"My Liege, to have served my country

And King till the strife is o'er,

To be Sovereign Prince of Dessau,

Is so much that I ask no more.

"Nought for me but that I labour

For my country all my life,

If you wish to do me honour,

Make a princess of my wife.

"I married her with my left hand,

For she was of low degree,

I'd wed her with my right--with both,

For so dear is she to me."

"We will make thy wife a princess."

Said the King with kindling brow,

"God grant she may bring to Dessau,

Many sons so brave as thou.

"You are Sovereign Prince of Dessau

By the right of princely birth,

She is Sovereign Queen of Beauty,

As fair as there walks the earth.

"She's fairest, and you the bravest,

With love for a joining band,

Shall rank equal with the noblest

That walks in our Fatherland."

* * *

Tears passed over Anhalt Dessau,

And sprinkled his locks with snow,

He had wealth, success and honours,

And his share of human woe.

His fair wife and his goodly sons

Filled his heart with joy and pride;

But that heart was wrung with sorrow,

When his only daughter died.

For ah! she was long in dying,

And his love was strong and warm;

To keep her from an early grave,

He'd have given his right arm.

She was a most winsome maiden,

And she had her mother's face;

She brought back all his wooing time,

His love in the market place.

"My daughter," he said, "you're dying,

You are fading fast away;

What is there you would have me do,

Love, before your dying day."

"Thou the kindest and the bravest,

My father most dear!" she said,

"Whate'er you've done has pleased me,

Take that comfort when I'm dead.

"But if you would do me pleasure,"

She said with a lovely smile,

"The men whom you've led in battle,

Poor fellows! the rank and file.

"I'd like to see them marching,

To feast them with mirth and glee;

When laid in my grave so early,

They'll think kindly thoughts of me."

"My daughter, of all my treasures,

The loveliest and the best;

I know that my king so gracious,

Will grant you your last request."

With banners and martial music,

With drum-beat and trumpet-blare,

They all marched to Anhalt Bernberg,

To the palace court-yard there.

With all martial pomp and clangour,

Were the salutations made,

Where, supported at the window,

The dying one was laid.

And tables were spread to feast them,

With plenty that made them groan,

But away by the Saale river,

Old Leopold wept alone.

* * *

Leopold of Anhalt Dessau,

He has reached three score and ten;

They think it time he step aside,

Giving place to younger men.

For old fashioned are his tactics,

And old fashioned too is he,

And a new king has arisen,

And new counsellors there be.

Still the old man leads the army,

But he gets no word of cheer;

For the young king is impatient,

And the courtiers laugh and jeer.

The troops are drawn up for battle,

For the long expected fight;

"'Tis my last," said Anhalt Dessau,

"May our God defend the right!"

He stood among the veterans,

Whom he had so often led;

And, according to his custom,

He uncovered his grey head.

"We are going into battle;

How many shall come away

Is known to the God of armies,

Who shall lead us through this day.

"For we have come here to conquer,

As we conquered everywhere;

Uncover, my lads, and ask for

The help that we need, in prayer.

"O God, who through life hast led me,

Help me still, this once I pray;

Nor let the shame of first defeat,

Come now when my head is grey!

"Be thou present with our army,

Do Thou let Thy might decide;

But oh! if Thou be not with us,

Be not on the other side.

"But leave it to drill and manhood,

Amen. In God's name come on."

So Leopold Anhalt Dessau,

His last battle fought and won.

And the King rescued from danger,

By the victory that day,

Lighted from his horse to greet him,

Clad in his roquelaure grey

Bowed low to him as a master

In all the warrior's art,

And then, as a friend in greeting,

Pressed the hero to his heart

Now his sword rests in the scabbard,

He has done for aye with war,

For Leopold Anhalt Dessau,

Now sleeps with the sons of Thor.

MARY'S DEATH

Mary, ah me! gentle Mary,

Can it be you're lying there,

Pale and still, and cold as marble,

You that was so young and fair.

Seemeth it as yestereven,

When the golden autumn smiled,

On our meeting, gentle Mary,

You were then a very child.

Busy fingers, flitting footsteps,

Never resting all day long;

Shy and bashful, and the sweet voice

Ever breaking into song

Always gentle, kind and thoughtful,

Blameless and so free from art,

'Twas no wonder one so lovely

Found a place within my heart.

You, while life was in its spring time,

Made the Scripture Mary's choice;

Jesus saw you, loved you, called you,

And you listened to His voice.

Ever patient and rejoicing,

Shielded thus from unseen harm;

On you journeyed, safely leaning

On an everlasting arm.

Three short years have not yet passed us

Flitting rapidly away,

Since we shared in the rejoicing

On your happy bridal day.

He, the lover of your childhood,

Won a bride both good and fair;

Three short years have not yet passed us,

Mary dear--and now you're there.

Well may he grow sick with weeping,

And with sore heart mourn his loss;

Sadly look on those two babies,

Left so early motherless.

Not for thee we weep, my darling,

An eternal gain is thine;

We weep because we dearly loved thee,

And for those you left behind.

TO ISABEL.

I often thought to write to thee, what time

I almost fancied heaven-born, genius mine,

And fondly hoped my island harp to wake,

To some new strain sung for my country's sake.

'Twas a vain hope and yet its presence smiled

Upon my day dreams when I was a child,

And only faded when my heart grew cold,

For head and heart alike are getting old.

Had I been gifted, some bright lay would be,

With touching melody, poured forth for thee.

Now, what I think the best I wish for thee.

* * *

May you never be a stranger;

Ever living with your own,

With the same eyes beaming round you,

That on your childhood shone.

Friendship knitting true hearts to you,

From youth to kindly age;

And affection brightening, gladdening

Your pleasant heritage.

Yet not wishing to live always,

Or shrinking back afraid,

When you come--as come we all must

And pass over to the dead.

With a hope then firmly anchored,

Of a living faith possessed,

Passing from among your kindred

Into everlasting rest.

LINES ON ANNEXATION.

We honour Brother Jonathan,

For what he has done and dared;

Nobly and firmly he hath stood

His freeborn rights to guard.

And when we see him, go ahead,

We are not with envy vexed;

We wish him all prosperity

Yet will not be annexed.

We know he has much moral force;

Much that is good and great;

Much enterprise and energy,

Which we would imitate.

But there's upon his scutcheon stains,

Which we lament to see;

And will not share--will not annex--

Our soil and air are free--

And far more glorious is the flag

Which o'er the Briton waves,

Than that whose stars of freedom shine

Upon the stripes of slaves.

We love our Queen--we love our laws;

We feel that we are free--

As independently we sit,

Each 'neath his maple tree.

Serene, while over other lands

Rolls revolution's storm,

Where they can't speak their grievances--

Dare not demand reform.

We can, as freeborn subjects, make

Our wants and wishes known--

Our voices move the parliament

And vibrate to the throne.

