel, 
 
 Of thy wisdom I'd know!" 
 
 Whilst thus I was praying. 
 
 No idle thoughts straying, 
 
 An echo I heard like the voice of a dove; 
 
 Far above p.nd alone, 
 
 Through the arches of stone. 
 
 On the arches of stone 
 
 It dwelt and it died. 
 
 '"Tis an angel, I know, 
 
 'Tis an angel," I cried. 
 
 "Some spirit hath come 
 
 On a mission of love." 
 The clear silvery gleaming of moonlight came 
 
 streaming, 
 Through the tall carven portal that stretched far 
 
 above ; 
 And as it fell o'er me I rose and before me 
 A maiden so fair scarce trembling stood there. 
 Her veiled face shone in light that was golden, not 
 bright, 
 
 Purest pearl of great price! 
 
 31 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Was there ever like this, 
 
 Such symmetry rare 
 
 In the temple of bliss! 
 And I cried, "Who art thou? O woman divine," 
 And the voice of the echo responded, "I'm thine." 
 
 THE PETAIvvS OF THE ROSE 
 
 Soft, luscious, seems the petals of the rose. 
 
 When toyed by gentle lady finger tips, 
 
 And pressed by dainty touch. One might suppose 
 
 The law of love's afidnity's in lips, 
 
 Divinely formed, silk string-like cupid bows. 
 
 Since sucHlike laws doth surely here exist. 
 
 Between the lip and rose I must insist, 
 
 There ever was and is affinity. 
 
 Affinity is but another name 
 
 For passion of the breast ; Divinity 
 
 Hath so designed the lip that love and fame 
 
 May rear an altar there whereon the flame 
 
 Of passion pure may glow. Each mortal knows 
 
 That love's pure flame is fed by petals of the rose. 
 
 32 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 BEAUTY IS AN OPENING FLOWER 
 
 Beauty is an opening flower, 
 Petals bathed in crystal dew, 
 With the fragrance breathing through, 
 
 From the dawn to even's hour. 
 
 Beauty is a placid lake, 
 
 Mirror of all forms above; 
 
 Of the morn-kiss thirst of love, 
 And of evening's after wake. 
 
 Beauty is a lily white 
 
 Pendant on a reeded stem, 
 
 With a golden diadem, 
 And a leaf of verdant light. 
 
 Beauty is a dome of blue, 
 
 Sprinkled with the golden spheres; 
 
 Beauty's depths are felt in tears. 
 And 'tis never old or new. 
 
 Beauty knows no rank or place, 
 Since that God is everywhere; 
 So the poorest soul can share 
 
 In the riches of His grace. 
 
 All on earth are equal born. 
 All alike have pains and cares, 
 Sin for all sets countless snares, 
 
 And in death all power is shorn. 
 
 33 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 Beauty is not born of earth, 
 If by that we vantage mean; 
 Beauty is a radiant Queen, 
 
 With humility of birth. 
 
 Queen or dome, or lake or flowers, 
 All that dwells on spheres of love, 
 All below and all above, 
 
 God hath given to us and ours. 
 
 TO-DAY BETHLEHEM'S BABE WAS BORN 
 
 High o'er the sculptured arch the anthem pealing — 
 Form tuned organ and harmonious voice. 
 
 Sweet symphonies the hallow'd day revealing, 
 Bade all mankind as Christians to rejoice. 
 
 Far o'er the earth the glad refrain is stealing — 
 O'er every isle the echo floats along — 
 
 The balm of Love and herald of Joy healing 
 
 Full many a wounded heart. The soulful song 
 Bids all mankind make Bethlehem's Babe your 
 choice. 
 
 34 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 FOR SILENCE EVER GOLDEN SEEMS 
 
 If 'mongst the roses you would seek 
 To find a tender, modest bloom, 
 Into the garden prithee come 
 
 And look and look, nor deign to speak. 
 
 For silence ever golden seems, 
 
 And perfume is more sweet than words; 
 
 Yea, sweeter than the song of birds. 
 That wakes us from our morning dreams. 
 
 The golden beauty of the light 
 
 That heralds in the radiant morn. 
 Is swxeter when the blossomed thorn 
 
 Breathes forth its fragrance on the night. 
 
 'Twas thus I w^hispered in the ear 
 Of one whose lips were roseate red, 
 I scarce recall the words I said 
 
 To her who bent her head to hear. 
 
 And when I felt her hand in mine, 
 Press lightly on my finger tips, 
 I said, "Ye gods, behold her lips," 
 
 But felt that silence was divine. 
 
 Then this I murmured sweetly low, 
 Were rose buds but a maiden's cheek, 
 That only glances dared to seek. 
 
 The chiselled line. If it were so? 
 
 35 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 I hesitated as I spoke, 
 
 So foolish are the ways of men, 
 Sweet moments past, come not again, 
 
 And lovers' silence is a joke. 
 
 OUR CENTURY'S WREATH 
 
 There's a wreath for the brow of each century 
 wound 
 
 With the richest and fairest of flowers, 
 But ne'er has the brow of a century been crowned 
 
 With a wreath that is fairer than ours. 
 
 Knwoven with blossom and maiden-hair fern, 
 That to beauty and honor belong — 
 
 Ah sweetest of flowers the mind may discern, 
 'Tis the voice of the bard in his song. 
 
 For the perfume we breathe from the shrub'ry of 
 song 
 
 Is the fragrance of Eden's green bowers — 
 Whilst honor and duty to virtue belong; 
 
 How heavenly fair are these flowers! 
 Holmes, Browning and Bryant for violets we choose, 
 
 By lavender Longfellow's known — 
 Kind Hugo, true Tennyson, lily and rose, 
 
 Such a wreath forms our century's crown. 
 
 36 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 I-SA-CREAM 
 
 Oft I hear the poets singing — 
 
 Of the vernal showers they sing, 
 With a clear elucidation 
 
 Of the certain signs of spring, 
 The old jokes on gentle dew-drop, 
 
 Robin, blossom, turtle dove; 
 Bards of waning winter do stop 
 
 Whining, cease, and sing of love. 
 I of late discovered tokens 
 
 Not in yonder gurgling stream, 
 But a thick-set, plump Italian 
 
 Singing, "I-sa-cream!" 
 
 Yes, I know it's very pleasant. 
 
 At the misty dawn of day; 
 And when you, alone, are present, 
 
 Thus to list the robin's lay! 
 How your hopes on the ascendant, 
 
 With the warbler take a wing; 
 Floating in the azure prospect, 
 
 Of the certain signs of spring. 
 There's a sign I've now^ discovered, 
 
 Not the poet's airy dream; 
 But the dark-eyed, plump Italian, 
 
 Singing, "I-sa-cream!" 
 
 37 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 With the prospect of a maiden, 
 
 StrolHng lightly by your side; 
 With love's lore her heart o'erladen, 
 
 And sweet fancies for a bride. 
 How we lightly tune the sonnets, 
 
 Which perforce are ours to sing, 
 Whilst we view the cunning bonnets, 
 
 Those sweet harbingers of spring. 
 But I turn from sonnet singing, 
 
 And from love's ethereal theme. 
 To the thick-set, plump Italian, 
 
 Singing, "I-sa-cream!" 
 
 Signs of spring, adieu forever! 
 
 Such the poets long will sing; 
 Are your lyres still tuned to never 
 
 Catch more certain signs of spring? 
 Will you list to one in earnest. 
 
 Searching closely by the way? 
 Dost thou know that he who learnest 
 
 Truths, must search from day to day? 
 There's a classic ring about it! 
 
 Hark the Roman Eagles scream! 
 Cesar's Legions and the Tiber! 
 
 Hail the " I-sa-cream ! " 
 
 38 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 AN INVOCATION 
 
 Written on the occasion of the Peace Confer- 
 ence at Quebec. 
 
 Father of Nations, eternally just, 
 Guide in our councils — great is our trust; 
 'Neath the twined banners what tokens we see — 
 Hope of a unity bondless and free. 
 
 Strong as the "Rock" ye behold even now, 
 Seemeth that friendship, seal'd with love's vow; 
 Strong as the steel of the heroes who died 
 On the green sward where your councils abide. 
 
 'Til the last star from Thy banner shall fall, 
 'Til the red cross from our standard shall pall, 
 May the dear ties of affection and love, 
 ^'Now and forever," in unison prove. 
 
 39 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S LAST "SOUVENIR" 
 
 An incident in the Rebellion in the United States 
 in the Battle ol the Wilderness. 
 
 We are marching, brother, marching thro' life's 
 
 heavy open gate. 
 Thro' the dark eternal portal to the battlements of 
 
 Fate; 
 Oft I hear a lov'd voice calling, or an old familiar 
 
 tread, 
 Wake from out the dusky casement of the chambers 
 
 of the dead. 
 
 We are nearer, brother, nearer to the armory of 
 
 life, 
 Where we'll lay the lance and sword blade, broken 
 
 in the deadly strife; 
 Where we'll "ground" our "arms," brother, as 
 
 our Captain used to say, 
 When the clear note of the bugle call'd the closing 
 
 of the day. 
 
 We are nearer, brother, nearer to our deadly foe 
 
 to-night; 
 All around us comrades falling, stricken in the 
 
 ghastly fight; 
 I ve but one lone treasure, brother, and it rests 
 
 against my heart, 
 'Tis the semblance of my mother, strangely kept 
 
 by "mystic art." 
 
 40 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 It is dearer, brother, dearer far than all on earth 
 
 could be; 
 I remember well the even' when she gave it unto me! 
 "Take it, brother, keep it sacred," last best words 
 
 of all he said. 
 Then he went to join his comrades in the army of 
 
 the dead. 
 
 TROUBADOUR 
 
 A Troubadour sang in the olden days, 
 
 Within a castle's gate; 
 He sang to the lords and the ladies fair, 
 
 And all of high estate: 
 Oh, saw ye not my lady fair, 
 
 The fairest in the land? 
 A glory shone o'er her flowing hair 
 
 Like the waves on the sunlit sand, 
 Like the sunlit waves on the crystal sand. 
 
 Oh, saw ye not m^y lady fair. 
 Like crystal sunlit waves her hair, 
 
 vShone with a glory everywhere 
 In the wide, wide land. 
 
 41 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 DEATH OF DR. RAMSAY 
 
 Lines on the Death of Dr. D. Ramsay, one of 
 the highest in Masonic honors of America. 
 
 "Past high twelve," the gavel sounding; 
 
 "Called from labor unto rest;" 
 Dim, ah dim the lights are burning 
 
 In the South and East and West. 
 
 Lo! there goeth one low bending! 
 
 Guide! do thou upon him wait. 
 Hush! the sainted brethren singing! 
 
 Stand to greet him at the gate; 
 
 Stand to meet him; holy greeting; — 
 
 Kneeling at the alter now; 
 Hear the benediction falling, 
 
 See the starlight on his brow! 
 
 Beautiful that soft light shining — 
 
 'Tis the star of Charity- 
 Threefold in its splendour, joining 
 
 Friendship, Love and Purity! 
 
 42 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THEY TELL ME YOU'RE OLD, UNCLE TOM 
 
 They tell me you're old, Uncle Tom, — 
 I heed not a word that they say; 
 
 You seem just the same to me now, 
 As I've known you many a day. 
 
 You tell me the same stories still. 
 Of the settler's troubles and cares! 
 
 Though I feel not a shadow of fear 
 At your legends of Indians and bears. 
 
 The tear falls not on my cheek, when 
 You tell how the wolf round your home 
 
 Would howl all the dreary long night 
 And flee when the daylight would come. 
 
 Oft I think of the old elm log, 
 
 Where at eve in summer we sat — 
 
 In dreams you are still by my side, 
 Your cane and your tawny brown hat. 
 
 You're old as the hills, Uncle Tom, 
 Take my hand, I'll tell you a truth; 
 
 By the pure simple life you've lived. 
 
 You've kept much the vim of your youth. 
 
 The old church has all gone to wreck; 
 
 Where lowly I've knelt by your side; 
 E'en the young have out-grown me quite, 
 And the old ones that worshipped have 
 died. 
 
 43 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE HONEY BEE 
 
 As the bee doth every hour 
 
 In its round of duty go, 
 Lightly sipping from each flower, 
 
 E'er the dew to earth doth flow. 
 Ever with the changing day, 
 
 Noon and morn and early night, 
 Comes the little lord to lay, 
 
 Undisputed, claims of right. 
 Right or wrong, defiant power, 
 
 Royally assumes full sway, 
 Youth and age, his wand doth know. 
 
 THE NEST OF THE GOLDEN FINCH 
 
 A wild little golden finch builded her nest, 
 vSo neatly and snug in a choke cherry tree, 
 
 "This spot is the safest," she said, "and the best, 
 When the cherries are ripe my brood will be free." 
 
 The boys came not near it nor frightened a finch, 
 Nor guessed what was in the nest; Oh what a 
 cinch ! 
 
 44 
 
LAYS. LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 TO RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 Written on the occasion of the visit of Rudyard 
 Kipling to Toronto, October, 1907. 
 
 Open wide the gates of welcome. 
 
 Let the trumpet blasts be blown, 
 That the bard of wide dominions 
 
 Ma}^ be greeted by his own. 
 Give him honor all that's worthy, 
 
 Wreathe the laurel for his brow; 
 On this Indian summer morning, 
 
 Give him welcome, welcome now. 
 
 Thus whilst writing this short stanza, 
 
 Came an old mxan to my door. 
 Bent with cares and years of toiling, 
 
 One I had not known before; 
 Reading from a morning paper, 
 
 Kipling's views on local themes, 
 Made the aged seer look weary. 
 
 Quite disturbed his sacred dreams. 
 
 x\nd he ran a line of comment 
 
 Which I cannot quite recall; 
 Not irrelevant, yet wandering. 
 
 As he wandered thro' my hall. 
 Saith he: Are the sons of Britain 
 
 So unworthy and unjust; 
 Shall the home and hearth and country 
 
 Be made vassals of a trust? 
 45 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Public ownership you know is 
 
 Quite a vital question here, 
 Whilst we jest on minor matters, 
 
 We on this are so sincere. 
 If you've met the other bunch, sir, 
 
 Don't play oracle for them; 
 Hath the crown not many jewels? 
 
 Truth should be your diadem. 
 
 And behold our lovely daughter, 
 
 Sweeter than a budding rose; 
 She, I know, will draw you nearer, 
 
 Than our "Lady of the Snows." 
 In this weather aureolan 
 
 Let me whisper in your ear. 
 In this Indian summer season 
 
 'Tis so lovely to be here. 
 
 May God grant you when you leave us, 
 
 Power to hold the hearts of men. 
 With the old-time grip that made you 
 
 Master of the flaming pen. 
 Every word a holy beacon 
 
 Gleaming o'er the hills of time. 
 Pointing onward, ever upward. 
 
 Thru' the jasper gates of rhyme. 
 
 Do not voice a down-town section; 
 
 There is something greater far — 
 Merit glory of the nation. 
 
 Sing of peace and love and war; 
 
 46 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AMD LEGENDS 
 
 Leave unto the thin voice weaklings, 
 
 Doctrines of expediency; 
 Don the "Mantle of Isaiah, 
 
 It is more becoming thee." 
 
 Then the old man murmured lowly, 
 
 As his eyes with tears grew wet, 
 And he sang this strain of music, 
 
 Tremulent, "Lest wx forget." 
 "Lord, God of Hosts, be with us yet,' 
 
 Benediction unto all, 
 Gave the aged seer, departing, 
 
 And to Kipling, in my hall. 
 
