Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Brenda Lewis, Charlie Howard
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WAYSIDE WEEDS
_NOTE_
_The verses in this volume
have been collected by a few of Dr. Ellis's
friends, and in this form are presented to him by
them as a New Year's gift_
1 _January,_ 1914
INTRODUCTION
BY
MAURICE HUTTON, LL.D.,
_Principal of University College, Toronto_
W. H. E.
There is a Heav'n: at least on earth below:
It is where scholars read and thinkers brood:
For crowns and halos volumes in a row
For angels' wings it has its gown and hood.
In that seraphic choir see Ellis sit!
With that Elys-ian light his numbers glow:
The scholar's seriousness, the scholar's wit,
Twin spirits in alternate ebb and flow.[1]
Studious and silent he has read life's page,
Scholar and chemist he sees part and whole;
Teaching and thought let loose his noble rage
And stir the genial current of his soul.
His golden rod absorbs our meaner staves
As Aaron's rod the rods of Phara-oh,
Or as New Brunswick's river-name outbraves[2]
The pious Jordan of Ontario.
His May-blossoms relieve our strenuous May,
Our evening smoke curls bluer as we read,
The earliest pipe of half-awakened day
Draws a new fragrance from his choicer weed.
His artless puff-balls have a tale to tell,
His Flora opens treasures new and old,
His way-side weeds have been our asphodel[3]
His "dandy lines" become our "harmless gold."[4]
[1]Plato (sixth letter--323 c.) speaks of Elysian or Ellis-i-an scholars
"Swearing with scholarly seriousness and with that playfulness which
is seriousness' twin sister." Thompson's _Gorgias_, 41.
[2]See "Weed," p. 37.
[3]See "Weed," p. 43.
[4]See Lowell on "Dandelions":--
"Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold."
SOME ELUCIDATIONS OF THE INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITORS
Lines
1. So also,
". . . amidst the fairest flowers
Of the blest isles, Elysium's blooming bowers."
Greek inscription on a marble at Rome. Neaves, _Greek Anthology_,
_Edin._, 1874, p. 62 ("blooming," vulgarism, meaning weedy.)
2. Cf. _Ezekiel_, xxxvii. 1, 2.
3. Academic "crowns and halos" (cf. Seneca, _Naturales Questiones_,
1, 2, 1 and 3) must needs, for obvious reasons, be made of
paper. Notice also the subtle suggestion that Dr. Ellis is
_laurea donandus Apollinari_, worthy of the laurel (crown) of
Apollo. (Horace, _Carminum_, iv. 2, 9.)
4. Why should "the gown and hood" be required "for angels' wings"? To
clothe them withal, of course. The draping of angels with wings
and the attachment of wings to the structure of the back of the
human figure have presented problems to artists in all ages.
The best solution is undoubtedly to cover up the wings, and the
gown with its hood is the only appropriate garment. (Cf.
Carpenter, Edward, "Angels' Wings," . . . London, 1898, pp.
25-40, in which the anatomical and sartorial difficulties are
fully discussed.)
8. Principal Hutton and Dr. Ellis present the phenomenon of
homoblastês sprouting (or swearing) together. Cf. Theophrastus,
"On the Causes of Plants," v, 5, 4.
10. In other words, Dr. Ellis is at once polupaipalos exceeding
crafty (_i.e._ master of many crafts, including angling). Cf.
Homer, _Odyssey_, 15, 419, 11. and polupathês subject to many
passions. Cf. Plutarch, _Moralia_, 171.
11-12. A subtle hint of elasi-bronta thunder hurling (cf. Pindar,
_Fragments_, 108), or hellissô bômon to dance round about it
(whatever it may be). Cf. Callimachus, _Del._ 321.
13. Clearly referring to "_praedam calamo tremente ducit_," he draws
in his prey with a rod. Martial, 4, 30, 9. Cf. _infra_, "Weed"
p. 31.