We're Britons and as such we'll not

For annexation sue.

Our prayer is still, God save the Queen

And bless our country too.

1850.

TO MY FRIEND.

Dearest of all, whose tenderness could rise

To share all sorrow and to soothe all pain;

The blessings breathed for thee with weeping eyes

Will come to thee as sunshine after rain.

My spirit clings to thine, dear, in this hour;

Thy sorrow touches me as though 'twere mine;

And pleading prayers for thee shall have the power

To draw down comfort from my Lord and thine.

For thou hast felt the sorrow and the care

Of other lives, as though they were thine own;

And grateful prayers, for a memorial are

Laid up for thee before the great white throne.

You sit bereaved, and I sit with you there

In sympathy, my soul and yours can meet;

Missing the face that was so very fair,

Missing the voice that was so very sweet.

I know how hard to bear heart-hunger is

For her quaint words and bits of bird-like song;

The touch of dimpled hands, the soft warm kiss,

O Friend, it makes the "little while" so long!

Take comfort, dear, the "little while" is brief,

It is His love sends pain to thee or me,

We gather fruit of peace from blossomed grief

And where our treasure is our hearts shall be

'Tis good to suffer, as He knows whose hand

Mixes the bitterness for every cup,

No grief befals but love divine has planned,

Every bereavement cries to us, look up

Dearest, look up, and see where, sweet and fair,

Flow the bright waters ruffled by no storm,

Under the trees whose leaves for healing are,

See 'mid the blessed throng one angel form

The tired pet, who wanted to go home,

The Elder Brother drew her to his breast,

Earth weariness earth soil alike unknown,

Crowned without conflict, bore her into rest

Among the shining ones she walks my friend,

Robed in the garments of her Fatherland,

And your earth-weary feet shall upward tend,

Drawn by the beck of that dear pierced hand

Who in his arms enfolds your little one,

And calls you, "Come up higher where we are,

For with the well belov'd the child is gone,

Follow and faint not, friend, it is not far

"The little one for whom your fond heart bleeds,

The dear, dear lamb who sees her Father's face,

Up to the great white throne the rough path leads,

Where Christ shall fold you both in one embrace"

LITTLE MINNIE.

Is it well with the child? and she answered, it is well.

If earth's weariness for rest is changed,

Rest on the far off shore,

If earth's sighing's changed for singing

Psalms of praise for evermore.

And the bed of pain for roaming free,

Beneath the living trees,

Whose leaves of healing wither not

In any earthly breeze.

And to mix with those who, robed and crowned,

Walk by the crystal sea;

To gather with the other lambs

Beside the Saviour's knee.

We will keenly miss our absent child;

Lonely tears our loss will tell,

But His voice says, "It is well with her,

We answer, "It is well."

It is well to know that safely home

Is this our dearest one;

To know she's with the children fair

Gathered around the throne,

'Tis no light thing that God has stooped

Our dear one home to bring,

From weariness and painfulness

To the presence of the King.

Let weeping and rejoicing,

Mingled, our sorrow tell;

We are lonely, oh our Father

But Thou knowest it is well.

TECUMTHE.

(From the "Globe.")

October's leaf was sere;

The day was dark and drear.

Wild war was loosed in rage o'er our quiet country then;

When at Moravian town,

Where the little Thames flows down,

In the net of battle caught was Proctor and his men.

Caught in an evil plight,

When he'd rather march than fight,

Every bit of British pluck and resolution gone.

And sternly standing near,

As a British brigadier,

Stood Tecumthe, our ally, the forests' bravest son.

A prince, a leader born,

His dark eye flashed with scorn,

He said: "My father, listen, there's rumours from afar,

Of mishaps, and mistakes,

Of disasters on the lakes,

My father need not hide the mischances of the war.

"My braves have set their feet,

Where two great rivers meet;

We went upon the war-path; we raised the battle-song;

We met in deadly fight,

The Yengees in their might,

Till the waters of the Wabash dyed crimson flowed along.

"They ask us, in their pride,

To idly stand aside,

To be false to our allies, and neutral in this war;

They think that Indian men

Will never think again

Of wrongs by Yengee spoilers, how false their treaties are.

"Allies both firm and true,

For our Father's sake to you,

Our Great Father round whose throne the mighty waters meet;

When din of battle's high,

Only coward curs will fly;

It is not Shawnee braves show foes their flying feet,"

"This is insolence to me,"

Said Proctor bitterly.

"But a paltry leader," said the brave red-skinned ally

"We stand in hopeless fray,

To meet defeat today;

A shadow falls around me, my fate is drawing nigh."

High-hearted Indian chief

No thought of fear or grief

Stilled the swellings of his heart, tamed the lightning of his glance

Without lordship, without land,

"Lord alone of his right hand,"

Of a heart that never beat retreat when duty said advance.

He had looked on battle oft,

Now his eagle glance grew soft,

And who can tell what sights his prophetic vision saw

Events were drawing near,

And he was a mighty seer,

Even greater than the prophet, the grim Elskwatawa.

For, in a waking dream,

He saw forest, vale and stream,

Which, by force or fraud, the white race wrung from doomed red men.

"Old things are passed," he said,

"No blood that can be shed,

Will ever give us back our broad hunting-grounds again"

"Over the burial mound,

Over the hunting-ground,

Over the forest wigwam the greedy white wave flows,

In treachery, or wrath,

They sweep us from their path,

Backward, and ever backward, beyond Sierra snows

"We tried to stem the wave,

We have been bold and brave,

We held the losing cause, the Great Spirit hid his face,

Our nation's place is gone,

The white wave will roll on,

Until from sea to sea we have no abiding place

"Although we do not stand

To do battle for our land,

The allies that we fight for, though white men, do not lie,

Their foes are ours, stand fast,

This fight shall be my last,

'Tis fitting, on the war-path, the Shawnee chief should die

"Where we have pitched our camp,

Red blood shall dye the swamp,

The battle to the swift, the victory to the strong,

But be it as it will,

My braves shall vanish still,

Slain by pale face customs, snared by their treacherous tongue"

He turned, where in their pride

Stood his warriors by his side,

For them to-morrow's sun might shine, to-morrow's breezes blow,

"But Tecumthe's lot is cast,

This fight shall be his last,

And they will do my wish," he said, "when I am lying low"

Wyandot's chieftain grave,

Young and lithe, hold and brave,

Stood by Tecumthe, waiting the beginning of the fray;

Tecumthe silence broke,

And thus to him he spoke,

"My brother from this onset I'll never come away.

"This scarf of crimson grand,

By brave Sir Isaac's hand,

Was bound round me with praise, when his heart towards

me was stirred;

I belt it around you,

My brother brave and true,

Think about Tecumthe, and remember his last word.

"When on the red war-path,

War fiercely to the death,

Be pitiful and tender to the helpless and the fair,

I fought--have many slain,

But not a single stain

Of blood of maids or children dims the good sword I wear.