 IN THE CALHDOX HILLS 
 
 In the Caledon Hills where the rivers run free, 
 
 Rushing on to the valleys below. 
 Every stream has its course how delightful to see, 
 
 None dares w^here the other doth flow. 
 Even mortals, though wise, here a lesson could 
 learn 
 
 Commingling with nature I know. 
 Unmindful of teachers, how sweet to discern 
 
 Rich lessons of truth in the valleys and hills 
 Reading thus as you run to the song of the rills, 
 
 Your pathway seems golden as onward you go. 
 
 47 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 TO ALFRED AUSTIN 
 
 Poet Laureate 
 
 Tune well thy lyre, sweet laureate of our land, 
 
 Sing from thine heart 'till by thy sweeping hand 
 
 Vibrating chords shall send the echoes far, 
 
 In dove-like voice or thunderings of war. 
 
 Sing from thy soul! Most glorious are thy themes! 
 
 Sing of the smithy forge, the vivid glow 
 
 Of molten metal, blood-red, that doth flow 
 
 From out the nation's heart in ceaseless streams; 
 
 Sing of the anvil, sing of swinging sledge, 
 
 Sing of the joiner, sing of mallet and of wedge. 
 
 Long have I heard thy voice, have seen thy hand, 
 Holding aloft the standard o'er the land; 
 Through summer sun and winter bleak and cold, 
 I've seen on high afar that silken fold. 
 When foes delitescent descried thou there, 
 Thou then the demagogue assailed and hurled — 
 And wrung respect of Britain from the world. 
 The laurel wreath which now thy brow doth wear, 
 Hath it not crowned the Druid bards of old, 
 Who to the nation's praise attuned their chords of 
 gold? 
 
 Too long hath vapid verse, scholastic cold. 
 Damped the warm heart of youth till vice untold 
 Doth loll about in classic symmetry — 
 And marble whiteness, hue of leprosy. 
 
 48 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 What though the censor deems thy verse impure 
 
 Thy themes are pure, and splendid is thy power. 
 
 Beloved Laureate, to life's latest hour. 
 
 May God still grant thee that which doth endure; 
 
 The power to sing aright thy nation's lays, 
 
 Of heroes battle-tried, of girlhood's happy days. 
 
 SUMMER 
 
 From the clover in the meadow, 
 Lightly comes the honey bee; 
 On it's wing it bears the perfume, 
 Rarest perfume. Ah, I see! 
 
 Every mortal learns to know it, 
 Never doth the honey comb. 
 Claim a rarer, sweeter nectar. 
 Even in a monarch's home. 
 
 Lithsome summer time of honey. 
 Orchards, meadows, all above. 
 Vie with nature in her splendor, 
 Ever teaching: life is love. 
 
 49 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 I HEAR THE GREAT VOICE OF THE 
 THRONG 
 
 I hear the great voice of the throng break forth, 
 The voice of mighty nations, they who stand 
 Upon the utmost verge of ocean's deep. 
 I hear the tumult and I see the white 
 Robed messengers of peace; the harbingers 
 Of Christ's eternal kingdom; singing peace, 
 And bringing forth from lands of deluged hate 
 The olive branch. I hear the anvil ring; 
 I hear the blacksmith in the smithy sing, 
 Of "Annie Laurie," Scotia's sweetest song, 
 I hear it loud in Pittsburg's smithy throng 
 And on the winding lock-linked Alleghany, 
 Where troops of barges bear the iron ore, 
 Not that the battle blade of tempered steel 
 Be wrought, nor prison chains, nor implements 
 To serve the zeal of Inquisitions black; 
 But that the ploughshare, fashioned for the field, 
 Shall golden trophies to both nations yield. 
 
 On English meadows where the primrose blooms 
 I hear the plaintive Ethiopian songs, 
 "Suwanee River" and "Old Kentucky Home." 
 And where, on oceans wide, ten thousa<nd masts 
 Do prop the broad cerulean dome of Heaven — 
 Where pinioned shines the cross of Great St. George, 
 And star of fair Columbia gleaming forth; 
 I hear at dawn of day and noon and night 
 The songs two nations sing with one delight, 
 
 50 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 One fervency — "God Save Our Gracious Queen," 
 The "Starry Spankled Banner" waves between, 
 Whilst, " Home, Sweet Home" is one to each I ween. 
 
 Forbid, oh God, that discord e'er should rise 
 
 To mar the harmony or blight the mirth 
 
 Of hearts united by one sacred cause. 
 
 The cause of truth and right, freedom and peace — 
 
 The voice of poets bidding each rejoice. 
 
 In songs, the echoes of celestial lyres — 
 
 Shall jarring discord mar those anthems pure? 
 
 It shall not be. The tears which damp the cheek 
 
 Are words of love we feel but cannot speak — 
 
 But once again, as from a fond embrace, 
 
 We go to fight the battles of our race, 
 
 And thus united take our Anglo-Saxon place. 
 
 51 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 FOR THE TOMBS OF OUR HEROES 
 
 For the tomb of our heroes a garland we'll bind, 
 With the boughs of the maple and cedar entwined; 
 With palest of lilies and roses in bloom 
 We'll twine a fair wreath for our young heroes' tomb. 
 
 How dear to our hearts are the valiant v/ho died 
 In the morn of their manhood, the dawn of theirpride ; 
 They answered the trumpets' loud, clamoring call — 
 We sing of their triumph, we mourn o'er their fall. 
 
 No more at the muster, brave comrades, they'll stand, 
 Though wild the alarum rings far through the land. 
 They silently sleep, but we know that the grave 
 Doth resound with th' triumphant deeds of the brave. 
 
 The swords in it scabbard we'll hang in the hall 
 With trappings and trophies of war on the wall. 
 That we, in the dark hour of danger, may know 
 The warrior who bore them died facing the foe. 
 
 Oh, bard of my country! attuned by thy lyre, 
 To sing of the brave, thus enkindling a fire 
 In the bosoms of youth, 'til they honor the place 
 That gave birth to the brave and the good of our race. 
 
 And thus for our heroes a garland we'll bind. 
 With the boughs of the maple and cedar entwined; 
 With palest of lilies and roses in bloom, 
 We'll 'twine a fair wreath for our young heroes tomb. 
 
 52 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 ON THE VELDT 
 
 'Low o'er the northern hills the evening star is 
 sinking, 
 
 The night winds whisper low^ 
 O'er fen and waterfall, and o'er a face unshrinking 
 
 That fell before a foe. 
 
 Dear names, loved comrades o'er the death-strewn 
 fields are calling, 
 Long dw^ell upon the ear; 
 With pained and nerveless clutch from weary hand 
 is falling 
 The shattered sword and spear. 
 
 Night's dewy veil mantles his w^hitened brow, 
 whereon 
 
 It doth a mirror seem; 
 The radiant glories of the vSouthern Cross, thereon 
 
 In placid beauty gleam. 
 
 O'er veldt and kopje; W'hat loved ones, watch are 
 keeping 
 For those wdio'll ne'er return? 
 There's comfort in this thought, that those for 
 whom we're weeping 
 Doth not a Nation mourn? 
 
 Beloved England, tho' thy sons be slain defending 
 
 Freedom's eternal laws. 
 Thrice at thy call "To Arms" a countless host 
 attending 
 
 Proclaim how just thy cause. 
 
 53 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE FOUR-LEAF CLOVER 
 
 [Written wJicn a boy oji finding a four-lea fed clover.] 
 
 I found a four-leafed clover down in a shady nook, 
 The tiny little trembling leaf from its bosom friends 
 
 I took; 
 Oh, what shall I do with the Httle leaf, tell me, tell 
 
 me, I pray. 
 Oh, what shall I do with the leaflet I found in the 
 
 nook to-day? 
 
 I thought I heard it whisper and it soemed to be so 
 
 gay, 
 Tossing its little lovely head the happiest in the 
 
 play; 
 But I took it away from the ones it loved, tell me, 
 
 tell me, I pray. 
 What shall I do with the leaflet I found in the nook 
 
 to-day? 
 
 The unwary foot will never tread thy tiny tremb- 
 ling form. 
 
 Thou art sheltered now from the biting blast, from 
 winter's withering storm; 
 
 Dear little leaf, why art thou sad, tell me, tell me, 
 I pray? 
 
 Thou'st taken me far from the ones I love in my 
 little home to-day. 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 KITTY MORAN OF BUNDORAN 
 
 In dear old County Down, there is many a pretty 
 
 town 
 Where the fun goes a rollin' and a roarin', 
 
 But the fairest of them all 
 
 By permission I might call, 
 It's the pretty little town of Bundoran. 
 
 Like dear old County Down, it's not dying with 
 
 renown, 
 And it isn't anxious either to be scorin', 
 
 But my darling Kitty's name — 
 
 Kitty Moran is the same — 
 She's the favorite in the town of Bundoran. 
 
 My darling Kitty's smile lights the town for many 
 
 a mile. 
 The streets of the town of Bundoran 
 
 And sure it's me alone 
 
 Can claim her hand my own 
 When I kiss the fair brow of Kitty Moran. 
 
 But the years long have fled and the dear old folks 
 
 are dead, 
 Whilst the grave yard has gathered many a score in; 
 
 Sure a little carven stone 
 
 That stands there all alone 
 Marks the place where Kitty sleeps in Bundoran. 
 
 55 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 "THE BALLAD OF COLONEL CROCKER" 
 
 Now I hold of all the seasons in the rounding of 
 the year, 
 
 There is none so like the springtime with its bloom- 
 ing chirp and cheer, 
 
 When the rhubarb and the lettuce doth adorn the 
 market stall, 
 
 And the onion throws the mantle of its fragrance 
 over all. 
 
 How the dear girls seem delighted with the bright 
 
 new Easter gown, 
 Whilst the gallants gay and cocky stride the plank 
 
 walks of the town; 
 Gliding gaily with the willow to the diamond on 
 
 the green. 
 Comes the gallant Colonel Crocker. Have you yet 
 
 the Colonel seen? 
 
 Ah, the Colonel he's a daisy, not too gentle or too 
 
 rude; 
 In the days when I was 3^ounger they'd have dubbed 
 
 the Colonel dude; 
 Widow Jones is rather chummy with the Colonel, 
 
 by the way — 
 But the gossips of Schenectady have far too much 
 
 to say! 
 
 50 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 They say the Colonel's whiskers are of variegated 
 
 hue, 
 In style, a la Dundreary, which is not to me or 
 
 you, 
 What though they rather lightly dangle o'er his 
 
 silk lapel. 
 By permission of the Colonel is reserved their right 
 
 to dwell. 
 
 In that precint howe'er tinted, Vandyke brown or 
 
 purple gray. 
 Purple in the early morning, darkening with the 
 
 advancing day. 
 All the town has caught the secret from the men 
 
 who greet the morn 
 By a nip of gin in julep, 'tis an earlymorning"horn." 
 
 In the winter with companions worthy of the man 
 
 of mars. 
 In the guest's room of the barroom have I heard of 
 
 many wars; 
 Heard of onsets fierce, obdurate, clinking on the 
 
 horse's flank, 
 From hot fancy's brazen scabbard flashed the 
 
 blade with clash and clank. 
 
 How the rearing steeds neighed nightly, as was 
 quaffed the flowing glass. 
 
 And a tribute to the hero was the final toast to pass, 
 
 From the din and whirl of battle he would spirit- 
 ually pray 
 
 That the gossips of Schenectady would have much 
 
 less to say. 
 
 57 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 'Neath the lamplight Colonel Crocker would a hand 
 
 in poker take, 
 Put his tin up on a royal cov'ring manya juicy stake, 
 Oft' misfortune waited on him, for in cards, like 
 
 love or war. 
 You cannot always truly tell exactly where you are. 
 
 Rich 'in love, though out in pocket, gambling red- 
 eyed into day. 
 
 Putting up his watch and locket, chain and specs 
 to meet the pay; 
 
 Oh, but when the game is over, sad are all who sat 
 at play — 
 
 The gossips of Schenectady have so blamed much 
 to say. 
 
 Widow Jones is so attentive, ahvays at the means 
 
 of grace. 
 Which in spirit's quite dissimilar to the Colonel's 
 
 spirit place; 
 How the class-rooms' calm experience softens down 
 
 life's stony path. 
 Whilst the hot Kentucky whiskey warms one's 
 
 passions into wrath. 
 
 Oft' the wedding bells went ringing thro' the 
 Colonel's vaulted dome, 
 
 Whilst the widow waits with patience his slow- 
 coming to her home; 
 
 vShe has loaned him twenty eagles, six of which 
 have taken wing, 
 
 But she heard the Colonel singing — on a shutter 
 he could sing. 
 
 58 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 'Though his pins were weak to prop him in an 
 
 upright, graceful w^ay, 
 Speaking always so politely, sweet his words what- 
 
 e'er he'd say; 
 Dreading only faint allusions, never shunning light 
 
 of day. 
 The gossips of Schenectady have far too much to say. 
 
 But upon the tresting diamond saw we not the 
 
 Colonel stand, 
 Knickerbocker, capped and belted with the willow 
 
 in his hand; 
 Now the Benedicts are playing for the honor of 
 
 their hom.e, 
 'Gainst the Batchelors of Schenectady, or Vvdicre- 
 
 soe'er they'd come. 
 
 First to bat goes forth the Colonel, strikes and 
 
 runs to gain the base; 
 Never yet ran fox so swiftly homeward bounded 
 
 in the chase. 
 Has the Colonel gained or lost it, tell us umpire, 
 
 tell us now? 
 "Colonel Crocker out," the umpire saith, with grave 
 
 and pallid brow! 
 
 Then as beats the west-bound billows on Manhat- 
 tan's eastern shore. 
 
 As the cataract of Niagara answ^ers to the thunders 
 roar, 
 
 When the lightning leaps upon it, in the presence 
 of the ladies, 
 
 Maddened by the strange decision, men commend 
 one soul to Hades. 59 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Now the umpire heard the clamor, but he play'd 
 
 his Uttle card: 
 He of old had been a suitor and the Colpnel was 
 
 his "pard," 
 In the wooing of the widow, but fate left him in 
 
 the lurch. 
 For the man whom fortune favored was a deacon 
 
 in the Church. 
 
 Ah, what damning thoughts of rancor, lolls within 
 
 the umpire's breast, 
 For he seems to treat the Colonel's writhing 
 
 reasonings as jest; 
 As the serpent crawls in silence 'neath the roseleaf 
 
 on the lawn, 
 As the violet cloudlet nestles on the roseate couch 
 
 of dawn. 
 
 "Devil take it," saith the Colonel. "Hah! I see 
 
 the little game, 
 Fourteen eagles flown to Hades and by heaven 
 
 he's won the same." 
 "Now the game is up by jingo." "By default," 
 
 the umpire said. 
 How the victors strolled in triumph following the 
 
 umpire's tread. 
 
 With her little picnic basket 'neath a shady ches- 
 nut tree. 
 
 Sat the widow wrapped in silence gazing lone and 
 longingly. 
 
 For the coming of the Colonel. Ah, 'twas well the 
 Colonel came. 
 
 For she soothed with gentlest phrases all his in- 
 dignation flame. 60 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Hark the chapel bell is ringing, 'twas a month from 
 
 yesterday 
 That he lost upon the diamond, in a game no man 
 
 could play; 
 Colonel weds to-day the widow, and the choir in 
 
 full array, 
 Will give something for the gossips of Schenectady 
 
 to say. 
 