16. "The pious Jordan" is evidently a bull, referring to the cult of
the river-god. It reflects _tauriformis Aufidus_, the
bull-formed Aufidus, the river upon which Horace was born
(Horace, _Carminum_, iv. 14, 25). We also have our Afidus or
Jordan, upon whose banks our own Horace lives.
17-20. An ingenious reference to the University final examinations in
May, when candidates write all day and the examiner reads and
smokes till dawn. Having subjected his victims to freshly
devised tortures (_novo quaestiones genere distorsit_
Suetonius, _Dom._ 10), he broods over their miseries and their
papers--eleas aneleos--an owl without pity.
23-24. Or, in the language of the angler, his epanthrakides have been
our epanthismos; his weeds have given us the motive for the
design on the back of this book.
J. M.
J. J. M.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Little White Crow 1
Consider the Lilies of the Field 18
The Skunk Cabbage 21
The Wanderer's Song 25
The Cowdung Fly 27
The Song of the Bass 31
Maskinongewagaming 33
Magaguadavic and Digdeguash 37
Rhona Adair 40
The Duffer's Elegy 42
When Potter Played 45
Colonial Preference 47
The Lyric League 51
Psychology 53
The Bal Poudré 55
Wisdom and Fancy 56
Persicos Odi 57
The Iceberg 58
Horace I., i 60
When You and I were Young, Adam 63
As a Watch in the Night 68
To R. R. W. 70
Christmas 1913 Toronto
_To those good friends in whose indulgent eyes
they seemed worth collecting and preserving;
And to the beloved memory of some
who once trod with me the Highways and Byways
where they were gathered;
I offer this handful of
Wayside Weeds._
Little White Crow
(A LEGEND OF ST. ANNE)
Part I.
Little White Crow was an Algonkin,
And he lived on the Isle of Chips;
His legs were long, and his flanks were thin,
He had high cheek-bones, and a strong square chin,
Jet black was his hair, dark red was his skin,
And white were his teeth, when a joyful grin
At the sound of the war-whoop's hideous din
Parted his silent lips.
Three eagles' feathers adorned his head,
Well greased was his snaky hair;
His face was daubed with black and with red,
No trousers he wore, but fringed leggings instead,
And moccasins 'broidered with quills for thread.
Very proud was his look, very stately his tread,
And of this he was fully aware.
Little White Crow had a sharp _couteau_,
A carbine, and powder and shot:
And the scalps of the braves whom he'd sent below
Hung at his girdle, a goodly row.
He'd a med'cine bag where he was wont to stow
Charms against famine and fever and foe:
And over his shoulders he used to throw
A beaver-skin robe on occasions of show:
Oh, a very fine fellow was Little White Crow!
If you're curious to learn why they christened him so
The Indian Department might possibly know
Ask Deputy Minister Scott.
Father Le Cocq was a priest from Quebec,
Rather spindle of shank, rather scraggy of neck;
He'd a stoop in the shoulder, was yellow of skin,
With closely cut hair, and a smooth shaven chin,
He had very black eyes, and a rather red nose;
Wore shoes with steel buckles and very square toes,
A big shovel hat, a black cassock and bands,
And a rosary seldom was out of his hands.
But Loyola never, and nowhere than he
Had a loyaller or a more staunch devotee;
And none carried further the Jesuit virtue,
Viz.:--"Do as you're bid, and don't cry if it hurt you!"
Though gentle by nature and fond of his ease,
He would work like a slave his Superior to please;
He would shrink from no danger, pain, toil or disgrace,
Or would swear wrong was right until black in the face!
As wise as a serpent, as firm as a rock,
Yet as meek as a dove was good Father Le Cocq.
With bell, book and candle the priest had been sent
To Ottawa's banks, with the pious intent
To find, if he could, after diligent search,
A few stray, red sheep for the fold of the church;
And there in a cabin of poles and of bark,
He sang hymns and said masses from daylight to dark.
It happened one day that good Father Le Cocq
Had been visiting some of the lambs of his flock,
And homeward returning, his pious task done,
Was paddling along at the set of the sun.