"Brother, a forest maid

Within my wigwam stayed,

She is called before me, far beyond the glowing west,

This battle lost or won,

You'll take my little son,

Train him a Shawnee brave, let him be in deer skin drest.

"When grown a warrior strong,

To feel his nation's wrong,

When he is fierce in battle, and wise in council fire,

Worthy my sword to wear,

Then with a father's care,

Let thy hand belt upon him the good sword of his sire.

"Tell him, I lived and fought

For my nation and had not

A thought but for their good on resentment for their wrong,

Nor ever wished to have

Any gift the pale-face gave

Nor learned a single word of the fatal pale-face tongue

'Tell him, he is the last

Of a race great in the past,

Before the foot of white men had stepped upon our strand

And if fate will not give

Any place where they may live

Let him die among his people and for his people's land.

'I strip this coat off here

Of a British Brigadier

It is a costly garment with gold lace grand and brave,

The Shawnee chief is best,

In shirt of deerskin drest,

Not in pale-face gift they'll find me who lay me in the grave.

"I have lost all but life

To meet in mortal strife,

To kill many, that the white squaws weep as ours have done,

To lie among the dead,

With garments bloody red,

And go to happy hunting grounds beyond the setting sun.

'This will be, Wyandot brave,

You'll give to me a grave,

In dimness of the forest, in earth my mother's breast,

Each tall tree a sentinel,

Will guard the secret well

Of where you laid Tecumthe down to his lasting rest'

After the fatal fight

The strife became a flight

They found the chief Tecumthe lying still among the slain

Never to fight again.

Ah! little recked he then

That dastard white men outraged his body to their shame.

After the headlong flight,

In the dark dead of night,

They came, from further outrage his loved remains to save

Within the forest deep

They laid him down to sleep;

And the forest guards the secret! no man knows his grave.

Our land, our pride and boast,

Spreads now from coast to coast,

Stands up a great Dominion among the ruling powers.

For us this chieftain fought,

An ally unbribed, unbought;

We guard his name and fame in this Canada of ours.

We have grown strong and bold,

Able to have and hold;

Our allies the red men are cared for with our care.

East or in the wild Nor-west,

In peace they hunt or rest;

No man their lands may covet because they're broad and fair.

CREED AND CONDUCT COMBINED AS CAUSE AND EFFECT.

The incident related in the following lines occurred thus:--At a

meeting of Presbytery appointed to deal with the case of the Reverend

David Macrae, of Gourock, Scotland, one of the members of the Court

had stolen out to enjoy his pipe and the quiet of his own thoughts for

a few minutes before engaging in the strife of debate, when he was

accosted by a stranger, woefully dilapidated, who asked him with great

earnestness if he would tell him where he could see Mr. Macrae, as he

was most anxious to have some conversation with him. "Do you know,

sir," said this poor, ruined one, "that on the doctrine of future

punishment Mr. Macrae and I are in perfect accord, and I am very

desirous to tender him my cordial sympathy and support. I esteem it my

duty to do what I can to comfort and cheer this young and courageous

minister of the Gospel, in the cruel and unjust persecution to which

he is being subjected."

The Presbytery with one accord in one place,

Were met to consider and speak on the case

Of David Macrae, bent with reverend skill,

On putting him through th' ecclesiastical mill

I was there, I slipped out just the plain truth to tell,

To ha e a quate thinkin time a by mysel

On the new fangled doctrine o nae hell ava,

Which gies wrang doers comfort that is na sae sma'.

It's a gey soothm thoct aye, it pleases them weel,

Leavin hooseless an hameless the muckle black deil,

It delivers mankind frae a fear and a dread,

Sae I pondered along never lifting my head

Is it richt? is it wrang? is it truth or a lie?

We will cannily find oot the truth by and by

If it's truth or a lie that lies at the root

Should be shown when the doctrine grows up and bears fruit

Thus I daundered and pondered, on lifting my e'e

An answer to some o my thocts cam to me

There cam' doon the causey a comical chiel,

Wi an air an a gait that was unco genteel,

By the cut o' his jib an the set o his claes

He was ane o thae folk wha ha e seen better days,

He was verra lang legged hungry-lookup an lean,

His claes werna' new, nor weel hained nor clean,

Tight straps his short trews to meet shiny boots drew,

Where wee tae an' big tae alike keeked through,

His coat ance black braid-claith, was rusty enough,

It was oot at the elbows an' frayed at the cuff,

It was white at the seams, it was threadbare and thin

An' to hide a defects, buttoned up to the chin

Bruised and dinged in the crown and the brim was his hat,

But set jauntily on his few hairs for a that,

Paper collar an' cuffs showed in lieu of a shirt,

As he daintily picked his way over the dirt,

His face leaden and mottled with blossom that grows

Out of whisky, an' deep bottle-red was his nose;

His e'en bleared an' bloodshot, were watery an' dim,

Pale an' puffy the eyelids, an' red roun' the rim;

Thae e'en, that ha'e gotten a set in the head,

Wi' watchin' ower often the wine when it's red.

Eh, me, sirs! what wreck in the universe can

Be sae awsome to see as the wreck of a man!

Whatever of talents, or good looks, or gear,

What w'alth o' good chances had been this man's here;

What gifts that might make his life lofty and grand,

A blessin' to others, a power in the land.

All was gone, gifts an' graces, the greatest, the least,

Were hidden beneath the broad mark o' the beast--

Stamped on, I may say, frae the head to the feet,

All lost of the man but his pride an' conceit;

Varnished ower wi' the airs o' the shabby genteel,

He was gingerly steppin' his way to the diel.

But now he is gaun to greet me on the way

Comin' forrid as ane that has something to say.

Takin' off wi' a flourish the bit o' a hat,

He booed wi' an air maist genteel ower that;

"Excuse me, sir, stoppin' you thus on the way,

Can you bring me to where I'll see David Macrae?

He's a preacher that men of my culture must choose;

I assure you he holds and he preaches my views;

A doctrine divested of all vulgar fears,

That I've held and believed in for years upon years.

A doctrine most sensible, likely, and true,

I endorse it, sir, as, I trust, you also do?"

I answered him, gien a bit shake to my head,

As I looked at the man and considered his creed;

"You'll see Mr. Macrae, my man, there is nae doot,

If you stan' aboot here till they're a' comin' oot;

But my frien', this new doctrine, that fits ye sae fine,

May be yours verra likely, but ne'er can be mine."

RETROSPECT

I sit by the fire in the gloaming,

In the depths of my easy chair,

And I ponder, as old men ponder,

Over times and things that were.

And outside is the gusty rushing,

Of the fierce November blast,

With the snow drift waltzing and whirling,

And eddying swiftly past,

It's a wild night to be abroad in,

When the ice blast and snow drift meet

To wreath round all the world of winter

A shroud and a winding sheet.