 DOMINION DAY 
 
 This is our owm, our dear Dominion Day; 
 
 An epoch-marking period of our land 
 
 Is now en-sealed. 'Tis thus we say 
 
 That each decade grows greater. Now we stand, 
 
 Not like an infant tottering to the floor, 
 
 But like a strong, fair youth, whose hope-lit brow 
 
 Looks unto heaven and seeth evermore 
 
 Toward the high meridian's clear blue, how 
 
 The sun rolls on. The symbol of our faith 
 
 Is youth, eternal youth. 'Tis thus we pray 
 
 That He who guides the destiny of stars. 
 
 Nor would permit a sparrow's wanton death, 
 
 Will'st guide us ever on from world's insulting wars. 
 
 61 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 PORTUGAL 
 
 (The history of Portugal is one of the most 
 interesting of the nations of Europe. Her navi- 
 gators sailed the "Seas of outer darkness" as the 
 ancients termed the waters of the Atlantic. The 
 discovery of the Cape of Good Hope was made 
 by Vasco de Gama, many years before Columbus 
 sailed to America. He added the Azores, Cape 
 Verde and South Africa to the possessions of Portu- 
 gal. The Golden Age of Literature was contiguous 
 with the Age of Discovery. Camoens was her 
 greatest poet. In the Peninsular Wars it was the 
 ally of England, and Wellington defended Lisbon, 
 and thereby Portugal maintained her integrity.) 
 Written on the occasion of the Proclamation of 
 the Republic. 
 
 Now the vintnor in the grapeland looks from out 
 the trellised vine, 
 And the village people press in casks their red 
 Oporto wine; 
 And the winsome, dark-eyed maidens dance at 
 sunset on the green, 
 And they sing the songs of Camoens, scarcely 
 knowing what they mean. 
 
 From the town of Buenos Ayres comes a youth of 
 saddened mein, 
 And he views with calm indifference all the merri- 
 ment and sheen, 
 
 62 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A XD LEGENDS 
 
 Cares he not for merry dancers, bells and timbrels, 
 all the show. 
 He is waiting for the dawning of the morning's 
 brighter glow. 
 
 Brighter than the new day's dawning is the banner 
 yet unfurled, 
 Without stain of blood upon it, with its staff of 
 burnished gold. 
 Shall the hand on high that furls it; nay, that 
 throws it to the sun, 
 Be the scion of De Gama, he who all her empires 
 won ? 
 
 He who gave the court of Lisbon charts of dark 
 unfathomed seas, 
 He who on the Cape of Tempests flung her 
 banners to the breeze. 
 He wdio first beheld the glory of the southern 
 cross on high, 
 And he read in it a token of God's mercy in the 
 sky. 
 
 Proudest son of ancient sailor, strange the destiny 
 we see, 
 When the youth of Buenos Ayres be^rs the stand- 
 ard of the free. 
 And the young men and the maidens learn the 
 meaning of the songs 
 Sung of old by Lisbon's psalmist, 'gainst all 
 tyrannies and wrong. 
 
 G3 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Bearing still the old allegiance, to your ancient ally 
 true, 
 As when war's red tempest swept you, Britain 
 stood alone with you, 
 May that tried and true allegiance still remain till 
 time shall cease, 
 To your hundred years of respite add a thous- 
 and years of peace. 
 
 THB POWER OF THE GODS 
 
 Atlas 'twas said upheld the weighty world, 
 Resolved that it aloft should borne be 
 Through all the ages, until time was hurled 
 Headlong into the black eternity. 
 Until none doubted that the world was round. 
 Reason had taught this truth unto the Greek. 
 
 Knowledge came slowly, not as with a bound. 
 It entered as a child that doth it's parent seek; 
 Religion with the Greek was but a school, 
 Venus and Hercules were symbols pure. 
 Adoring either made life's perfect rule; 
 Nay, all were blessed who sought of these their aid. 
 
 64 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE INVASION OF MOROCCO 
 
 Once again the trump of battle sounds o'er Afric's 
 
 ancient state; 
 Once again contending nations on her far horizon 
 
 wait, 
 From a century's peace awakened rudely at the 
 
 call of war, 
 See the bearded, white-robed w^arriors bear the 
 
 crescent banners far. 
 
 Are the banners of the Prophet, swung on high for 
 
 servile slaves, 
 O'er His sepulchre for ages? Chieftains, rise from 
 
 out your graves, 
 Rein again your matchless war steeds, draw the 
 
 bright Damascus sword. 
 Teach the Christian nations warring fiercely; ye 
 
 are of the Lord. 
 
 Ye who toil within the vineyard, cleave the vine 
 
 and press the oil, 
 It is meet that ye should suffer, that your blood 
 
 should drench the soil; 
 Shall the olive branch be trampled 'neath the iron 
 
 heel of power? 
 God of Nations, Father, hear us! Be Thou ruler 
 
 in this hour! 
 
 65 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 I WILL WRITE FOR YOUR SAKE, 
 DEAR, A SONNET 
 
 I will write for your sake, dear, a sonnet 
 
 With conditions subscribed as you know, 
 The first is you'll wear the poke bonnet 
 
 That your grand mother wore long ago. 
 'Twas woven with ribbons and veil net, 
 
 In an artless, but beautiful way; 
 Pale pink and deep primrose were inset 
 
 And they seemed as if hidden in play. 
 Your hat, dear, shows all that there's on it 
 
 And you won't think me rude when I say 
 If I were compelled, dear, to don it, 
 
 I'd feign a sad headache that day — 
 
 I decline for I could not obey — 
 My second's you wear it down town 
 And walk wdth me now, little pet. 
 
 66 
 
LAYS. LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 MARHAMAH, VP:IIvED 
 
 Marhamah veiled the Eastern ladies dress — 
 And 'neath that veil if one be really pretty, 
 Roguish dark eyes, their owners name confess 
 Georgian or Moorish or Algerian woman, 
 Arabian maids all wear the gossy cover, 
 Reason still rules with maidens bright or witty. 
 E'en younger girls need now behold to no man, 
 They early learn to test a faithful lover, 
 Learn, too, what fops run idly round the city 
 Espying little faults and posing wise. 
 Marhamah veiled the daughters of Algiers 
 [Mahomet loved them for their sparkling eyes] 
 Ope'dwide those eyes and 'neath the minaret tiers 
 Noted each sheik at prayer as each at prayer 
 appears. 
 
 67 
 
LAYS. LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 GOD ORDAINS 
 
 God ordains that every nation should protect the 
 
 sons of toil, 
 They whose hands are hard and knuckled in the 
 
 tilling of the soil, 
 They who at the bench or anvil, in the forest or 
 
 the mill. 
 Who have long life's burden suffered, to relieve 
 
 is heaven's will. 
 Grant it then to those whose footsteps falter at 
 
 the lonely door, 
 Waiting, weary, at the evening, till life's toiling 
 
 day is o'er. 
 
 68 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 SING ON SONS OF ALBION, YOUR 
 .THEME IS SUBLIME! 
 
 Why should not the sons of old Albion rejoice, 
 And sing of her glory through every fair clime? 
 
 'Tis the ring of true freemen's o'er jubilant voice, 
 Sing on sons of Albion, your theme is sublime. 
 
 Albion, dear Albion, thine heritage loves thee. 
 And dares for thine honor to do or to die; 
 
 How sadly we weep when some nation reproves thee, 
 Or restless we wait for thy lordly reply! 
 
 And when the horizon with omens of danger. 
 Dark! threatens to break like a storm on the 
 shore; 
 
 Unsummoned we haste to the land of the stranger. 
 And join in the numbers that march to the fore. 
 
 Remembrance of heroes, new valor inspires. 
 
 Aye! the deeds of a Gordon and Burnaby glow, 
 
 Deep down in our bosoms enkindling new fires. 
 That only shall cease when we've conquered the 
 foe! 
 
 Yet long be thy rule, calm abiding in peace, 
 Thus aloud may thy herald to all nations call; 
 
 Till the bright stars of Heaven their glory shall 
 cease, 
 Until then may that message be " Peace unto all." 
 
 69 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 'TWAS LATE IN DECEMBER 
 
 'Twas late in December when Flora I met, 
 My true-hearted Flora, my beautiful queen ; 
 
 When the rose and the lily, and the fond mignonette 
 Grew white 'neath the mantle that covered the 
 green. 
 
 When Winter's cold arms encircle the bowers, 
 And the tempest-sped clouds are all heavy and 
 grey; 
 
 How Flora's sweet smile in those dark winter hours, 
 Transform winter's frosts to the blossoms of May. 
 
 Oh give me the love that is born in December, 
 It kindles a flame that can never get cold; 
 
 By the warm ruddy light of love's glowing ember. 
 The soul of a true lover ne'er can grow old. 
 
 70 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 DEATH OF LIEUTENANT FITCH 
 
 The bell slowly peals o'er thy dear native city, 
 And sad is the wail of its numbers for thee; 
 
 The heart throb re-echoes sweet solace of pity, 
 And loved ones are weeping o'er one they'll ne'er 
 see. 
 
 'Tis but yesterday that thy mother caressed thee. 
 And pressed a fond kiss on thy love-lighted brow; 
 
 Sweet the prayers of thy household ascending then 
 blessed thee, — 
 The young patriot fell and we weep o'er him now. 
 
 Deep engraven thy name on our patriot scroll, 
 'Tis writ in thy life-blood so youthful and rich; 
 
 Thine own guardian angel receiveth thy soul, 
 As we kneel by the grave of Lieutenant Fitch. 
 
 71 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 TO THE SNOW 
 
 'Tis well I ween, 'tis well that o'er this earth, 
 When verdure dies a mantle white be spread, 
 
 White were the robes that wreathed us after birth, 
 And why not be the mantle of the dead? 
 
 Deep wondrous Nature, deep thy every plan. 
 Beyond the verge of mortal vision dwells, 
 
 'Tis oft in vain man breathes his soul to man 
 And deeper still, the tale that Nature tells. 
 
 Pure beauteous emblem pure, of that sweet hour 
 When the worn soul departs from out this clay. 
 
 When 'neath God's smile we waken as a flower. 
 Into the light of new-created day. 
 
 72 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 BELLA SLOAN OF PORTADOWN 
 
 There's a girl in Portadown, 
 
 Though on me she seems to frown, 
 
 Yet I love her more than any girl in town; 
 
 For her cheek the reddest rose, 
 
 For her breath the sweetest sloes; 
 
 She's my darling Bella Sloan of Portadown. 
 
 Oh, 'twas in the morning fair 
 
 That I used to meet her, where 
 
 All the cattle came to drink from far aroun' 
 
 With the milk pail in her han'. 
 
 It was sweet to see her stan', 
 
 Darling little Bella Sloan of Portadown. 
 
 Oft her pail along I brought 
 
 To her ivy-covered cot. 
 
 And I smiled to see her in her pretty gown: 
 
 When she took the pail from me. 
 
 She would whisper lovingly: 
 
 She's my darling Bella Sloan of Portadown. 
 
 73 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE DEATH OF SCHILLER 
 
 Slowly, slowly sinks the day-star 
 'Neath the waves of purpling light, 
 
 Like a holy freighted vessel 
 Fading palely from our sight; 
 
 As the waters that between us 
 
 Rise in long red lines and screen us. 
 
 Lo! yon moon, in veil of crimson, 
 Mounts the orient even' sky; 
 
 Sadly from her imperial throne 
 Weeps her waning destiny; 
 
 Her lonely dirge across the sky — 
 
 Must every living creature die! 
 
 "Raise my head," cried dying Schiller, 
 "Let me see the setting sun; 
 
 Ere to-morrow," cried the poet, 
 "And life's journey will be run. 
 
 Now turn me to the moon," he cried. 
 
 And blessing all around, he died. 
 
 74: 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 THE MARGUERITE 
 
 May is the month of the trilHum pale, 
 After the April showers, 
 Rearing it's head in forest and vale, 
 Greeting the love-sought bowers 
 Under the moss-capped fallen oak, 
 Eden had never a nook that woke 
 Rarer voilet, tender flowers. 
 Indigo tipped they seem so pure, 
 Telling of pre-millenium hours. 
 Early they sip the cup of dew. 
 Sweet and cool. At dawn o' May 
 The trillium goes. The Marguarite 
 Rushes lightly into play; 
 Ever in whitest gown and new, 
 Edna gathers with jo3% whilst you 
 Take them to mother, sweet Marguarite. 
 
 75 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 LAKES OF MUSKOKA 
 
 Let Erin's bard sing of the Vale of Avoca 
 Or Byron or Burns of the land of the north, 
 
 I'll sing for I love the majestic Muskoka 
 
 Where Couchiching's waters leap joyously forth. 
 
 I'll sing of thy islands girt with their evergreens 
 How snugly they rest like a sword in its sheath, 
 
 Of the weird scanty legendry guarding these scenes, 
 Deep, dark as the forest reflected beneath. 
 
 Oh, thus will I sing 'til the last of my numbers 
 From island to shoreland are echo'd along. 
 
 Till the bard of the wood shall awake from his 
 slumbers 
 Unbroken for ages and join me in song. 
 
 76 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 THE CORONATION OF THEIR MAJESTIES 
 
 Now the nations all bear tribute in their appointed 
 
 way, 
 From furthest Oceania to storm-sw^ept Himalay; 
 From Europe's costly palaces w^here princes hold 
 
 high sway, 
 Where Rome's imperial eagles flew along the 
 
 x\ppian way. 
 They come from rich Arabia, and cost'y tributes 
 
 bring, 
 And lay them 'neath the cross-crowned crest of 
 
 George the Fifth, our King. 
 
 But greater than the treasures of the mine and 
 
 priceless gem, 
 Or costly robe, or tapestry, or golden Diadem; 
 Yea, more than all that Kings can bring, though 
 
 much be held by them. 
 The simple faith his mother held in Christ of 
 
 Bethlehem. 
 Oh, God of Hosts, our father's God, wx humbly ask 
 
 and pray 
 Thy blessing on our King and Queen, whom we 
 
 have crowned to-day. 
 
 77 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 LILLIES OF THK OI.D ROMANCE 
 
 Lillies of the old romance, 
 Whither, whither men of France! 
 Echo of the warning notes — 
 Once your martial trumpets blew, 
 When your flags triumphant flew 
 Lillies of the old romance, 
 Whither, whither men of France? 
 
 Science mounts her sacred height 
 Leading day from out the night 
 Art that broods not on mischance. 
 Leaps to life beneath thy glance. 
 With convulsive ecstacy. 
 Lillies of the old romance. 
 Whither, whither men of France. 
 
 78 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 TO THE ARCHITECT 
 
 Every form that dwells in Nature 
 
 Doth suggest a line in Art, 
 
 Whether it be large or little, 
 
 All doth serve a second part. 
 
 Rough or smooth the limner draweth, 
 
 Draweth by a faultless rule, 
 
 Joining arch with square or segment 
 
 As suggested with the tool 
 
 Made of tempered steel, the craftsman. 
 
 E'er doth prize it for its point. 
 
 Square and compass, how the draughtsman 
 
 Learns to measure space and joint; 
 
 Ever toiling 'til the structure, 
 
 Nobly rises into view. 
 
 Niche and window, stair and steeple, 
 
 Oh how beautiful and true, 
 
 Xylographically by you. 
 
