_A Colloquy on the Canadian Shore._
_Canada._ "Westward the course of empire takes its way."
_Britannia._ The Bishop's famous line, dear, bears to-day
Modified meaning; westward runs indeed
The route of empire,--ours!
_Canada._ If I succeed
In drawing hither Trade's unfaltering feet
And _yours_, my triumph then will be complete.
_Britannia._ Across your continent from sea to sea
All is our own, my child, and all is free.
No jealous rivals spy around our path
With watchfulness not far remote from wrath.
The sea-ways are my own, free from of old
To keels adventurous and bosoms bold.
Now, from my western cliffs that front the deep
To where the warm Pacific waters sweep
Around Cathay and old Zipangu's shore,
My course is clear. What can I wish for more?
To your young enterprise the praise is due.
_Canada._ The praise, and profit, I would share with you.
Canadian energy has felt the spur
Of British capital; the flush and stir
Of British patriot blood is in our heart;
Still I am glad you think I've done my part.
_Britannia._ Bravely! Yon Arctic wastes no more need slay
My gallant sons. Had FRANKLIN seen this day
He had not slept his last long lonely sleep
Where the chill ice-pack lades the frozen deep.
"It can be done; England should do it!" Yes,
That is the thought which urges to success
Our struggling sore-tried heroes. WAGHORN knew
Such inspiration. Many a palsied crew
Painfully creeping through the Arctic night
Have felt it fill their souls like fire and light.
Well, it _is_ done, by men of English strain,
Though in such shape as they who strove in vain
With Boreal cold and darkness never dreamed
When o'er the Pole the pale aurora gleamed
Perpetual challenge.
_Canada._ Here's your Empire route!
A right of way whose value to compute
Will tax the prophets.
_Britannia._ Links me closer still
With all my wandering sons who tame and till
The world's wild wastes, and throng each paradise
In tropic seas or under southern skies,
See, Halifax, Vancouver, Sydney, set
Fresh steps upon a path whose promise yet
Even ourselves have hardly measured. Lo!
Far China brought within a moon or so,
Of tea-devouring London! Here it lies,
The way for men and mails and merchandise,
Striking athwart your sea-dividing sweep
Of land; one iron road from deep to deep!
Well thought, well done!
_Canada._ No more need you depend
On furtive enemy or doubtful friend.
Your home is on the deep, and when you come,
To the Dominion's land you're still at home.
_Britannia._ And woe to him the Statesman cold or blind,
Of clutching spirit or of chilling mind,
Pedantic prig or purse-string tightening fool,
Who'd check such work and such a spirit cool!
Yours is the praise and may the profit flow
In fullest stream, 'midst your Canadian snow
A true Pactolus. Trade's prolific fruit,
Should freely flourish on our Empire Route.
* * * * *
LOADED WITH PRESENTS.--In the account given in the _Times_ (Oct. 7) of
the unveiling of Mr. BOEHM'S statue of the QUEEN in the presence of its
donors, HER MAJESTY'S tenants and servants on the Balmoral Estates
assembled at Crathie, there is a funny misprint:--
"At this point (_i.e._ after HER MAJESTY'S reply to the Prince
of WALES'S address) the soldiers saluted and fired a _feu de
foie_."
As refreshments were supplied by the QUEEN'S command immediately
afterwards, perhaps the guns had been loaded with "_foie gras_," tightly
compressed into cartridges.
[Illustration]