There's a dash of hail at the window,

Thick with driving snow is the air;

But I sit here in ease and comfort

In the depths of my easy chair.

I have fought my way in life's battle,

And won Fortune's fickle caress;

Won from fame just a passing notice,

And enjoy what is called success.

As I sit here in ease and comfort,

And the shadows they rise and fall,

And the dear old familiar faces

Look out from the pannelled wall.

Ah! reminders of living fondness

Gleam out in their pictured looks;

And in ranks round from floor to ceiling,

Are my life-long friends, my books.

The bright wood fire crackles and sparkles,

Leaping up with a sudden glow,

Playing hide and seek with the shadows

That flit round me to and fro.

They come and look over my shoulder,

And they vanish behind my chair;

Ah! the notice that life's November

Has sprinkled with snow my hair.

Ah! the shadows that gather round me,

That will never more depart,

That are flitting around my chamber,

That are closing around my heart!

All the shadows of undone actions,

And the shadow of deep regret,

Over many occasions wasted,

And of duties, alas! unmet.

Over words that are left unspoken,

And of woe that was left unshared,

Over high resolutions broken,

And calls that would not be heard.

And the shade of a deeper sorrow

Still hovers about my chair;

It is this, and not life's November,

Has sprinkled with snow my hair.

For my life has passed into evening,

And I sit, mid the shadows here,

Hearing still the shadowy whisper

That success may be bought too dear.

TO THE RAIN

Come forth, O rain! from thy cool, distant hall,

And lave the parched brow of the feverish earth,

The little drooping flow'rets on thee call,

Come, with thy cool touch wake them up to mirth

They will lift up glad faces to the sky,

Drinking in gladness from the warm moist air,

Now, thirsty, hot, and faint they droop and die,

Thou only canst revive these fainting fair

The grain has shrivelled, pining after thee,

And waves light-headed from a sickly stalk,

There's no green herbage on the sunburned lea,

The glaring sun through glowing skies doth walk,

Looking down hotly on sweet Allumette,

Thinking to dry it with his ardent gaze,

Each day a strip of sand left bare and wet,

Tells how she shrinks from his pursuing rays

1870

DIVIDED

We came to the dividing line,

Then he passed over and I am here,

Sad and sore is this heart of mine

That has no power to shed a tear,

For, like one who rises and walks in sleep,

I am lost in a dream--I cannot weep.

Yet he was good and fair to see

I know in my heart he loved me well,

What separated him from me,

I cannot tell, oh! I cannot tell,

For the blow came sudden, and sharp, and sore,

And I am alone now for evermore.

I thought to walk through all our time

Together, linked to a lofty aim;

With sudden wrench I'm left behind--

My heart is slain! oh, my heart is slain!

And the ghost of my heart within me cries,

Why, alas! was I made a sacrifice?

My royal eagle ordained to soar--

Breast to the storm, and eyes to the sun--

Up be thy flight! and think no more

Of one the life of whose life is done;

While I, stunned and sick with a dumb despair,

Still mourn by the grave of a hope so fair.

TO MARY.

It is not very long since first we met,

Thy path and mine lay very far apart;

We are not of one nation, dear one, yet

Thou hast awakened love within my heart.

It is a love that sorrow never tried,

And yet, like tested love, it is as true

As love that stood in dark hours by your side,

If hours were ever dark or sad to you.

Not for your beauty, though I think you fair,

Not for the kind heart or the tender word;

But for the kindredship,--because you were

One who both knew and loved my gracious Lord.

One who had often met with Him alone;

One over whom His garment had been laid;

Clothed on with beauty that was not your own,

Bought with a price no other could have paid,

Divided by the ridge of time are we,

Yet we are near akin at heart my friend,

Our prayers and praises will together be

Blended and fused in one as they ascend

For I, too, heard the Well-Beloved's voice,

Calling the new life in the soul to wake,

Drawing us after Him in loving choice,

Making us love His loved ones for His sake

TO FRANCES

Dear love, life has dewy mornings,

And the shadeless blaze of noon,

Flowers, that we stop to gather,

That fade from our hands so soon

Dear love, there are meetings, partings,

We have sunshine, we have shade,

There's no continuing city

That our human hands have made

We go onward, joy and sorrow

Checkers all the path we tread,

But our Father loves His children

And with loving care they're led.

Dear love, His great wisdom chooseth

The path that we both have trod,

And through storm, and calm, and sunshine,

We rest in the hand of God

A NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS, 1870.

With noiseless footstep, like the white-robed snow,

The old year with closed record steals away;

Record of gladness, suffering, joy, and woe,

Of all that goes to make life's little day.

Here, in this bright and pleasant little town,

As everywhere, a noiseless scythe hath swept;

The bright, the green, the flow'ret all cut down,

For heart ties severed loving hearts have wept.

And some are gone we very ill can spare,

And some we gladly would have died to save,

And the young blossom of the hearth, so fair;

But all alike have passed thy gates, oh, grave!

We see so many sable signs of woe,

Each, with mute voice, _memento mori_ saith;

As if our town that erst has sparkled so

Were passing through the vale and shade of death.

But louder rumours from a far-off world

Come to our valley, where secure and free,

With the sword sheathed, the flag of battle furled,

We sit in peace beneath our emblem tree.

At peace, because the madly-wicked men

Who sought to kindle flames of border war

Have in confusion failed yet, once again,

Their braggart plans dissolved in empty air.

In the Nor' West threat'nings of strife arose,

The muttered thunders all have died away;

Unstained by blood may sleep their mantling snows;

Unmarred by civil strife their wintry day.

War clouds seemed o'er the hapless land to brood,

The warning bugle sounded far abroad;

Red River might have ran with kindred blood,

But Manitoba heard the speaking God.

Our summer skies were clouded dark and low;

'Twas not the blessed rain that bowed them down,

But smoke wreaths rolling heavy, huge, and slow,

And thick as rising from a conquered town.

And where rich crops, and wealthy orchards fair,

Spread to the sun, rustled in breeze of morn,

The fire passed through, and left them black and bare,

Rushing like Samson's foxes through the corn.

Then, like a giant roused, it onward came,

With red arm reaching to the trees on high;

Till the whole landscape in one sheet of flame,

Glowed like a furnace 'neath a brazen sky.

O'er many a hearth red, burning ruin swept,

Till people fancied 'twas a flaming world;

All labour gained, and prudent care had kept,

And precious life were in one ruin hurled.

But as the fire fast spread, 'tis sweet to know,

So loving kindness and sweet pity ran;

This wide spread wail of human want and woe,

Served to bring out the brotherhood of man.

Here, on the lovely pine-fringed Allumette,

We hear the distant echoes of the jar,

Where Galile pluck and Teuton drill have met

In the long shock of cruel murderous war.