 79 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 TO A LITTLE MAIDEN 
 
 Bright as the light of the morning, 
 Ever as happy and gay, 
 Romping so Hght on the lawn. 
 Never grown weary in play. 
 Idleness taketh a warning, 
 Cometh not nigh thee to fawn. 
 Earnest in every endeavor, 
 Going from valley to hill. 
 Oh 'tis so sweet to be like you — 
 Doing whatever you will. 
 When you grow older, pray tell me, 
 If Artie's a good fellow still. 
 Never to leave you, no never. 
 
 80 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE PICNIC SEASON'S OVER 
 
 Now the picnic season's over, and the empty 
 baskets lie, 
 In the coop or in the kitchen with the days that 
 have gone by. 
 Manhood power and mirth of maidens frolicking 
 upon the green 
 Still doth memory greet the echo of the joys of 
 yestere'en. * 
 
 Look not at the empty basket, for what in it loved 
 to dwell. 
 Who shall say how sweet the kernel by the hol- 
 lowd of the shell? 
 E'en the hand that made the doughnuts may now 
 dwell in far-off climes, 
 Teaching almond-eyed Celestials Christian pro- 
 verbs in their rhymes. 
 
 Strange to me seems all these changes, yet occurring 
 in a year. 
 And I fear that I've grown older, would it were 
 a passing fear. 
 Did I bear that very basket to the grove's sweet 
 summer shade, 
 Whilst beside me, chatting lightly, tripped the 
 dark-eyed village maid. 
 
 81 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 On my arm I felt no burden, smooth the path 
 beneath my feet, 
 And the sky that spread above me seemed to 
 make my life complete. 
 All of this a passing memory, flitting like a summer 
 beam, 
 Lasting only till the coming of a new day's dawn- 
 ing gleam. 
 But it lifts as doth the misty veil o'er lake and 
 distant hill. 
 Dying as the far-off echo of the turbine village 
 mill. 
 
 But why grow we thus romantic, does the basket 
 on the wall 
 Know the meaning of our calling memories we 
 would not recall? 
 Some are sad and some are joyous, like the mem- 
 ories that are past, 
 Bright or dark as are the jewels by the ocean 
 landward cast. 
 
 Backward from the grove and ocean, from the 
 trusting village maid. 
 Backward from the mill to loiter where the bas- 
 kets safe are laid. 
 Who shall say how sweet the kernel by the hollow 
 of the shell? 
 Or how grand the rhymes Cathaydian by a 
 maiden, who shall tell? 
 
 82 
 
LAYS. LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 A SAILOR CAME UP FROM THE SEA 
 ONE DAY 
 
 A sailor came up from the sea one day, 
 
 A sailor came up from the sea; 
 
 Its' thirty odd years since I once lived here, 
 
 Or since I went down to the sea ; 
 
 I can know no one and none can know me! 
 
 I'll walk up and down the little old town, 
 
 And sing on the corners with glee; 
 
 What though short or tall, I fear I love all; 
 
 With some I would most happy be, 
 
 I'll smile on the maid who looks love to me. 
 
 Chorus: 
 Hi! Ho! Jolly sailor! 
 
 Pray where do you skip? 
 Ho! into what good port, 
 
 Sails your tight good ship? 
 
 Hi! Ho! merry maidens whisper to me; 
 
 Ho, why ask what I came to see? 
 
 I've told it to none, no, none 'neath the sun; 
 
 Then why do you wonder at me? 
 
 A bold, jolly Jack, come up from the sea. 
 
 Said he to himself, how happy I'll be, 
 
 If I on the landward would lay; 
 
 If I could secure a maiden for sure, 
 
 Who will say nay to wed to-day? 
 
 I'll give them a hint in a sailor-like way. 
 
 83 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Chorus: 
 Hi! Ho! Jolly sailor! 
 
 Pray where do you skip? 
 Into what good port, sir? 
 
 Saileth your good ship? 
 
 All shouted out loud, the little brave crowd, 
 
 Hi! Ho! Jolly sailor take me! 
 
 I'll be a good wife; oh, take me for life, 
 
 And happy you ever will be! 
 
 Will be, and happy you ever will be! 
 
 The sailor then said, "I'll toss up a coin," 
 
 The head for the tallest will be; 
 
 The tail's for the short, now come in for sport, 
 
 And three times I'll toss it for three; 
 
 And three for the maiden not tall or short." 
 
 Chorus : 
 Hi! Ho! Jolly sailor! 
 
 Pray where do you skip ? 
 Into what good port, sir, 
 
 Saileth your good ship? 
 
 If one throw be head and one throw be tail — 
 Watch for the coin then see it spin. 
 If tails of the shortest a prize I'll pin, 
 Heads, said the sailor, tall ones win; 
 Short one or tall one, I toss it again. 
 They all agreed to the plan of the game, 
 And joined in the merriment free; 
 He tossed in the air a coin that was rare, 
 And heads it was, sure, three times three. 
 Said he to the tallest, give me your name. 
 
 84 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Chorus 
 Hi! Ho! Jolly sailor! 
 
 Pray where do you skip? 
 Into what good port, sir? 
 
 Saileth your good ship? 
 
 The sailor he built a home on the shore, 
 
 The sailor that came from the sea; 
 
 He dwelt on the land with love evermore, 
 
 As happy as happy could be, 
 
 With four little lads and all sailors four. 
 
 'Twas thus Marian Wade wed bold Jack Cade, 
 
 The sailor that came from the sea; 
 
 He never regretted the wedding, 'tis said, 
 
 And none were more happy than he, 
 
 Than he, for none could more happy be. 
 
 CnoRas: 
 Hi! Ho! Jolly sailor! 
 
 Pray where do you skip? 
 Into what good port, sir, 
 
 Saileth your good ship? 
 
 85 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE MASTER HAS GONE FORTH 
 
 Lines written on the death of his Majesty King 
 Edward VII. 
 
 The Master has gone forth from out life's school* 
 The books are closed, the tasks he set are o'er, 
 
 The short-worn pencil and the broken rule 
 Lie on the desk. There he shall sit no more 
 
 Within the oaken chair. The unhinged door 
 
 Tells of the passing forms that shall return no more. 
 
 The bell that clamored loud to call us in, 
 
 Now muffled, sounds a dirge. The sad refrain 
 
 Dwells on the aching heart. Could we begin 
 Anew life's tasks, yet might we toil in vain, 
 
 Working for naught if when our labors cease. 
 
 We hear no Master call or see no Prince of Peace? 
 
 Peace was the purpose of thy well spent years. 
 Thy word to all in holy mission went 
 
 To cheer a struggling w^orld deep-damped in tears, 
 Or war and its dread horrors to prevent. 
 
 Oh, Master Monarch, o'er thy lonely bier 
 
 Is it too much that we should fondly shed a tear? 
 
 And, oh, to her who all these 3^ears has been 
 His faithful Consort. We but timely pray 
 
 That He who guides the w^orlds our widowed Queen 
 May'st guide, and cheer her path along life's way. 
 
 Queen dowager, God bless thee to life's end. 
 
 Friend of the friendless. Lord, be Thou the widow's 
 friend. 
 
 86 
 
LAYS' LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 TO JOAQUIN MILLER 
 
 Lines written on reading his poem, entitled 
 "Alone and Unloved," as published in New York 
 World: 
 
 Brood not o'er thy sorrows, for vain is thy sighing. 
 Behold the Sierras, and have they no voice? 
 
 Long list'ning thy lament, nay, even replying, 
 With words of rejoicing they bade thee rejoice. 
 
 Yon lordly Sierras. Thou'st known them and loved 
 them, 
 Remember not they when ye wakened the strain; 
 When sweet from thy censer the incense above 
 them 
 Rose high and rolled back to the gold-crested 
 main? 
 
 Nay, e'en till the isles of the further Atlantic 
 Were bathed in the perfume thy censer instilled. 
 
 Till lone Rousseau's Island, now strange and 
 romantic. 
 The greeting it gave thee unsought and unwilled. 
 
 Then sigh not, but sing us of oaklands and moun- 
 tains, 
 The ocean's wild tempests and calms be thy 
 themes. 
 Of school boys who dance in the spray of the foun- 
 tains, 
 CX maidenhood basking in love's isle of dreams! 
 
 87 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE EVE OF THE CRUCIFIXION 
 
 Dark sinks the sun neath Galilean skies, 
 
 Hark the lone sentinel — 
 Yon Roman soldier — from the rampart cries 
 
 The martial call, "All's well." 
 
 The rustling of the palm and olive leaf 
 
 Hushes the footfall and 
 Half stills the sighing of the man of grief, 
 
 Who lingers nigh at hand. 
 
 The half-worn even orb neath inky clouds 
 
 Shines forth in feeble light. 
 Enmantled in her dark funereal shrouds 
 
 The heaven awaits the night. 
 
 Lo! one by one, streaming from lordly halls. 
 
 Far o'er the city shine 
 The festive lights, whilst gathering darkness falls 
 
 O'er Him, the Prince Divine. 
 
 Oh! lonely garden of Gethsemane, 
 
 Thou valley of the thorn. 
 Foreshadow the cross-crowned calvary 
 
 That waits the coming morn. 
 
 Oh! cross and crown, two thousand years have 
 passed 
 
 Since ye were raised on earth. 
 Far as the splendor of your glory's cast 
 
 Immaculate your worth. 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 AN INVITATION 
 
 Join all who will our happy band, 
 Our invitation's "this," 
 Here, all who seek in truth to find 
 No other thought than bliss. 
 
 Along life's winding pathway we 
 
 Learn daily this to know; 
 
 Each one like Persia's honored King, 
 
 Xerxes, must face the foe. 
 
 And he who first will dare to fight, 
 
 No matter where or when. 
 
 Deserves the name of conqueror 
 
 Enshrined in hearts of men. 
 
 Remember what the great of old, 
 
 Caesar and Hannibal, 
 
 Unmasked the shams, and boldly told. 
 
 Let him that would rebel. 
 Victorious o'er all foreign foes. 
 Each for his country fought, 
 Regardless of privations, woes, 
 Which each whilst fighting got. 
 England from Rome first learned the art: 
 Live well, live right, to all mankind. 
 Let others play their part. 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 IN MEMORY OF J. H. M. 
 
 I'm sitting by the vacant chair, 
 The table holds the thrifty pen 
 That never shall be lift again 
 
 By him who was late writing there, 
 Yet while I wait I seem to see 
 That leal true face once dear to me. 
 
 Say not the chair is vacant now; 
 
 I cannot look and deem it shorn. 
 
 Across the threshold of life's morn 
 He'll come again — with crown'd brow — 
 
 With love's fair palm. I seem to see 
 
 That leal true face once dear to me. 
 
 I seem to see old friends once near, 
 
 Not phantom forms that dwell in tears, 
 But calm and manlike; and though years 
 
 May veil their rest, it doth appear 
 Divinely wrought that they should be 
 Companions of life's destiny. 
 
 The pen, the chair, the open door; 
 
 Ah! how they tell of toil and rest. 
 
 A little nosegay, deftly press' d — 
 Sweet tiny tribute kept of yore. 
 
 In such as these I seem to see 
 
 That leal true face once dear to me. 
 
 90 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 TWO AGENTS TO THE VILLAGE CAME 
 
 Two agents to the village came, 
 
 And goodly men were they; 
 I will not mention either's name, 
 
 Nor aught unkindly say. 
 They taught a doctrine of new life, 
 
 That through eternity 
 We'd live through Malted Extracts pure, 
 
 Or Gama Delta tea. 
 
 One had a methodistic turn. 
 
 And led the pastor's class; 
 The other was a jolly chap, 
 
 With "secret grip and pass." 
 The soft, sweet, long back-coated chap 
 
 Sold Malted Extract, he 
 Was temperate and denounced the ills 
 
 Of Gama Delta tea. 
 
 The dear old dame looks meekly out 
 
 Beneath the curtained pane, 
 And shivers when a knock she hears. 
 
 Or men come up the lane. 
 They gain admittance, but to show 
 
 How sweet life's draughts may be, 
 By mugs of Malted Extract cool, 
 
 Or Gama Delta tea. 
 
 Now 'twas arranged by sweet consent. 
 
 The wisest way of all. 
 That invitations should be sent. 
 
 Or each on all to call; 
 
 91 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 And get the dear fair dames to bring 
 
 Their cookies, pies and cake; 
 The agents bringing malt and tea, 
 
 And each of all partake. 
 
 The Gama Delta tea was sweet, 
 
 The Malted Extract cool; 
 The weather it was rather hot, 
 
 In summer 'tis the rule. 
 So that the tubs of extract went 
 
 Like hot cakes off the pan; 
 The ladies felt like schoolgirls, quite, 
 
 And danced a mild can-can. 
 
 The preacher he was happy, but 
 
 Through his long temperate life. 
 He never tasted aught like it 
 
 To free his thoughts from strife. 
 Now all at once he saw them dance, 
 
 As if a jolly ring 
 Were sweeping round and round and round. 
 
 Like midges in the spring. 
 
 The deacons lingered by the tub, 
 
 And ate the poundcakes sweet; 
 The Gama Delta tea was good, 
 
 The Malt Extract a treat. 
 Then all at once it lightly dawned 
 
 Upon the young folks there. 
 That temperate drinks by agents sold. 
 
 Made music in the air. 
 
 92 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 That malt was malt, however sold, 
 
 That fire lay in the punk ; 
 A little rubbing- did the trick, 
 
 A little drink made drunk, 
 That all the gentle dames were full 
 
 As ever man could be. 
 Which made the malted man look sick, 
 
 They've had too much says he. 
 
 Now how to get the good dames home, 
 
 A puzzle was to all, 
 For there were fences high to climb. 
 
 With dangers of a fall. 
 The parson led the winding way. 
 
 With basket filled with crust; 
 And deacons murmuring words of blame, 
 
 Of folks being on the bust. 
 
 The young folks soon were on the track 
 
 To find the agents slick. 
 Who did beguile the goodly folks. 
 
 They knew the little trick. 
 
 It was a deep-set compromise. 
 
 To get them sign in note. 
 When they were full, a covenant. 
 
 Then hold them by the throat. 
 They caught them hiking up the track, 
 
 To catch the lightning train; 
 They forcefully then dragged them back 
 
 Their purpose to explain. 
 
 93 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 I need not say the merchants were 
 
 As happy as could be, 
 That orders were not made for Malt, 
 
 Or Gama Delta tea. 
 They said 'twas best to let things drop, 
 
 The agents leave the place. 
 And ne'er again on picnic greens 
 
 To show their goods or face. 
 
 ACROSTIC 
 
 At eventide on Smithtown Hill, 
 
 Leagued boys and girls galore. 
 
 Each one put on a false face, like 
 
 Xerxes the Persians wore. 
 
 A wedding was of all things best, 
 
 No matter where or when; 
 
 Declared to give the youth a chance, 
 
 Encouraged there and then, 
 
 Rude were our tricks on Halloweve, 
 
 Made only to amuse, 
 
 Could ever man or woman wish 
 
 No child at play refuse. 
 
 Each lad would run from door to door. 
 
 Each fired his little gun. 
 
 Long years have passed or gone before, 
 
 Youth's happy hours of fun. 
 
 94 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 HERE DWEIvT THE ROSE 
 
 Guard well the rose, lest it's sweet petals fall 
 Upon the pathway, deeply torn and trod 
 
 Beneath the stranger's foot. 'Tis vain to call 
 Aloud with tearful eyes, when 'neath the sod 
 Lies the worn form. Since man is unto God, 
 
 E'en as the rose is unto man; in all 
 
 The greater sense of life and love and truth. 
 