Now a man may be virtuous, learned, austere,
In religion devout, and in morals severe,
Yet,--true as it's strange, and sad as it's true,--
_Not_ able to manage a birch bark canoe!
So now,--at the paddle by no means a dab,--
He caught what is vulgarly known as a "crab":
His balance he lost, the canoe was upset,
And Father Le Cocq tumbled into the wet!
Poor Father Le Cocq! any chance looker-on
Would have fancied for certain, his usefulness gone.
And, indeed, the priest's chance was uncommonly slim,
The current ran fast, not a stroke could he swim,
And he thought all was over in this world for him.
But, thanks to St. Francis, St. Anne, St. Ignatius,
Or some saintly personage equally gracious,
It happened that not fifty paces below,
Behind a big boulder sat Little White Crow.
He was fishing for trout, and I wish I could catch,
In these days of saw-mills another such batch!
The rock, as I've said, hid the priest from his view,
But he heard a great splash, and he saw a canoe
Float down bottom upwards, while close behind that
Swam jauntily after,--a big shovel hat.
No moment to ponder paused Little White Crow:
He sprang from the bank like a shaft from a bow;
He could swim like a mallard and dive like a loon,
But he reached the poor priest not a moment too soon;
Caught hold of his cassock and collared him fast,
Just while he was sinking the third time and last;
Then reaching the shore, dragged the poor Father out,
As you'd land a remarkably overgrown trout!
It's needless to mention that Little White Crow
Did not know, and could not be expected to know,
Doctor Marshall Hall's method, so justly renowned,
For restoring to life the apparently drowned;
But he worked in his own way with such a good will,
He rubbed and he chafed with such zeal and such skill
That the priest after heaving some very deep sighs,
First yawned, and then groaned, and then opened his eyes.
Little Crow's simple means as completely succeeded,
As ever the treatment of any M.D. did.
(Where credit is due I'm determined to give it)
And the priest before long was as right as a trivet.
"My friend and preserver, you very well know,"
Thus the Father the red-skin addressed,
"That of gold and of silver I've none to bestow,
In return for the life that to you I must owe";
(Here he drew a silk bag from his breast)--
"But one precious treasure I beg you'll accept."
(And here, overcome by emotion, he wept.)
Then he took a small object from out of the bag,
Which he carefully wiped with a small piece of rag.
A moment he tenderly gazed on it,--then
He kissed it with fervour again and again,
One last lingering look of affection,--and so
He handed it over to Little White Crow.
With stately politeness the Indian received
The treasure so prized, and at once he perceived,
(With some disappointment, to tell you the truth,)
_A badly decayed, rather large, double tooth_!
"In your estimation, I very much fear,"
Thus gravely the Father began,
"Devoid of all value my gift will appear;
But when you have heard me its worth will be clear:
'Tis a relic of Holy Saint Anne!
To tell half its virtues all night would require:
'Tis an excellent cure for the vapours;
'Twill heal any dropsy, no matter how dire,
Put out the last spark of Saint Anthony's fire,
And stop all Saint Vitus's capers!
The twinges of toothache, so hard to endure,
The quinsy, the gout and the spleen,
The scurvy, the jaundice, all these it will cure;
While to break up an ague you'll find it more sure--
And a great deal more cheap,--than quinine.
"In short, there is nothing need cause you alarm
So long as this relic you wear;
You'll find it indeed an infallible charm
Against every conceivable species of harm
To which poor humanity's heir."
He ceased, the red-skin gravely smiled,
And gravely shook his head,
And then the simple forest child
Addressed the priest in accents mild,
And this is what he said:
"My uncle thinks it's easy to gull
Little White Crow, I ween;
Hollow and empty he deems his skull,
He fancies his wits are all gone dull,--
He's wrong,--they're _Al-gon-keen_!"
He grinned, and without any further delay
Put the tooth in his med'cine bag safely away,
And then with a gesture more free than polite,
Clapped the priest on the shoulder and wished him, "good night."