We only read of fields heaped high with slain,

Of vineyards flooded red, but not with wine,

Of writhing heaps of groaning anguished pain,

Of wounded carted off in endless line.

We read of all the stern eyed pomp of war,

The list of wounded and the number slain,

But know not what war's desolations are,

How much one battle costs of human pain.

All the sweet homes beneath the chestnut trees

Blackened and waste, the hearth light quenched in gore;

What hecatombs of human agonies

Are laid war's demon-chariot wheels before

When a few deaths so shadow a whole place,

Let us but think of that beleaguered town

Where famine's blackness sits in every face,

War cutting thousands, want ten thousands down.

And France is one great grave, her native clay

Top dressed with human flesh and steeped in blood;

Hushed are the sounds of little ones at play,

And blackened wastes where pleasant hamlets stood.

In spots the grain will yet grow rank and strong,

Over brave hearts that conquered as they fell;

Falling, left hearts to sorrow for them long,

By the swift Rhine, or by the blue Moselle.

When will the nations learn to war no more,

Nor with red hands adore the God of peace?

O Thou, most merciful, whom we adore,

Bid this unnecessary war to cease!

And look upon our country, young and strong,

With prospects of a future great and grand;

Grant us that Right still triumph over Wrong,

That Righteousness exalt and bless the land.

That here where smiling peace and plenty reign,

Beneath the glory of unclouded skies

A Nation that shall know no honour stain

Girt by sons pure and peaceful, shall arise

O! Canada our own beloved land,

Land of free homes, and hearts uncowed by fear,

Refuge of many, be it thine to stand

Foremost among the nations each New Year!

MY BABY

He lay on my breast so sweet and fair,

I fondly fancied his home was there,

Nor thought that the eyes of merry blue,

With baby love for me laughing through,

Were pining to go from whence he came,

Leaving my arm empty and heart in pain,

Longing to spread out his wings and fly

To his native home far beyond the sky

They took him out of my arms and said

My baby so sweet and fair was dead,

My baby that was my heart's delight

The fair little body they robed in white

Flowers they placed at the head and feet

Like my baby fair, like my baby sweet,

They laid him down in a certain place,

And round him they draped soft folds of lace

Till I'd look my last at my baby white,

Before they carried him from my sight,

By the sweet dead babe, so fair to see,

They tried in kindness to comfort me

They said, he is safe from care and pain,

Safe and unspotted by sin or stain;

Before the mystery of the years

Brings heart ache or pang, or sorrow's tears.

He's safe, sweet lamb, in the Shepherd's care,

Sorrow nor suffering enters there;

But with brow of gladness, clothed in light,

He is fair as the angels in His sight.

I know what they said to me was true,

And should have fallen on my heart like dew;

For, although my grief was very sore,

My baby was safe for evermore.

I know that they spoke with kindly care,

My grief to comfort and soothe, or share;

But I gave my baby the last, last kiss,

Saying, God alone comforts grief like this.

THE FATE OF HENRY HUDSON.

I, Louis Marin, mariner, born on the Breton coast,

Must pass from earth away,

And, because wild remorse

Pursues me--is my curse,

My guilty hand this day

Will write down of the crime that haunts my death-bed like a ghost.

In sixteen hundred ten,

Bold Hudson and his men

Left London town behind with its castles, towers and fanes,

The crew were twenty-three,

Which, alas! included me

When the good ship _Discovery_ went sailing down the Thames

We were all picked men and strong,

We took willing hearts along

Yes, our hearts were bold and brave

Every eye was keen and bright,

When the wild Atlantic wave

Hid the homeland from our sight

On a voyage of discovery bound to win a high renown,

That on the line of years our names be proudly handed down

As, with merry hearts and light, we flew on before the blast,

We little dreamed this voyage was ordained to be our last

All full of reckless venture and so fearless--could we know

Hope beckoned on a path of fame to lure us into woe,

As we sailed into the frozen seas, the place of ice and snow,

We sighted the ominous Farewell Cape

And steered north through drift ice up Baffin's Strait

Oh, lonely and drear to the weary eye

Were the vast ice-fields floating slowly by

Not a blade of grass not a leaf to tell

That the summer verdure was possible

Round the pale horizon, the aching sight

Met an awful vastness of barren white,

As if earth lay beneath the chilly sky

Struck to death by Gehazi's leprosy

We sailed on, and round us on every hand,

On the darkling wave, on the desert strand,

On the rock-bound coast, on the icy cape,

The ice heaved up in wild fantastic shape;

In mountain, and mosque, and cathedral dome,

Lofty peak, and column, and minaret,

And ponderous arches in order set,

Tower and spire and pinnacle high,

Soaring up to the deep blue sky

Statues ice sculptured, frost work and fret,

That had some weird likeness to sights at home.

On and on we sailed through the waters dark,

Where the damp fog clung like a witch's veil,

And hid from the faces of watchers pale,

The dangers that crowded around our bark,

In this, the birth-place of the snow and mist.

Icebergs by the low clouds covered and kissed,

Clustered round us like ghosts to bar our way;

While the sharp sleet drove on the icy blast,

Cutting through the foam of the seething spray,

Sheathing in ice both sail and mast,

Northward still northward we sailed away.

The wild air was thick with flurrying snow;

The winds broken loose, raging, swept and swirled,

Heaping mountain drifts on hummock and floe,

Deadly that wind as the cannon's breath,

To crush out life with the blast of death.

Wreathing winding sheets round an Arctic world.

Upon that wild day, on that dreadful day!

Amid grinding noises of crash and jar,

With the winds and snow, waves and ice at war,

In their wildest fury and greatest might,

We drove with the storm into that wide bay,

That forever will keep our captain's name,

And embalm in horror his death and fame,

And around us closed in the Arctic night.

Our ship was caught in jaws of ice,

That closed on it, held it as in a vice,

Ice was around us mountains high

Its dazzling spear points pierced the sky,

In every shape of vast and wild,

Heaps upon heaps were tossed and hurled,

Mountain on mountain roughly piled,

The chaos of an icy world

It was a ghastly, beautiful sight,

The rosy flush of the Northern Light,

Lances of splendour shot through the sky

And blood-red banners were waved on high,

Creatures of light darted to and fro,

Dancing in mockery of our woe,

Unrolling with their luminous hands

Belts of glory, and quivering bands

Of heaving, pulsing, transparent green,

Throwing out light in shimmering waves,

That spread into a tremulous sea

Of wavering glowing brilliancy,

Clothing the heavens in delicate sheen,

From which darts, and arrows, and tongues of fire

Glancing in splendour higher and higher

Wove themselves into a glorious crown,

Letting bright streamers hang wavering down,

Until brilliant sea and crown of beams

Faded to mist like fairy dreams

Vanishing all away, away,

Away behind ice wall and icy caves,

Leaving us in the moonlight grey,

Pale skeletons sitting by frozen graves

We in our misery cared not,

For splendours that mocked our wretched lot,

We were locked in a place by God forgot

He did not care

For sigh or prayer,

For He never answered to help or bless,

But death and fell sickness and loathsomeness

Of disease that cometh from extreme cold,

Joined to cow the hearts of the brave and bold,

The provisions rotted within the hold,

And the worm eaten bread was foul to use.