 Oh what a world of thought doth enter here — 
 In the full passion of resistless youth. 
 
 Behold man comes right into Eden's bowers, 
 And wildly searches 'midst the cumbrous vines 
 
 And glorious avenues of new-born flowers; 
 
 And crystal fountains where the sunlight shines, 
 Irradiantly embow'd, he bends him low and 
 pines. 
 
 Then springing forth, he plucked an opening rose. 
 That breathed out perfume on the evening air 
 In rich profusion. The flower he toss'd to where 
 In ambush lay a form half wrought in clay; 
 
 Yet of such symmetry we could suppose. 
 Great Angelo or Phidias might display 
 
 To the schooled populous of Rome or Greece 
 For their approval. But why here delay? 
 
 He saw a lily pond, a flock of geese 
 
 That did with golden fishes swim and play, 
 
 And they seemed lively. He was ill at ease. 
 He heard the Spanish donkey heave and bray 
 
 Loud to his mate. He came back to the place, 
 
 In the shade, where he beheld the mother of our 
 race. 95 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Oh, fiddle sticks! What is the power of Rome, 
 
 Or vaunted glories of Athenian gods 
 Or Goddesses? I've seen me here at home. 
 
 In Canada, an Indian princess plashing 
 In the clear waters of a sunkissed stream 
 And fancying that she was all unseen, 
 Unfolded her dark locks, till she did seem 
 As if created for the enchanted scene. 
 Behind the cedar trees upon the bank 
 Spellbound I stood. I clutched the tall, rank 
 Young flagon flowers; how they, too, seemed to 
 
 nod; 
 Their violet eyes were rivetted on all 
 Around, and mirrored they beheld a form 
 Fairer than autumn dawn, more glorious far than 
 storm. 
 
 Back, back, return to Eden's shady dells. 
 
 And lowly wait beneath an olive tree; 
 Oh, what a glory silently foretells 
 
 The order of creation; and, to me, 
 'Tis music like the rhythm of a rhyme; 
 
 'Tis sweet as is the sound of marriage bells. 
 When as the choir swells forth on the chimes, 
 
 The fair bride enters, sweeping up the aisle, 
 
 With veil and wreath, and that eternal smile; 
 Youth's glorious dower, far more than land or gold, 
 
 Or precious fragrance distilled from the rose. 
 Great is the power of wealth, yet have I seen 
 
 The rich man's offspring fill an early grave; 
 Whilst those of humbler birth long played upon 
 
 the green. 
 
 96 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 If there was but one woman in the world, 
 
 Oh, what a rush bold man would make to win 
 her! 
 
 Nor would he ask if she were saint or sinner? 
 If denied her hand, his form were hurled 
 O'er precipice, or raging torrent cast. 
 Quick to his doom he madly on would rush. 
 
 But thanks to all who have gone on before, 
 Such scarcity of female form is past. 
 
 All possibility, only in lore. 
 When Oriental sage, behind the bush, 
 Raised with his wand a princess to the earth. 
 
 I read it somewhere, on an island shore, 
 How that a mariner was shipwrecked cast 
 
 And there beheld a form unseen by man before. 
 
 Now beauty is a charm so fair and pure, 
 That all who view it gather grace and love, 
 
 And once possessed, it will through time endure; 
 Eternal as the orbs in heaven above; 
 
 Strange every eye selects a different view, 
 And would abide forever gazing where 
 
 That quality exists, which seems most true, 
 Or rather wakens up his waxen lids 
 
 To gaze awhile on symmetry and hue; 
 On dainty dimple and full flowing hair, 
 The type embodying the highest grace 
 Of race completement suited to each race; 
 
 There beauty reigns enthroned, and there anew 
 
 Doth God reincarnate what brutal men undo. 
 
 97 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE CHECKER CLUB, "THE GEN- 
 NESSEE" 
 
 There had been much discussion but at last they 
 
 settled down, 
 To give a title to the club, one worthy of the town, 
 They thought upon Poughkeepsie, as an ancient 
 
 honored name. 
 Of Frontenac and Orino, and other towns of fame. 
 At last they stood with one accord and voted it 
 
 should be 
 Forever named with tribal rites and rules, "The 
 
 Gennessee." 
 
 The rules are all determined on that govern games 
 
 of chance, 
 And yet it must be borne in mind exceptions have 
 
 a glance, 
 Exceptions are the terms employed to mark the 
 
 stranger's place; 
 The chairs are for the members, who will the tables 
 
 grace. 
 The regulations, "hard and fast," that all should 
 
 play who join. 
 And no man rolled upon the books should play the 
 
 game for coin. 
 
 These rules and regulations terse were tacked upon 
 
 the wall, 
 And no man was excepted, for they were made for 
 
 all; 
 
 98 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 The old men voted for them, the youth to elevate, 
 
 The young men saw a living chance to keep the 
 old men straight; 
 
 And thus the regulations and the rules were writ- 
 ten down, 
 
 Till they were known by every man who played 
 the game in town. 
 
 Once, at the Club-room's creaky door, a stranger 
 
 knocked to know 
 And learn if one w^ould welcome be who on the 
 
 game could thrown 
 A little interest as it were, for honor or for tin; 
 And if a stranger stood without, would they not 
 
 "take him in," 
 To court a clear disaster is, in my opinion, worse, 
 Than to get a knock-out blow from one you've 
 
 trained to guide the force. 
 
 "Wal, stranger! Chilly mornin' this — 'twant no 
 
 use, you can't play," 
 It's previously determined, thar's new rules out 
 
 to-day. 
 And things ain't goin' to change nohov/, no mattah 
 
 who may call, 
 Foh they isn't a showin' favors — they tacked 'em 
 
 on the wall. 
 We seen what was a comin' 'gainst the interests 
 
 of our club. 
 That was a crowdin' of it, like squashes in a tub. 
 
 99 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 The young folks they was playin' but they didn't 
 have the sand 
 
 To put their little dollar up, stranger, you under- 
 stand, 
 
 That this young club needs money now, it cannot 
 live on air. 
 
 It's social status rises as it does it's business square. 
 
 I'm mighty sorry, stranger, I'd like to ask you in; 
 
 I'd like to have a game with you; I'd like to see 
 you win. 
 
 "I'm holdin' of a medal, solid silver, yes, it be; 
 
 For twenty years I fought like mad to win it from 
 Ike Lee, 
 
 He wor the plucky champion of the game in Ten- 
 nessee, 
 
 And I stand to still defend it in our club, "The 
 Gennessee." 
 
 Wal, stranger, since thar's no one 'roun', an' 'spose 
 I take you in. 
 
 An' 'spose we play a little game for honor and for 
 tin. 
 
 We'll try the first for honor, and 'sposin' that you 
 
 win, 
 If no one comes a peekin' 'roun', we'll play the 
 
 game for tin. 
 I see you ain't no stranger to the workin' of the 
 
 same, 
 You play the ole 'forteen,' bye gosh, you play 
 
 the tarnbook game! 
 
 100 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Why, stranger, you have got the move! Why, 
 
 what now be you' play! 
 I want to know you bettah; say, stranger, stop 
 
 to-day. 
 
 "I want to introduce you to some who can't beat 
 
 me, 
 (Your whisker's not a mask?) and yet your name's 
 
 not Izaak Lee?" 
 " I will, said Ike, " accept your wish, if I'm allowed," 
 
 says he, 
 "To play to win for fame or tin in the club, 'The 
 
 Gennessee." 
 His cheek was bulged with blackstrap quid, his 
 
 eye was flashin' fire. 
 To get the medal back again, why that was his 
 
 desire. 
 
 He didn't want to flail the boys or take advantage 
 
 like. 
 Of those who knew it not, oh, no, that wa'nt the 
 
 game with Ike; 
 He played with champions such as could hold out 
 
 unto the end. 
 With men I've fought thro' life, why now with 
 
 tyro boys contend? 
 Just fetch him in, an' while you wait I'll bottle all 
 
 his blocks; 
 I'll teach them Gennessian chaps their champion 
 
 ain't worth socks. 
 
 101 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 I sweah, by gosh, I've walked the tracks, or on 
 
 the lonely pike. 
 Three hundred miles, to get De Young to try his 
 
 hand with Ike. 
 Just call him in, he's sneakin' 'roun* you'll find 
 
 him at the door, 
 A'wekrin' of the silver disc that I held long before. 
 The metal that he wears, my boys, I gave, if he 
 
 could take 
 One game in ten. A hero he's designed for your 
 
 club's sake. 
 
 You see it — how the rules were made to suit his 
 
 crafty plan, 
 Rules are the henchman's cunning wiles, designed 
 
 to cheat true man; 
 Why, if it's true he beat Ike Lee, he sure ag'in can 
 
 try, 
 To move the blocks upon the board and "root hog 
 
 or die." 
 That is the way the game is played in the State of 
 
 Tennessee, 
 And that's the way to play the game in this club, 
 
 "The Gennessee." 
 
 102 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 HARVEST HYMN. 
 
 Our voices raise in hymns of praise, 
 On this fair Sabbath morn. 
 
 Our land is blest from east to west, 
 With honey sweet and corn. 
 
 The golden fields great treasure yields. 
 Which God to us hast given, 
 
 The willing toil the sacred soil 
 And richest showers of heaven. 
 
 Let every voice in Him rejoice 
 'Till earth's exultant strain, 
 
 Be heard o'er hill and valley till 
 Heaven swells the loud refrain. 
 
 And Oh, may peace remain nor cease. 
 
 To dwell upon our shore, 
 'Till time be past and we at last. 
 
 To God return once more. 
 
 To God we sing, to Him we bring. 
 
 The tribute of our praise. 
 For he hath blest from east to west 
 
 Our hallowed harvest davs. 
 
 103 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 AWAKE MEN, AWAKE— IT IS WAR! IT IS 
 WAR! 
 
 The nation is waking, 
 
 The dark clouds are breaking, 
 The trumpet and drum is arousing afar; 
 
 The foemen are nearing, 
 
 And thousands appearing. 
 Awake men, awake! It is war! It is war! 
 
 What ills are befalling. 
 
 Our brethren who're calling? 
 Beyond the dark depths in our dear Motherland. 
 
 Oh, Father Eternal! 
 
 We'll face the infernal. 
 Though death may surround us where'er we may 
 stand. 
 
 How often the stranger. 
 
 We sheltered from danger 
 And gave him the best that we had in the place, 
 
 With devilish derision. 
 
 He mocks our religion — 
 The freedom we gave him he flounts in our face. 
 
 With sorrow and wonder 
 
 We hear the far thunder. 
 That tells of the doom of the best of our race; 
 
 Where truemen are falling. 
 
 Our kinsmen are calling, 
 Then forward, men, forward, and fill up their place. 
 
 104 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 OMEMEE RIVER 
 
 The willows hang low o'er thy broad flagon beds, 
 And rare is the iris enpurpled in gold ; 
 
 How sweet is the fragrance the white lily sheds, 
 As it doth to the morning its bosom unfold. 
 
 There often I saw, in her birchen canoe, 
 The maid of the Redman sail gently along; 
 
 The blade of her paddle drawn deeply and true. 
 She sang, as she swept, to the wild birds a song. 
 
 How sweet was the note that the oriole made, 
 The lark and canary went warbling above; 
 
 There, where I sat under the cool cedar shade, 
 I saw the wild eglantine twine the foxglove. 
 
 I plucked the white lily, so sweet in its bloom. 
 And chased the striped chipmonk in merriest 
 glee; 
 Then gather fresh corn stocks for which it would 
 come. 
 And chatter aloud in its gladness to me. 
 
 So soon as the summer was over and gone. 
 
 When the sweet wing'd warblers sought the fair 
 south; 
 
 I still sailed thy waters and gathered thereon. 
 The purple vine clusters I pressed to my mouth. 
 
 105 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 I know every landing place. Fondly I drew, 
 When weary of travelling, my boat on the shore ; 
 
 And there camped 'till morning. My birchen canoe 
 The roof that was o'er me — I cared for no more. 
 
 Far o'er the world I've gone, yet have I never, 
 Seen in my wanderings so beauteous a stream; 
 
 And, oh, I believe that for ever and ever, 
 
 Though far distant dwelling, 'twill dwell in my 
 dream. 
 
 A SONNET 
 
 The noblest thought that nestles in the mind, 
 
 Is surely such as language cannot tell; 
 vStrong in conception and though unrefined, 
 
 It often nearer nature seems to dw^ell 
 Than written verse on prosy burden theme. 
 
 Gagging the soul's sweet sounds. The evening 
 bell 
 That calls to worship; the echo on the stream^ 
 
 That winding flows far down the quiet dell. 
 And through the wooded pasture lands where graze 
 
 The peaceful cattle. Peaceful as a dream 
 In youth's unclouded morn, that leaves behind 
 
 No sting or shadow of appalling beam. 
 Before the opening eye. Oh happy days of youth; 
 
 Like the pure matchless beauty of unwritten lays. 
 
 106 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 HI! HO! FOR THE RINK TO-NIGHT! 
 
 The steel of my skate is keen and true, 
 
 Hi! Ho! for the ice to-night; 
 I'm off when the toils of day are through - 
 
 To the rink with its glistening light. 
 We'll swdng to the music's ample round, 
 
 Merrily, merrily go; 
 We'll dash to the cymbals clashing sound, 
 
 And the throb of the deep basso. 
 
 Chorus: 
 We'll slower go, with the deep basso 
 
 And the cymbal's cling clang tzyn, 
 With the cornet note on high we'll float, 
 
 But, oh, where does the drum come in? 
 
 Far down the side where the young boys slide 
 
 With loud and clamorous glee. 
 Then curving out with the girls we'll glide, 
 
 To the music so gracefully. 
 'Tis sweet to hear the clinking steel. 
 
 On the ice so crisp and clean ; 
 The inward joy of delight we feel 
 
 As we glide thro' the silver sheen. — Chorus. 
 
 107 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 THE HUMMING BIRD 
 
 Lightly on from leaf to leaf, 
 Flits the airy humming bird; 
 
 Why are all thy visits brief, 
 Waiting like a passing word. 
 
 What's thy hurry, time can wait, 
 I would like to know thee more; 
 
 Flitting in and out my gate. 
 
 Back and forward from my door. 
 
 Quick, oh quick, thy little wings, 
 Faintly move to bear thee up; 
 
 All thy food the sunshine brings. 
 Milk and honey fills thy cup. 
 
 Darkest dye of indigo, 
 
 Touched with tints of golden point; 
 How irradiant the glow — 
 
 Nature doth thy form annoint. 
 
 Lightly on from hour to hour, 
 Sighing, trembling, all for what? 
 
 Bathing in the sweet sun-shower. 
 And the cool air after that. 
 
 Is thy life one rounded year. 
 
 Though thou goest from zone to zone; 
 Who is it that thou would'st fear. 
 
 Thou of tyrants can'st have none? 
 108 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Is the bee thy rival here, 
 
 Oh, the boisterous bumble bee; 
 
 Yet e'en him thou need'st not fear, 
 Since that God hath need of thee. 
 
 DARK O'ER OUR FATHERLAND 
 
 Dark o'er our fatherland falls the night shade, 
 
 Sorrow and gloom is abroad in the land; 
 Where is the progress we boast of and made, 
 
 In the dear name of religion at hand. 
 He who went onward in garments of white, 
 
 Preaching of peace in the land of the Lord; 
 What was it all for? Illumined in light 
 
 Of seraphim beauty, emparidised word. 
 What! Are the words of the Prophets for nought? 
 
 (Gods of the heathen we dashed in the dust). 
 Build ye their altars that truth may be taught, 
 
 Yea, that their priests may live free from lust, — 
 Lust of the world's worthless power and pelf, 
 Lust of ambition, and gold, that centres in self. 
 
 109 
 
LAYS, LRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE VOICE OE THE PROPHET 
 
 God hath accorded us years without end, 
 
 If we but live to the best of our Hght; 
 Yet if we seek not his ways to attend, 
 
 We shall go down in the darkness of night. 
 This have I known in the fullness of years, 
 
 Men that seek evil go down in their sin. 
 They that seek gold from the poor in their tears, 
 
 God hath condemned them e'en 'ere they begin. 
 He that o'ercometh, him shall I reward. 
 
 "Vengeance is mine," saith God in his edict, 
 Ye shall go down unto death saith the Lord, 
 
 Ye that the poor so ruthlessly evict; 
 He that seeks treasure of him that is poor, 
 Short shall thy days be, and thy seed no more 
 endure. 
 
 110 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 YELLOW, YELLOW BUTTERFLY 
 
 Yellow, yellow Butterfly, 
 
 Ever on the wing; 
 Hast thou not a lullaby? 
 
 Let me hear you sing. 
 
 Though your song be nearly mute, 
 
 Scarcely heard at all. 
 Like the echo of a lute 
 
 O'er the garden wall. 
 
 Like a yellow pansy light, 
 
 Like the primrose gay, 
 Flitting on from morn to night 
 
 All the summer day. 
 
 Why art thou so full of life 
 
 Yellow Butterfly? 
 You've no pleasure in the strife 
 
 And no more have I. 
 
 What is it that we should toil 
 
 For an unknown race; 
 Sail the sea and till the soil, 
 
 Without time or grace? 
 
 Ever, ever on the wing. 
 
 This do I discern. 
 Never tiring little thing. 
 
 Much have I to learn. 
 
 Ill 
 
LAYS. LRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 IF 'TIS THY WILLI 
 
 Oh God, within thy ample hand 
 Are held the oceans and the land, 
 Where dwell their own-created race, 
 Each suited to his separate place; 
 All fish and fowl, and bird and beast, 
 And from the greatest to the least. 
 What myriad forms at thy command 
 Knshoal the seas and crowd the land. 
 
 And is man least that he should seek. 
 To wreck his vengeance on the weak? 
 To hold the flaming sword above, 
 And mock thy regency of love. 
 
 lyord, is the purpose of our life 
 To deluge man in blood and strife. 
 And sweeping fire that at the call 
 Of madden'd monarchs, consumes all? 
 Lord, in the hollow of Thy hand. 
 But drops of water, grains of sand, 
 Arfe all the worlds we nightly see, 
 And all the vast infinity. 
 
 We are but dust, and only last 
 A moment's space, and then are cast 
 Into the clay from whence we came, 
 To re-incarnate forms of shame. 
 
 112 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Oft' would we seek to know Thy will, 
 And Thy command "Thou shalt not kill!" 
 And yet we live that every hour 
 The stronger shall the weak devour; 
 That e'en the righteous seek to hold, 
 In death's damp grip, the poor for gold. 
 Yea, still we sing with one accord, 
 And call Thee Father, God and Lord. 
 
 Is all our pleading but a word, 
 
 To hide the blood-stained, vengeful sword; 
 
 And all the bowing on the knee, 
 
 But shameful acts of mockery? 
 
 Oh, Lord of Hosts! Is it Thy will 
 That man his brother man should kill? 
 Or hast Thou given the equal power 
 To bless and aid him from this hour? 
 Oh, if it be Thy will to save, 
 A creature from untimely grave, 
 Then at this hour bid tumult cease. 
 And warring nations, "Go in peace." 
 
 113 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 SAILOR JENKINS 
 
 Tom Jenkins was a sailor, which is not, as you 
 
 shall see, 
 A matter of much consequence to either you or me ; 
 For though he were a tailor or a lawyer, you'll 
 
 agree 
 That by preferential purpose man may be what he 
 
 may be. 
 
 Now a dainty draught of toddy he determined well 
 
 a smile, 
 And I don't know anybody that loved the red 
 
 weed more; 
 With his old friend. Squire Roddy, he who kept 
 
 the village store, 
 Jenkins often smoked and chatted 
 With a leisurely indifference to whatever went 
 
 before. 
 
 But the point to which I'm coming, and to this 
 
 you will agree. 
 Without hawing, without humming over petty 
 
 minor things; 
 If a man accepts your friendship he at least should 
 
 prove a friend. 
 In accordance with such precepts did the Knights 
 
 of old attend 
 At the banquet hall, you see here how precedence 
 
 still clings. 
 
 114 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Now the good Squire had a fancy for Miss Madelina 
 Jones, 
 
 And she often called to comfort his dear little 
 orphan girls; 
 
 And Jenkins being a widower, he dubbed Miss 
 Jones his pansy, 
 
 And he often brought her rose-blooms to decorate 
 her curls. 
 
 Friendship's tender tie oft' slackens as loves ten- 
 sion tighter grows. 
 
 To the ocean tales of Jenkins she would often lend 
 
 an ear, 
 For there's naught like wild adventure that a 
 
 lady loves to hear; 
 What an impetus of interest followed thro' the 
 
 changing zones? 
 Such reciprocal attentions touched Miss Madelina 
 
 Jones, 
 And she smiled and sighed in unison with Jenkin's 
 
 varying tones. 
 
 Ah, the blandishments of Roddy — how his fine 
 
 commercial smile. 
 Seemed to wake the latent love-light in Miss 
 
 Madelina's eye. 
 Friendship warm she felt for Jenkins, which was 
 
 plain to anybody; 
 Whilst with mingled love and sorrow she for 
 
 Rhoddy seemed to sigh, 
 Sorrow so akin to love is both together live and die. 
 
 115 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Love is like a jolly sailor roving round from port 
 
 to port, 
 And so oft' 'tis like a landsman when a village girl 
 
 you'd court; 
 Every girl loves wild adventure quite as much as 
 
 doth the boy — 
 But the sweets behind the counter wake the latent 
 
 soul to joy, 
 And when weighed in fancy boxes, how our soul is 
 
 thus beguiled. 
 
 Now the village squire seems happy with a recent 
 
 change of heart, 
 And his pipe is oft' neglected as he doth from 
 
 Jenkins part; 
 Nay, but Jenkins comes in seldom — dealing at the 
 
 other store, 
 Where he's found as fair a maiden as he loved or 
 
 liked before. 
 Better find another worthy than to vent one's hate 
 
 in gore. 
 
 For an early call to duty trust a sailor's honest 
 
 heart. 
 And when roused to manly action he will follow 
 
 well the chart; 
 Steer the ship to port and anchor safely by the 
 
 tender's side. 
 Such is Jenkins, and the maiden will to-morrow 
 
 be his bride. 
 
 Thus Tom Jenkins and Squire Roddy venture on 
 
 the rising tide. 
 
 116 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 HOW WE CALLED IT BRITISH 
 
 Yes, sah ; yes, sah ; dar am trouble — trouble comes 
 
 to dem who seek 
 Flaws and sins in libes ob others when dar' char- 
 acter am weak. 
 Ole Rube's talkin', he am certain ob de tings he's 
 
 gwine to speak. 
 See de poah ole head all bended, see de teah shine 
 
 on de check; 
 Heah de words so slow an' totterin' tremblin' — 
 
 listen ebery one, 
 But if one am heah who doubts me let him speak 
 
 when I am done. 
 Heah, jus' heah, whar we are sittin', on dar steps 
 
 ob Chestnut Church, 
 Heah, jus' whar dis church am standin', grew tall 
 
 maple trees and birch. 
 We had fled from ole plantations, de good Lord He 
 
 bade us flee. 
 To de North that we might wuship 'neath dar 
 
 North-land maple tree. 
 Roun' dis place dar was a commons whar de childah 
 
 used to play. 
 Once dar was a mighty gatherin' ob de white folks 
 
 all one day; 
 It was, if my memory fails not, in de May-time ob 
 
 de year. 
 "Trainin' day," I tink dey call'd it — for dey wus a 
 
 trainin' heah; 
 
 m 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Listen, I can heah de callin' "Forward, march," on 
 
 de green; 
 Strange I kneel again to wuship when dey sing, 
 
 "God Sabe de Queen" — 
 Hark, I heah de great che'r rising an' dar's some- 
 ting white I see, 
 Like a lobely dove descending down from Heaben 
 
 upon de free, 
 Oh dar was such great rejoicin' at dat meetin' on 
 
 de green. 
 Yah! I knew dat we wus freemen when we sang 
 
 God sabe de Queen — 
 Heah we said we'd build de church, sah, suah we 
 
 would been in de lurch 
 But for white folks and dar 'scriptshuns — dat's 
 
 how den we built dis church! 
 And dat's how we call'd it British, dis ole Church, 
 
 suah as a gun 
 I'se a gwine to see dat name dar, till my little day 
 
 is done. 
 Till I gywe to dat bright garden whar no mo' dar 
 
 will be night, 
 Whar de clo's am out a-dryin' from de angel Laun- 
 dry white. 
 Robes for dem whose sins are washed, sah, with 
 
 de lobe ob Christ below. 
 Washed fah brighter dan de blossom or de fust fall 
 
 ob de snow. 
 Oh, I'm gettin' kind of anxious, for I wants to be 
 
 up dar, 
 
 118 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Fust to raise de che'r in Heaben when de Queen 
 
 comes thro' de air. 
 Yah! I'se got one little chile dar; he wus such a 
 
 wond'rus boy, 
 With his little angel banjo he will wake de songs 
 
 ob joy, 
 When he sees de ole man cumin' — poah ole mother 
 
 on de ahm. 
 Thro' de thornless paths of roses, breathin' ob de 
 
 heabenly balm; 
 Dar we gather all together on de heabenly pas- 
 tures green, 
 Wabin' ob our hands and singin', singin' dis: "God 
 
 Sabe de Queen." 
 Tho' I'se but a poah ole darkey, yet within my 
 
 heart dar be 
 Such a mighty warm reception for de flag dat 
 
 made me free. 
 
 119 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 PIPER JOCK McLEAN 
 
 An incident in the Caledonia Games at Van- 
 couver, August 1st, 1902. 
 
 They march'd roun' wi' sax amain. 
 The pipes and drums took up the strain 
 Wi' power, "will y' no' cam' back again?" 
 
 In Stanley Park, Vancouver. 
 The line o' march was roun' and roun' 
 Afore the gran' stan', where the town 
 Turned out fu' Strang, wi' cap and gown 
 
 And Scotties' kilted cover. 
 
 Now one there was among them a' 
 Wha tak'd a wee drap esqueba, 
 'Twas awfu' like to hear him ca' 
 
 "Hurrah for Clan McLean!" 
 The tartan tangled on his breast, 
 Wi' drones and pipes and a' the rest, 
 Long headed folk tho't 'twould be best 
 
 That he no' play again. 
 
 They led the piper frae the field, 
 And still he was nae wont t' yield, 
 He staggered oot o'er st^ih and bield, 
 
 The man o' Clan McLean. 
 When oot the gate he gaed a blast, 
 And lads and lassies gathered fast, 
 The bonnet roun' was freely past 
 
 And bobees flowed amain. 
 
 120 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 The committee, wha had in han' 
 Arrangements for the games, sae gran' 
 Wha didna' see th' officious band 
 
 Turn oot bald Jock McLean 
 Went forrit tae the gate and led 
 Wl' arm in arm, in martial tread, 
 Awhile the pip^s blared oot wi' dread 
 
 "Ye '11 no come Back Again?" 
 
 The committee picked oot a shade, 
 Ayont the ropes a couch was made 
 On which the Piper Jock was laid 
 
 To sleep a' cares away. 
 The moral of our tale is this: 
 Let charity, when aught's amiss. 
 Direct our steps as well as his, 
 
 Wha wanders thus astray. 
 
 More than the moral o' the tale. 
 Upon the rising evening gale, 
 When Burrard Inlet's crowd of sail 
 
 Shone on the golden cover; 
 The wild note of the pibroch rent 
 The giant cedars, th' echoes bent 
 The Douglas fir; Jock's music went 
 
 Thro' Stanley Park, Vancouver. 
 
 121 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 'WELL, AS I WAS SAYIN', BRADY" 
 
 Are yez well, then, Mister Brady? 
 
 Ye are lookin' well, I know — 
 But apparences are often 
 
 So daycavin', ain't it so? 
 Well, and phat I wus remarkin', 
 
 If tha byes were always shure, 
 W^hen ye do be takin' medicin' 
 
 Always take the potcheen pure. 
 
 W^ell, as I was sayin', Brady, 
 
 Shure the toime goes awful quick, 
 When yez pass the day wid gentry; 
 
 That's a foin ould black thorn stick. 
 Bought it, did yez; is that so? 
 
 F'rom the County av Tyrone; 
 It's a soin av good luck, surely, 
 
 Wid the spoikes around it grown. 
 
 So I hear: He's ould and maybe 
 
 Somewan tellin' him he's ould; 
 And there's no toime yez will shiver, 
 
 Loike whin min say yez look cold. 
 Aw, yis; so they do be talkin' 
 
 'Bout me too; aw, is that so? 
 Ye'z can say wid my consent, sur. 
 
 That tha lot av them can go. 
 
 Well, as I was sayin' Brady, 
 
 To a place that modern language 
 
 122 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Would forbid me here to spake, 
 To a dishtance that a pigeon 
 Could not fly to in a wake. 
 
 Well, as I was sayin', Brady, 
 
 That yer gurls musht now look foine, 
 And perhaps they'd be thinkin' av 
 
 Thim well-built byes av moine? 
 Want a duke! Phat? Lord or fool; 
 
 He who wan weds a lady; 
 So they've come back now from school. 
 
 Yez are proud, now, Mrs. Brady. 
 
 Now, as I was sayin', Brady, 
 
 Well oim goin' now away; 
 Yis, I've aften hard yez say that, 
 
 Where's me hat? Now so good day. 
 Niver moind, I must be off, now. 
 
 They'll be waitin' me for tay; 
 Yer invitation, Madam, shure's 
 
 So temptin', I musht stay. 
 
 Well, as I was sayin' Brady: 
 
 Pardon, Moike, I musht go; 
 They've been makin' me a squire, 
 
 Is that so? And here's my bow 
 To yer decision. Gurls are home? 
 
 Well, well; Oime glad yez all to say, 
 Sure me byes would loike to graate yez. 
 
 Malloney, plaze sit down to tay. 
 
 123 
 
. LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Here the girls were seated 'round him, 
 
 And Mallotiey felt, I'm sure. 
 That the laws of etiquette were 
 
 In their keepin' quite secure; 
 And they said, please tell my fortune, 
 
 And they leaned toward his chair, 
 And they handed him their cups quite 
 
 In a manner debonair. 
 
 Be a wizard, now, Malloney, 
 
 Says Squire Brady with a wink; 
 For the gurls are very anxious 
 
 To be hearing what you think. 
 Round and round Malloney turned them, 
 
 And a smile stole o'er his chin; 
 When a knock came to the door, then, 
 
 And they bid the young men in. 
 