Sufferings and agonies manifold

Gathered round the end of that fatal cruise.

The spring kept away so late, oh so late!

Through death our numbers waxed feeble and few;

And when famine sat down among the crew,

Came both sullen anger and fiery hate,

And we hardened our hearts and cursed our fate.

Some deserted to speedily fall and freeze

Some, swollen and blue with the fell disease,

Blasphemed and called on the saints in turn

With choking utterance and livid tongue.

We cursed the captain to his face

For bringing us to this wretched case.

He sat among us gloomy and stern,

His venturous heart was with anguish wrung;

While silent and sad

Was the little lad,

His only son,

Once so full of fun

When he sailed on the cruise that had no return.

Sitting in our misery on a night,

Fresh wonders burst on our awe-struck sight;

For the stars were raining out of the sky,

In a fiery shower, falling thick and fast;

Yea, and horrible sounds were on the blast,

Of crash and jar, and shivering moan,

As of rending earth; and all nature's groan

Were sent to warn us the end was nigh.

With awe-struck gladness we looked around,

Waiting to hear the last trumpet sound.

From living death in that desolate Bay,

We had sprung to welcome the judgment day;

Although in the pit should our lot be cast,

So that this our great woe should end at last.

The bleak spring came, the ice did part;

Devils entered each sailor's heart;

No blessed thoughts sweetened our wretched lives,

Of the distant mother's, sweethearts, and wives;

Of innocent pleasures we valued most,

In the greenwood haunts of our childhood's home,

In sweet English vale, or bold Breton coast,

That we left to sail on the salt sea foam.

We launched the boat--we, the wicked crew--

Strong in the evil we meant to do,

To leave the most helpless ones behind--

The men who were loathsome, sick and blind.

We tumbled them in without sail or oar;

We forced in the captain and his son;

And when the horrible crime was done

We mocked them and told them to go ashore.

O, Mighty God of the sea and land!

Where hadst Thou hidden Thy strong right hand;

That this should happen under the sky,

And be looked at by Thy All-seeing eye

For we spread our sails to leave that spot,

Secure in that God regarded not.

As we steered the ship away, away,

From the boat that rocked on that dismal Bay,

There arose from the wretches left behind,

Helpless by famine, sick and blind,

A cry that would pierce through iron bars;

The despairing groan

Of those left alone

Passed through the ranks of the shivering stars,

To the dreadful God on His holy throne.

When out of that accursed Bay,

Southward, homeward we sailed away.

We had favouring winds, we hurried fast,

Had our sails been of the hurricane's blast,

Our guilt so surrounded and hemmed us in

That we could not sail away from our sin;

For all nature knew that we had done

The awfullest deed beneath the sun

Our burning eyes were forbid to weep,

We lost the rest of the blessed sleep;

For scared by dreams and terrified

By visions, leaving us weary-eyed,

We knew that the tempter's work was done,

We had staked our souls and the fiend had won.

I stood one night at the wheel alone:

Stars in millions were in the sky,

Every star an accusing eye;

I heard again that horrible groan

Of horror, of helpless terror and pain,

I had hoped to nevermore hear again--

The cry of those we had left alone.

The sky was changed, an angry glare

Lit up the billows, and through the air

Flaming swords flashed in invisible hands,

Ready to execute God's commands.

The solemn light of the pale moon's glance

Glowed with the wrath of His countenance.

At the far horizon shadowy things

Shod with the lightning, with fiery wings,

Were darting with messages to and fro,

I saw them flitting on, noiseless, swift,

Through the holy vail of luminous mist,

Where God was apportioning our woe.

I knew the time had come when He meant

To mete out to us our punishment.

An awful voice from the maintop fell:

"Where is the captain and sick of the crew?"

It filled my brain with the pains of hell;

The cold sweat started like drops of dew.

My hair stood up--for, over the side,

On the rolling swell of the heaving tide,

Gliding along on the crest of a wave,

I saw, in the moonlight's shimmering track,

Our messmates, the feeble, sick and blind,

That leagues away we had left behind;

To the vessel groping their blind way back

Coming again to join the crew;

Led by the captain looking as brave,

As full of command, as he used to do

The wave heaved up to the bulwark's side,

And one after one they stepped on board.

Dead men, with eyes that opened wide

With the stare of blindness--gracious Lord!

One of them groped his way abaft,

And laid his swollen hand on the wheel.

His hand that in death was clammy and damp;

His blind eyes stared at the binnacle lamp,

As if the dead hand had nerves of steel,

He altered the ship's course in spite of me

Who could only stare at him and gasp,

For I was in the nightmare's grasp.

Fiends in the air around me laughed;

But the dead man worked on all silently,

Nor noticed the ecstacy of my fears;

Yet he was a man I had known for years.

A messmate at sea, a comrade on shore,

And in jolly carouse, in wassail roar.

My holiday time with him I spent

When I was of life-blood innocent;

But he never looked or spoke to me,

But steered away from the open sea.

Towards the shore beyond the desolate strait,

Where suffering and crime had been so great.

Dead hands pulled the ropes and trimmed the sails,

But no cheery cries the night wind hails.

They worked the ship like men who slept

But steadily, oh so steadily!

They took in sail, the watch they kept,

And groped about blindly, silently.

Fore and aft on the waves swarmed fiendish things,

Vile creatures that seemed to be heads with wings.

Like a shoal of porpoises millions strong,

Alive with motion that could not rest,

Twisting out ropes from the breaker's crest,

From the fleecy foam of the yeasty spray,

With hands that appeared and vanished away;

Chattering, they towed the ship along;

And we, the living, stood looking on,

Until that horrible night was gone.

When the grey of dawn came in the sky,

With a scream and a cheer the fiends vanished;

Over the side filing silently

Went our messmates, the corpses swollen and dead,

Gliding over the waves with the vanishing night

Till the low clouds covered them up from our sight.

We, like men who have got respite from pain,

Put about the ship toward home again,

The sails swelled out with a favouring wind;

The coast of horrors we left behind.

And cheerily sailed in the blessed light;

But the ghosts of the crew came back at night.

Whatever distance we gained by day.

They steered us back in the moonlight grey.