 Welcome, boys, said good Squire Brady, 
 
 I'm so glad that yez have come; 
 See, yer father's tellin' fortunes 
 
 Bate the hide head av a dhrum. 
 Now come wid me Moike Malloney, 
 
 Lave the byes and gurls alone; 
 Shure the fortunes you'll be tellin' 
 
 Is to them already known. 
 
 124 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 EMANCIPATION DAY 
 
 Back, away back in de fohties; yah, I know de 
 
 very yeah, 
 When we skipp'd de ole plantation, and we came 
 
 to dwell up heah; 
 Reuben! you won't bohn nohow, but your father 
 
 was a chile, 
 And he clung close to his mother thro' Ohio's 
 
 forests wild; 
 For de bloodhound was behind her and de wolf on 
 
 ebery side; 
 With her feet all torn and bleeding, sickened she 
 
 lay down and died. 
 That lone night a grave I made her dat de hound 
 
 in vain might bay; 
 Swift I stole from out the forest, ofttimes hum- 
 ming on my way, 
 Tinking still dat she was comin', tho' I knew dat 
 
 she was dead; 
 Oh, dar's something strange 'bout mem'ry bring- 
 ing back ole times we dread; 
 But we cross'd de line in safety and I raised de 
 
 songs ob joy, 
 'Case de Lohd dat led de childah thro' de Johdan 
 
 kept my boy. 
 Yet I could not, tho' I knew dat 'neath de maple 
 
 I was free. 
 
 125 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Keep from tinkin' on pooh mother and her grabe 
 
 ob Hberty; 
 Oh, dis day be glad rejoicin', Oh, dis 'Mancipation 
 
 Day! 
 When de gran' Ole Abraham Lincoln did in procla- 
 
 mashun say: 
 "All men in dis Ian' are free bohn," how I humbly 
 
 bow an' pray 
 Dat the mohning star ob glory sheds its neber- 
 
 ending ray, 
 On de head ob deah Ole Abram foh de mehcies he 
 
 has wrought; 
 Foh de manna to de childah in de wilderness he 
 
 brought. 
 
 126 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 ITALIAN FRUIT VENDOR 
 
 "Ice'a cream — six banan' vive cent. 
 
 Pea nut drhee cent sze glass. 
 
 Ah Lady! sze 'Talyman's cheap, 
 
 You no tink he vill sell, and he vass! 
 
 Apell sze red, and sze goot. 
 
 I sell to sze poy and he shy 
 Sze peel a benan' on sze head. 
 
 Hello! pleecemans, you eat, vat 3^ou buy? 
 
 T'eater out, people's come — dats so, 
 
 Apell, sze peanut, sze benan', 
 Six vive cent for's 'who buy? 
 
 I sell all so s'cheap as I can." 
 
 Thus night after night as I stroll down the street, 
 At his cart in the corner the same man I meet. 
 At the south-western corner of Ad'laide and Yonge, 
 Where the Saxon falls sweet from the soft Latin 
 
 tongue. 
 Do you know that lone voice in the dark solitude 
 Seems like a sweet songster astray from the wood, 
 And I pause, lest I startle it, out on the night, 
 That sweet voice Italian, with cruel affright! 
 
 Do you know in it lingers love's bright early dreiini, 
 When he wandered, a boy, down the cool winding 
 stream? 
 
 127 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Do you see the clear zenith reflecting its hue 
 Cerulean and calm on the river that through 
 The land of the Caesars, flows down to the sea, 
 By vineland and orchards, by village and lea? 
 The climbing fruit clusters so rich 'neath the vine, 
 And sweet are the flowers that his cot doth entwine. 
 The youth looking far off so coyly doth roam. 
 To waken the lute by his love's trellised home, 
 And lingering he listens that welcome so sweet 
 By the gate of the cot where the true lovers meet. 
 
 But hark! 'tis the trumpet's fierce calling afar — 
 Its summons is rousing the valleys to war. 
 The banners are floating o'er mountain and sea. 
 With golden words gleaming and crest of the free; 
 And brave Garibaldi rides forth in his might, 
 And Victor Emmanuel leads far in the fight — 
 But hush! 'tis the cadence that wakes in the heart 
 Of the patriot who dwells from his own land apart. 
 That I hear as I wander, the stillness alone. 
 In low-murmured sentence or weird monotone. 
 Thus night after night, as I stroll down the street. 
 By his cart in the corner, the same man I meet 
 At the south-western corner of Ad'laide and Yonge, 
 Where the Saxon falls sweet from the soft Latin 
 tongue. 
 
 128 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 ERE'S A 'EALTH TO 'ENNIKER 'EATON 
 
 'Ere's a 'ealth to 'Enniker 'Eaton, 
 
 A chap 'as isn't slow, 
 Who maikes a penny powstage stamp 
 
 For a tupenny-'a'penny go! 
 
 I've a letteh halmost written, 
 
 A word or two — you know — 
 To a dainty little Kentish gal — 
 
 Well, 'Eaton, 'ere's a go! 
 Ay, 'ere's to 'Enniker 'Eaton, 
 
 A chap as isn't slow. 
 Who maikes me write to 'er I love — 
 
 So 'ere's a blooming go! 
 
 I some'ow think that little gal 
 
 Forgets 'er ChoUie's naime; 
 If hother fellows court 'er. 
 
 Why she is not to blaime — 
 The hivy climbs above the porch 
 
 There at the garden gate, 
 Though many thousand miles away 
 
 I see my sweet'art wait. 
 
 Ah! don't laugh, lads, cawn't 'elp it now 
 
 I'm such a blooming fool! 
 I've never 'eard from mother dear 
 
 Since I left 'ome and school. 
 I read a Henglish paiper once. 
 
 As 'ow a lady tried 
 To find a bloke — 'er youngest son — 
 
 And broken 'carted died. 
 129 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Yet, 'ere's to 'Enniker 'Eaton, 
 
 A chap as isn't slow, 
 He maikes a penny powstage stamp. 
 
 For a tupenny-'a'penny go! 
 
 IN ERIN OF OLD 
 
 In Erin of old a Princess there dwelt, 
 Whose face was as fair as the morn, 
 
 And she at the shrine of her country low knelt, 
 At the sound of the huntsman's first horn. 
 
 St. Patrick, at worship, beheld her and said, 
 
 (So soon as he had a good chance), 
 "Dear Princess, the bugle you needn't now dread. 
 
 For I broke it this morn with my lance." 
 
 St. Patrick, then blessing her, tenderly said, 
 "From now to the end of all years — 
 
 Wear, Princess Patricia, this leaf on your head, 
 And its presence will soothe e'en your tears." 
 
 The shamrock he gave her, that dear little leaf. 
 
 He wove in a wreath of her hair. 
 St. Patrick, believe me, that morn was a thief, 
 
 For he stole a sweet kiss then and there. 
 
 130 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE COWBOY HITS THE TOWN 
 
 A Western cowboy from Medicine Hat in charge 
 of a shipment of bronchos or Western prairie hor- 
 ses was the centre of an attracting crowd of sight- 
 seers as he rode through the streets of Toronto, 
 riding with somewhat of a miHtary spirit. 
 
 Have you seen the Chinook rising o'er the Western 
 
 poplar hills, 
 Watched the redman ride in fury, blanket-robed 
 
 and eagle quills? 
 How the cattle sniff the hot wind, goaded by the 
 
 cowboy punch, 
 Rushing to the smudgy shelter o'er the prairie 
 
 sweeps the bunch. 
 
 Well, perhaps ye h'ain't have seen it; seen the 
 
 Hell-Cap of the Plain, 
 Seen the hot sand wave come rolling, resting, but 
 
 to rise again. 
 If you have not seen the westland, well apologize 
 
 for that, 
 To the bronze-browned broncho buster who has 
 
 lit in from the Hat. 
 
 Yesterday the town coralling rode the cowboy 
 
 forth in sport. 
 With his broad sombrero flopping o'er a new white 
 
 laundried shirt. 
 
 131 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 He has come to teach the broncho how to sachee 
 down the street, 
 
 Playing cross-tag with the street car where To- 
 ronto's first set meet. 
 
 See the sun-kissed smile upon him, gleaming 
 
 smiles the eagle eye, 
 By the presence of the ladies you'll discern he's 
 
 somewhat shy. 
 He could face a thousand cattle brooding mischief 
 
 on the plain, 
 Tho' he felt that danger lurked in those fierce 
 
 heralds of the slain. 
 
 But what wild halucinations wrangle now his tufted 
 
 breast, 
 Conqueror of many a broncho, falls our hero of the 
 
 West. 
 It was all within a moment, cantering swiftly thru' 
 
 the street, 
 Halted where a group of maidens for a Yonge- 
 street car did meet. 
 
 There's a lack of rythmic cadence, oh what poverty 
 
 of rhyme. 
 Since the field of sweet romancing lies beyond the 
 
 city's chime. 
 This is what the poet tells us, "By the scented 
 
 sylvan shade 
 Near the elms upon the meadow sweetly woo the 
 
 village maid." 
 
 132 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 But the cowboy's vale of fancies, haunts the city's 
 
 thorofare. 
 And the one he holds the dearest, or would hold the 
 
 nearest, there. 
 See the upturned dark-eyed glances of the maid 
 
 demure and mild. 
 Gently chiding makes the prairie rover feel again 
 
 a child. 
 
 Thinks he on the days when younger in his old 
 
 New England home. 
 How he loved a schoolgirl fondly, ere afar he went 
 
 to roam; 
 Now in dazzling urban splendor he has lost his 
 
 heart on what? 
 'Tis a milliner creation — Oh ye maidens of the Hat! 
 
 One there dvjrells in far Alberta, one who pinned 
 
 upon his shirt, 
 Flowers that bloomed upon the prairie, dearest, 
 
 did you dream he'd flirt? 
 But I know these wayward fancies will all vanish 
 
 all of that, 
 When he rounds up next year's bronchos with the 
 
 maiden at the Hat. 
 
 133 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 A TALE OF HUNKER CREEK 
 
 McMoon's saloon on 44 
 
 Was sold a month ago, 
 The news had not reached Hunker Creek, 
 
 How were the boys to know 
 That heavyweight, Frank Slaven, had 
 
 Come up to run the show? 
 
 A stranger came from Hunker Creek, 
 
 With nuggets in his sack; 
 He took the outgoing mail express 
 
 And lit in with the pack; 
 He knew the miners up the gulch, 
 
 And some were on his track. 
 
 He strolled around the bar-room 
 
 Like as if he meant to stay; 
 His broad slouched Stetson hat dragged down 
 
 As if he meant to say: 
 Have all the fun you like, McMoon, 
 
 But don't get gay! 
 
 It was the barman's business to 
 Prepare the toothsome draught; 
 
 He listened to the stranger and 
 He, inward chuckling, laughed; 
 
 He joined the general round of words, 
 Which, undertoned, he halfed. 
 
 134 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Said Schoff, in plain unvarnished words, 
 
 I kinder feel to-day, 
 I'd like to have a little round 
 
 If business came my way; 
 Have all the fun you like, McMoon, 
 
 But don't get gay! 
 
 It was a kind of thunder storm, 
 
 Of lightning without light, 
 A rumbling up among the clouds 
 
 All darkening into night; 
 A hardened fist for battle bent 
 
 And aching for a fight. 
 
 He slammed the bottle on the bar, 
 
 It tumbled to the floor; 
 He called for that same drink again 
 
 And "knowed" there was no more; 
 He called McMoon a looney name 
 
 And then went in for gore. 
 
 Between the daylight's waning hour 
 
 And early eventide. 
 There seemed to be some spirit power. 
 
 That did o'er time preside. 
 And made it hard for Hunker Creek 
 
 To hold the belt with pride. 
 
 'Twas in the centre of the room, 
 
 As face to face they stood; 
 Frank Slaven's eye was eager like 
 
 135 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 McMoon's, I mean for blood; 
 
 The stranger caught the eagle flash, 
 
 And knew his game was good. 
 
 Just then the driver, Red Gulch Smith, 
 
 Came walking up, said he: 
 "Well, Schoff, what's new on Hunker Creek? 
 
 Well, Slaven, how you be?" 
 "Come boys," said Smith, "lets have a drink, 
 
 And drink to 'Frank' with me." 
 
 Frank Slaven knowed that Schoff was game, 
 
 But glad was he to say: 
 "Well, Smith, you've ordered up the drink, 
 
 Have got the dust to pay?" 
 Said Schoff to Schoff, "Have fun my boy. 
 
 But don't get gay." 
 
 Said Schoff to Slaven, most polite, 
 
 I hope you'll understand 
 That I'm mistaken in my man, 
 
 I offer you my hand. 
 He winked at Smith a Sou' west smile 
 
 That lit across the land. 
 
 Frank took the hand of Hunker Schoff, 
 
 And shook above the bar; 
 Frank Slaven's fist was in a vice 
 
 That held it tight as tar; 
 Like Slaven's, Schoff's was tightly clasped 
 
 In sinews made for war, 
 
 136 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Now both were satisfied, because, 
 
 As w^omen always say: 
 When argument's agin her and 
 
 vShe will have her way; 
 Have all the fun you like, says he, 
 
 But don't get gay. 
 
 McMoon's saloon on 44 
 
 Was sold a month ago; 
 The news had not reached Hunker Creek, 
 
 How were the boys to know 
 That heavyweight, Frank Slaven, had 
 
 Come up to run the show? 
 
 137 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 TIM DOOLEY'S PLIGHTED FAITH 
 A baseball incident in Providence, Rhode Island, 
 
 It was on an idle evening 
 
 That Tim Dooley sat alone, 
 And if I were prone to gossip 
 
 Like the ladies of Tyrone, 
 I'd be after whispering something 
 
 That I heard Tim Dooley say — 
 He took no stock in Providence, 
 
 By Hill, they couldn't play. 
 
 In blasphemy Tim Dooley 
 
 Never claimed he had a cinch, 
 Yet he never shirked it, mind you, 
 
 When it came down to a pinch. 
 Thus upon this ill-starred evening 
 
 Dooley said more than a prayer 
 As he sat with chin propped up well 
 
 On a low back kitchen chair. 
 
 By my soul, says he, "I'm madder," 
 
 Not George Rowneys' London make. 
 That's an artist joke, you see it? 
 
 Oh, the liberties I take ; 
 But, says Dooley, I am madder 
 
 Than a march hare in the swamp, 
 Whin its little feet are frost-bound 
 
 In the shadow and the damp. 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Faith says he, I put up money 
 
 On Rhode Island's clever team. 
 But in politics and baseball 
 
 Sure things are not what they seem I 
 Sure I trusted in the spirit 
 
 Of the hoty men of old 
 Till I saw myself get worsted 
 
 Honoring all my stakes in gold. 
 
 Gold is silence, speech is silver — 
 
 I began with too much brass. 
 You have heard a lion roaring, 
 
 You have heard a braying ass. 
 Well, vSir, I was like the latter, 
 
 Whilst I dread to spake the word, 
 Och, my weeping's far to fragile 
 
 And my tears are too absurd. 
 
 Trust in Providence, I trusted, 
 
 Could a man be more deceived? 
 I believed that luck went wid them, 
 
 And I cashed as I believed. 
 Cash, not trust, counts most in baseball; 
 
 Did you hear me say "I'm bust!" 
 You can say with my permission. 
 
 In Providence, let no man trust. 
 
 139 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE WEDDING OF HICKORY JIM 
 
 Not one of your idle romances, 
 
 Is this tale of Hickory Jim, 
 'Twas told me by young Billy Francis 
 
 Who was a full cousin to him. 
 It happened 'way in the shanties, 
 
 In November portentious and grey, 
 Just ten years before the Rebellion, 
 
 That's thirty-nine years. Sir, to-day. 
 Now Jim was engaged to Miss Simson, 
 
 A maiden so pretty and trim, 
 Her dress it was calico, crimson. 
 
 And her waist was most coaxingly slim. 
 As he for the village was headin' 
 
 They gave their best wishes to him. 
 They drank all success to the weddin' 
 
 Of Kitty and Hickory Jim — 
 Now Kitty was ready quite early. 
 
 And Hickory was there all serene, 
 But he took too much budge in the barroom 
 
 And it left him too full for the scene. 
 The preacher came ready to wed them. 
 
 But Hickory could nowhere be seen. 
 Miss Simson was all in a fluster, 
 
 Her bridesmaids were sadder than sin. 
 Says big Billy Little, the buffer. 
 
 If Hickory don't toe the line soon 
 I'll marry Miss Kitty, I love her, 
 
 And ye'll drink to our health all at noon, 
 
 140 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 The Preacher them there then, united. 
 
 When sudden from under a table, 
 Came Hickory half dazed and affrighted. 
 
 To marry was willin' and able; 
 Says he, sure the weddin's not over! 
 
 The ring I have here in my han' — 
 Says big Billy Little, the buffer, 
 
 There's some thipgs yez don't understand. 
 Well, says he, now, whose weddin' is this? 
 
 With a look that was anxious and grim, 
 The widow spake up, I'll be Missus, 
 
 If you'll marry me, Hickory Jim. 
 Jim stood for a moment in silence. 
 
 The Preacher advanced with the book, 
 The widow, she waltzed up to Hickory 
 
 And vanquished his frown with a look: 
 A look that was warm and convincin' ; 
 
 Says he, it's all right, yes I will, 
 And I'll prove that I'll stan' by me word, 
 
 Tho' it taps me last dime in the till. 
 The guests were all happy, 'twas ended 
 
 And they sat down to eat a full meal. 
 The preacher pronounced clear the blessin' 
 
 In the mirth he could hardly conceal. 
 For Hickory was lookin' straight at him. 
 
 And caught the faint smile on his chia, 
 Whilst big Billy Little, the buffer, 
 
 His face like the full moon did grin. 
 Jim felt like a wolf in a sheep-cot, 
 
 When looking his guests in the eye, 
 'Twas better he thought then to weep not 
 
 141 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 But rejoice till he bade all good-bye. 
 Jim keeps the hotel on the corner 
 
 Which his wife willed lately to him, 
 And he sits like a little Jack Horner, 
 
 A fillin' his pipe to the brim. 
 His son-in-law works in the stable, 
 
 And Kitty takes care of the grub; 
 She see)s that the rooms are well kept 
 
 And presides o'er the clothes in the tub. 
 I remember the day of the weddin', 
 
 It's nearly now forty long years, 
 And it seems but a week as I view it — 
 
 How short a long period appears 
 When vividly incidents, stored up, 
 
 Come trippin' o'er pathways of time, 
 'Tis long since Jim paid his last board up, 
 
 And he looks like a man in his prime. 
 This tale is not like your romances. 
 
 This weddin' of Hickory Jim, 
 'Twas told me by young Billy Francis 
 
 Who was a full cousin to him. 
 
 142 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE DHRAME O' MICHAEIv CAvSEY 
 
 Moike Casey he was weary av a long day's honest 
 
 work 
 And he laid him down to rest awhile as tired as a 
 
 Turk. 
 Took a wee drap av the craythur to fdl up his 
 
 empty sides. 
 Wearin' only nature's coverin', with the rest that 
 
 health provides. 
 Lyin' on a straw filled tick he slept unbroken till 
 
 the morn, 
 Then he rubbed his eyes an rose up and went forth 
 
 to hoe the corn. 
 
 **Och," says he, "oi had a quare dhrame as I slum- 
 bered in the night, 
 
 Sure oi thought oi was in Oirlan' an' me achin' 
 for a foight — 
 
 Back agin oi thought oi was sure in the scenes of 
 former joys 
 
 Talkin' to the crowd an' roarin' like a wildman 
 till the byes. 
 
 Sure, oi thought I was at supper, wid the urchins 
 home from school, 
 
 Shoutin' loud for red haired Redmon' an' the 
 cause of Irish rule. 
 
 Now the byes wint from Bajlturbit in a howlin' 
 
 swaggerin' way, 
 
 Carson's maatin to disturb it. Well as oi was goin' 
 
 to say 
 
 143 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Every man av thim was proud av phat their 
 
 ancestors had done 
 An' they wore their army medals just to show how 
 
 foights were won; - 
 Are yiz listnin'? sure, Moike, wid thim comin' 
 
 down the road the loike 
 Av an army fifty thousand. Are yiz listnin' still? 
 
 sure, Moike! 
 
 How'ld yer whisht, they came upon us askin' me 
 
 if Carson's min 
 Were upon the road to Limerick? "Well," says 
 
 Oi, "they might iv been." 
 "Come along and show the way that Carson's min 
 
 would likely walk!" 
 "An me heart was in me mouth thin an' I would' nt 
 
 dare to talk. 
 All our byes were out among them ; oi, av course, 
 
 was in the lade, 
 Colonel Hughes was most eflScient riding on a 
 
 white plumed stade." 
 
 "Oiyes front!" says he; Says oi, "phat's that?" 
 
 "who's that talkin in the ranks?" 
 Says the Colonel: "Study min now, oi puts up wid 
 
 no such pranks, 
 Every man must walk erect now, till we reach 
 
 the Limerick loine. 
 Guard see how's my scabbard's hangin', like 
 
 King Billie's at the Boyne." 
 "An' am Oi," says oi, "King James' treen, velvet 
 
 coat an' ould plug hat. 
 144 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 An' Oi out wid Carson's army marchin' wid the 
 
 devil, phat?" 
 "Now," says oi, "oi'd loike a rest here till oi get 
 
 me bearin' right" 
 "Keep on marchin'," says the Colonel, "Limerick 
 
 yez shall reach to-night" 
 "Och," says oi, *'oi'm not so anxious to attain 
 
 that noble end, 
 An' me feet are blisterin' sorely, wait till oi my fate 
 
 attend." 
 "Forward min, subordination will be punished in 
 
 the ranks" 
 "Sure, my toes are wet wid blisters, let me keep 
 
 along the planks." 
 
 Down the hill like sportsmen cantering, in their 
 
 stateliness and pride, 
 All unseen came Colonel Carson, Redmond riding 
 
 by his side. 
 "Sthop," says Redmond, "there's Moike Casey, 
 
 wan av my most trusty boys." 
 "Then dismiss him," says the Colonel, "he will 
 
 serve you in deploys." 
 "Sure," says Oi, "my blinkin' orbits tell me not to 
 
 seek for gore. 
 Oi'll return me to Bellturbit, there to dwell in peace 
 
 once more." 
 
 Did oi slaap? yez after askin', sure, oi did, or how 
 
 would oi? 
 Iver in the open day loight think I was again a 
 
 a bye. 
 
 145 
 
LA YS, L YRICS A ND LEGENDS 
 
 Walkin' on the roads to Limerick, Och! It would 
 
 yer faith disthroy, 
 Here oi've been wid me ould woman workin' 
 
 where none can annoy. 
 I have forty hed av cattle, twenty horses an' a 
 
 sow, 
 Wid a litter av young squalers, twilve or four-teen, 
 
 an' a plow. 
 
 I have all my wants supplied here, nothing that 
 
 the heart could seek. 
 Barley, whate, oats are ripenin' for the raper, sure, 
 
 this week. 
 In me cellar yez can see there chaase an' butther 
 
 av a kind 
 That would make a Dutchman curious an' the 
 
 pale Norwaigian blind. 
 Crocks av butther milk the foinest rich an whoite 
 
 an' snow}^ cool. 
 An' for me to live in Oirlan were' the folly av a fool 
 
 146 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 A TALE O' THE FOREST O' WINDSOR 
 
 I am no the Chieftain o' Lochiel, ye ken, 
 
 Nor Laird o' Benlomond for bye; 
 I'm only a chiel maun that dwelt in the glen, 
 
 That was no afeard ta die. 
 
 There's a tale I maun tell. The test it was fierce, 
 
 In the Forest o' Windsor deep, 
 When a buck forth came wi' his antlers like spears. 
 
 He halted a moment ta leap. 
 
 I sprang 'hind the trunk o' an' oak that was near, 
 
 I thocht o' a dirk in my hose; 
 I leaned me back an' prepared fa' that deer. 
 
 To smite him ta earth wi twa blows. 
 
 Richt forrit he came, an' I sprang on his back. 
 
 As he hitted the tree wi' his horn; 
 I laid him fu' low wi' mi dirk ta the track, 
 
 An' he wished he never was born. 
 
 The keeper went back ta his lodge an' I knew 
 
 There's only ane chance oot o' ten, 
 Ta ficht wi' a buck, when sa angry he grew. 
 
 Hoot, maun, it was awfu' ye ken. 
 
 I walked awa' fra the forest sa deep, 
 
 An' I wiped my dirk sae red; 
 There's na maun ye ken that's goin' for ta weep 
 
 O' the stag in the forest sa ded. 
 147 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 'Twas deep in the Forest o' Windsor, ye ken, 
 
 A chieftain attested his steel. 
 An' should e'en a hart e'er attempt it again, 
 
 He maun dee o' the han' o' a chiel. 
 
 I'm gannin' awa' ta a picnic ta-day. 
 The lassies their baskets til' bring; 
 
 I'll tell o' mi foicht wi' the buck until they 
 Rise up an' gan forrit an' sing. 
 
 There's nathing sa ^raun as a tale o' the bold, 
 An' a maun that is fearless an' free; 
 
 Tho' my tale o' the battle, althoo' it is old, 
 Was tell'd o' na one but me. 
 
 I'm no the Chieftain o' lyochiel, sa graun, 
 
 Nor Laird o' Ben Nevis sa hie; 
 A foeman I'll face wi' mi dirk in mi haun, 
 
 An' I'll combat ta won or ta dee. 
 
 I'm off for the boat, for the whustle I hear, 
 
 I'll no' ha' a moment tae spare; 
 An' ou' I maun loose it I very much fear, 
 
 See! The lassies are ca'ing me there! 
 
 148 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 THE LIDDLH DUTCH vSTORE 
 
 ]^»Ialoney went into a tavern one day 
 
 The divil was in Moike Maloney. 
 He pressed the small nib of a bell in the way 
 
 That called up the bartender Roney. 
 
 A Dutchman drop'd in, now, when Roney was gone 
 For to bring in Maloney's good cheer, 
 
 "Och! where is the waiter," says Maloney, "take 
 one," 
 "I vill dake if you vish Lager peer." 
 
 The Dutchman pulled out of his pocket a pack 
 
 Of Caraway bread and bologna 
 And limburger cheese that would knock a cat back. 
 
 "Phwat the divil is that," says Moloney. 
 
 Mien frien', you see dis vas delicatessen, 
 Mit garlick and onions was some more, 
 
 Dis makes de mouf smack wif funny oxpression, 
 Vich I puy in de liddle Dutch store. 
 
 Maloney, he says, is it fit for ould wimmin? 
 
 Yez hav lots of sthrong beer in yer mug. 
 The Dutchman declared it was not vor to swim in, 
 
 But yoost for to drink in der klub. 
 
 Maloney was fond av a joke an' he said, 
 "How long is yer rope av bologna?" 
 
 He seized it by way of the joke that he played 
 "lyook out for your head," sez Maloney. 
 
 149 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 He swung it around as a lasso is swung, 
 The Dutchman he hit with bologna, 
 
 The full mug of beer the Dutchman then flung. 
 On the boiled shirt of Moike Maloney. 
 
 Faith just had this trouble but hardly begun. 
 
 In a way that was really distressin, 
 Mkloney declared with an oath on his tongue 
 
 "To Hill wid yer delicatessen." 
 
 Maloney looked down on his boiled shirt an' saw 
 (It was brown as a hide in the tan.) 
 
 He growled wid a wink an' a grin on his jaw 
 
 "Now what mane ye, says he, "me good man?" 
 
 The table was tilted when down came the cheese, 
 
 It fell in a lump on the floor; 
 The clothes that Maloney had on, if you please, 
 
 The like av thim never he wore. 
 
 They were down on the floor when Roney came in, 
 Says he " Phwat now is the matter in here," 
 
 Maloney, mien bellonies, is fightin' to win, 
 Mit cheeze an' a mug av strong beer. 
 
 The engagement he made wid Norah O'Flynn 
 Sure he cancelled it well in this way. 
 
 Our tame in the game I'm sure cannot win, 
 An' I think I'll postpone it to-day. 
 
 150 
 
LAYS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 Already you done dis a cubble of dimes 
 Vich you dinks vas a shance to begin 
 
 Und ven I vas dole dat such dings vas grimes 
 You smoile den und vipe off your chin. 
 
 Now Jacob Strauss Zigler made things very clear, 
 And he swelled like a carbon balloon; 
 
 I'll make dot pardender yoost shake ub mit fear, 
 Ven his eye pe oclipsed like de moon. 
 
 "Go home mit de lady, Malloney," he said, 
 Und vait dill I comes, Norah O'Flynn; 
 
 Some driks vich dot pardender un me vas played, 
 Und already so soon I'll pegin. 
 
 Go oud ven de peples pegin und den vait 
 Yoost to see how dot pardender run; 
 
 He'll cross on de diamond und skin thro' de gate, 
 Und pye gosh you'll see der some fun." 
 
 Such dings as vas happen vill happen no more, 
 
 Und already our vork ve begin; 
 Yoost come mit me down to de liddle Dutch store 
 
 Und Delephone Norah O'Flynn. 
 
 Dot pardender say, ven you vent oud to vash, 
 Some dings on dat delephone vhich 
 
 Vas about two shentlemans' hev a big thrash 
 Und af one dat vas look like some vish. 
 
 151 
 
LAVS, LYRICS AND LEGENDS 
 
 So den ve goes down to dat liddle Dutch store 
 
 Mien delephone you can use den, 
 Und dell on dat pardender he vas a saur- 
 
 Kraut already to Norah O'Klynn. 
 
 Some dings I vas know bout dat Norah O'Flynn 
 Und she lifs peside mien vife yoost so. 
 
 Yah cum mit me oud, ven de baseball begin 
 Und I make ob dat Roney a show. 
 
 I valk ub to Norah und dake off mien hat 
 Und such dings as boliteness I'll show, 
 
 T'was Roney vas mak do you somedings like dat 
 Und I mak him acknowledgment so. 
 
 Und den I vill dell him ven I haf a shance 
 I'll smack him some dimes on de nose. 
 
 I'll dell him he's no goot! Some goot man she vants, 
 Dat you vas de man she vas shose. 
 
 Now Norah O'Flynn she lifs in mien house, 
 She's a niece ob mien vife as you see, 
 
 Ven Rooney vas cums I'll say " Nixcum Rouse, 
 Und I shase him so quick, belief me. 
 
 Und den I vill dell him vhen I hef a shance, 
 
 I'll hit him somedime on de nose. 
 And to Norah I'll say if she a man vants, 
 
 Dot you vas de man she musd shose. 
 
 152