How it came to pass I can never tell,

But I thought of God in the jaws of hell--

Through my despair came the thought that He

Was a helper in extremity

For the first time in my wandering years,

My burning eyes felt the bliss of tears

Like refreshing dew on soul and sense

Fell the softening grace of penitence

The Grace Divine that maketh whole,

Stole into the darkness of my soul

Sad thoughts were rising into prayer,

By the wheel on the night air chill and raw

The ghost of my messmate stood by me,

And looked in my face with eyes that saw

The blue lips said "Be awake, and aware,

The enchanted ship will touch the shore,

Fly then from us, and you will be free,

Your penance of suffering will be o'er

But the rest, for the deed that they have done

Shall sail on without rest beneath the sun."

I made my escape when we reached the shore,

And I saw the ship and the crew no more

Alone I laid myself down to die,

No human aid, as I thought, was nigh

I longed for death, I was not afraid

I was found by roving hunter bands,

Brought back to life by merciful hands,

The hands of a dark skinned Indian maid.

She nursed me with skill and tenderness,

And recovered me from loathsomeness

But the day has come and the hours draw nigh,

When I, Louis Marin, must surely die

I write down my crime, that soon or late

The world may know Captain Hudson's fate

I write of our crime and our sufferings,

Of vengeance that follows, remorse that stings

Messmates remember though crime is done,

In the lonest spot beneath the sun,

Where footstep of man has never trod,

It's under the eye of an avenging God.

He comes near, a Swift Witness, with intent

That they who sow crime shall reap punishment.

FORSAKEN.

Beside the open window she is lying,

Through which comes softly in the balmy air,

And fans her wasted cheek; but slowly dying,

She seeth not that autumn's finger fair

Tinges the golden landscape everywhere.

She seeth not the glory of the maples,

That in their crimson robes surround her home;

Nor the rich red of the ripe clustering apples

In the old orchard, where can never come

Her flying feet to stoop and gather some.

That is her home where in life's young May morning,

She careless sung the joyful hours away;

A happy-hearted child, to whom no warning

Came of the future shipwreck by the way,

Or of the worshipped idol turned to clay.

The place has passed to strangers; unregretting,

She looks upon the home, no longer hers,

Of all the happy past she's unforgetting;

But deeper anguish now her bosom stirs,

The sorrow that can find no comforters.

Father and mother lie beneath the grasses,

That lonely wave within the churchyard gloom;

And the sad wind is wailing as it passes

Asking the dead to hasten and make room,

For her that's slowly sinking to the tomb

Seeing as if she saw not, one sore longing

Is she awake to, as she lieth here,

Dead to regretful thoughts that round are thronging,

All too absorbed to shed repenting tear,

Or look into the future drawing near

She hath lost all the keen desire of living,

The power to grieve over a vanished name,

She thinks one thought, poor child, her heart forgiving

All of her wrongs, all of her suffered shame,

And has no power left with which to blame

Never again shall hope with her awaken,

For all hope buried in one small grave lies,

But her heart longs that he who has forsaken

Should look once more with kindness in her eyes

And take her poor forgiveness ere she dies

So in a calm that hopes for no assistance,

With longings that are lost in empty air

Her dying eyes are fixed upon the distance,

Lest he should come upon her unaware,

"He cometh not," she whispers in despair.

KEEPING TRYST

Who is the maid with silken hair

By clear Maine Water roaming?

For the fairy Queen is not so fair

As she in the lonely gloaming

It is sweet Mysie of Bellee,

John Millar's lovely daughter;

She is waiting where the old elm tree

Droops over the sweet Maine Water.

"The trysting time has come and past,

The day is fast declining;

Oh my true love, are you coming fast,

For the star of love is shining?"

"The moon is bright, the ford is safe,

The market folks crossed over;

Oh, come to me, it is wearing late,

And I wait for thee, my lover.

"I fear me there will be a storm,

The clouds, with murky fingers,

Are muffling the stars o'er far Galgorm,

Where my own true lover lingers."

She turned her from the trysting tree,

So sadly home returning,

Saying "He has broken tryst with me,

And his ship sails in the morning."

She took three steps from that sad place,

Where doubt of him had found her;

And he stood before her face to face,

And he drew his arm around her.

"I thought, without one last farewell,

We had for ever parted;

And I could not of the anguish tell

That had left me broken hearted.

"My love I'm going far away;

Whatever may betide us,

Our loving hearts are one for aye,

Though the roaring seas divide us."

He broke a ring between them two;

He made a vow to bind him

To death, and beyond it to be true

To her he had left behind him.

Years passed, the maiden secretly

Watched on with anxious wonder,

For some love message; but treachery

Kept the two fond hearts asunder.

She lived in hope that he would write,

And some love token send her;

Her step grew feeble, her face grew white,

And her eyes got unearthly splendour.

And lovers they besieged her sore;

For love that she had given

To one who would come to her no more;

So she faded into heaven.

They made her grave where robins sing;

Trees whisper requiems daily;

They laid her down with her broken ring;

In her grave at Kirk ma Rielly.

Word went out of the maiden's death,

Who for true love departed;

It found him who mourned her broken faith,

And mourned her as false, falsehearted.

He turned as cold as cold, cold clay,

And fell struck down with sorrow;

"I know how my dear love died to-day,

I will die for her to-morrow.

"My love is dead so sweet and fair,

Blighted and broken hearted,

I'll keep my tryst, and together dead,

We'll rest who were falsely parted.

"Gold that my darling could not save,

That made my love derided,

Shall carry me home and dig my grave,

We'll not be in death divided."

They made his grave on Erin's breast,

Where the birds sing requiems daily;

And laid him beside his love to rest,

In the grave-yard of Kirk ma Bielly.

EDGAR

I have not wept for Edgar, as a mother

Weeps for the tender lamb she lays to rest;

And yet it cannot be that any other

Baby like him shall lie upon my breast;

For he was with us but a passing guest,

A birdling that belonged not to the nest.

Looking upon his large dark eyes so tender,

Filled with the solemn light of Paradise,

I knew that word would soon come to surrender,

My babe, not mine, but native to the skies;

As the sweet lark that ever upward flies,

He would be taken from my longing eyes.

For from the first he looked to be earth-weary,

And clung to me with no desire to play;

He never laughed and crowed with spirit cheery

Like my earth babies; but from day to day

Seemed ever yearning for the far-away,

And well I knew he could not with me stay

The angels whispered things I knew not of,

My babe had visions of a far-off land,

I knew it, that he yearned for higher love,

And reached to touch another unseen hand,

That drew him from my little household band,

They wailed for him of whom they were so fond

And when he closed his eyes and fell asleep,

Loosening his baby grasp away from mine,

Turning from me that had no power to keep,

The glory of a placidness divine

Beamed on his face, I took it for a sign,

And bowed my head to say, Thy will is mine.

I weep for him in silence of the night,

I see him where the holy angels are,

His radiant eyes have lost their mournful light

And beam with happy glory like a star,

I weep with mournful joy to think that, where

The Master is, my little babe is there.

GONE

Mournfully, mournfully

All around me are crying,

For my dark-eyed baby boy

Is dying, dying

Tenderly, tenderly

To him I am clinging,

But he slips from my fond arms,

Death bells are ringing

Joyfully, joyfully

Angels are receiving

My babe--by the empty cot

I must sit grieving.

WHAT WENT YE OUT FOR TO SEE?

On Jordan's banks gathered an eager crowd,

The Royal city poured its dwellers out;

The vintage was untouched in Ephraim;

No fisher's boat from Magdala put out.

Up from Engedi's fountain, down the slope

Of terraced Olivet, an eager throng,

Filled with one purpose, one absorbing hope,

Unto the Jordan take their way along.

The priestly robe, the saintly Pharisee,

The publican, the sinner, all were there,

The doubting, sneering, questioning Sadducee,

Just risen from his seat, the scorner's chair.

All carried there the consciousness of sin;

A wish for some one having power to save;

Ready to do some great thing peace to win;

So came they to the ford by Jordan's wave.

What did they see? not one in purple vest,

Who lives deliciously, abides by choice

In palaces, and he in hair doth drest,

And leathern girdled is--Is what? a voice.

In poor array, the greatest prophet stood

Beside the waters where the banks are green.

"Art thou the looked-for one? Will Jordan's flood

Touched by thy hand have power to make us clean?"

"The Jordan will not wash your guilt and shame;

Sin must be washed away in sinless blood."

And looking upon Jesus as he came,

He said to them, "Behold the Lamb of God."

THE IROQUOIS SIDE OF THE STORY.

I, an Iroquois brave,

Speak from my forest grave,

Where by Utawa's wave

I sleep in glory.

Listen, pale faces, then,

Let years roll back again,

While of Iroquois men

I tell the story,

We were the foremost race,

That roamed the forest space;

None stood before our face,

Rousing our fierce wrath;

By Stadacona's steep,

Where Santee's waters sleep,

Prairie broad, valley deep,

Have been our war path.

Eries by inland seas,

Mountain bred Cherokees,

Of us, Hodenosaunees,

With fear grew frantic;

Feared us who made their home,

Under the pinetrees lone,

Where the winds lash to foam,

The wild Atlantic.

Tribute from east and west,

Of what we loved the best,

Wampum belt, necklace drest

Gladly they grant us.

White men can wisely tell,

How we fought, how we fell;

None could our glory quell,

No tribe could daunt us.

Eagles for swiftness we,

Panthers for subtlety,

Wise when in counsel free,

We took our stations.

Where was the tribe so brave,

Whose war craft could them save

From being conquered, slave

Of the Six Nations!

Wah! we all heard the news,

Of the winged war canoes,

Swift as the wild sea mews,

Objects of wonder;

Spreading their white wings wide,

Breasting the mighty tide,

Black lips from out their side,

Spoke lofty thunder.

Upward their way they steer,

Swifter than swimming deer,

Furled they their white wings near

Green Hochelaga.

We heard their name and fame,

Sweeping like forest flame,

To our great lodge it came,

In fair Onondaga.

Shy on their native strand,

The mild Algonquins stand

And gave the heart's right hand

To the white stranger.

With speech and gesture fair,

Gave a free welcome there,

Proud they to spare and share,

Fearing no danger.

Pale face and red man met,

Smoked they the Calumet,

And the peace feast was set

For the pale faces;

All of sweet wild wood cheer,

Fish from the river clear.

Haunch of the antlered deer,

Feast the two races.

If peace and trust were slain,

Whose the loss? Whose the blame?

Let the white scribes explain,

Our foes be our judges.

They sat down as conquerors,

Took the land, took the furs,

Let the braves starve like curs

Outside their lodges.

Vanished the hunter strong,

Stilled was the husking song;

No corn fields stretched along

In green Hochelaga.

Like to the forest flame,

Devouring the white man came;

Soon spread their evil fame

To far Onondaga.

Should we be pale face prey,

Fade like the mist away?

Fiercely we turned to bay

Not like the others.

The mild Algonquin race,

Melted before their face,

Leaving a roomy place

For their white brothers.

But we from sea to lake

Had made the wide earth shake,

And braves like women quake

As they were drunken.

We give our hunting grounds!

Give up our burial mounds!

Whimper like beaten hounds

Like the Algonquin!

We of the forest free,

Born into liberty,

We, lords of all we see

In our own valleys.

Their chief across the waves,

Asked for Iroquois braves,

To be the chained slaves,

Of his war galleys?

Should we the mighty, then,

We, the Iroquois men,

Smoke the peace pipe with them

With these marauders!

No! we, the feared in strife,

Hunted the precious life,

With the red scalping knife,

Through all our borders.

If the fierce war-whoop rung,

In the Iroquois tongue,

And the red warriors sprung

On the pale faces;

Let, then, the guilt accursed,

Fall heaviest and worst,

On who raised the hatchet first

Of the two races.

In the sweet moon of leaves,

When birds the soft nest weaves,

And the free water heaves

Beneath the blue heavens.

Upwards the white braves go,

Vowed to meet us foe to foe,

Landed at the wild Long Sault,

In the calm spring even.

Danlac, their biggest brave,

Gathered a band to save,

The rest from a bloody grave,

From our revenges.

Not for their own land they

Fought as they did that day;

But to take ours away

And to have vengeance.

We vowed, in warrior pride,

To rise, a rushing tide,

And sweep the country wide,

With a death riddance.

To burn their palisades,

And to the forest glades,

In change for Indian maids,

Bear their white maidens.

In painted plumed array,

Hot, panting for the fray,

Our paddles beat the spray

Of the wild water.

Shot through the rapids white,

The war cry of our might,

Rose as we flashed in sight,

Eager for slaughter

Then scouting watchers run,

Then loud alarm of drum,

Shouts of, "The foe! they come,"

Rung through the forest.

Then we, three hundred strong,

Burning with sense of wrong,

Raised our loud battle song,

Sounding the onset.

From the old fort there broke,

Volleying flame and smoke,

And the loud echoes woke

With pale face thunder.

And shot in torrents fell,

As if the hottest hell,

Of which the black robes tell;

Opened in wonder,

Woe to the white race, woe!

Wild we dashed at the foe,

Showering blow on blow

On their defences

We with our bosoms bare,

Surged up against their lair;

They in a brave despair,

Behind their fences,

Belched out a fiery hail

Like leaves in autumn pale,

Fell we before that gale

In the death heaping.

Till the young grass grew red

With the blood blanket spread,

Under Iroquois dead,

In glory sleeping.

Sank down the big round sun,

And the red fight was done,

To be again begun

In the grey dawning;

Remained there but twenty two,

With whom we had to do,

Of that devoted few

For whom death was yawning.

Charged we at the fort again,

Axes crashed through heart and brain,

Heaps on heaps fell our slain

The red price paying.

We fell as leaves before the gale,

But of the faces pale,

None lived to tell the tale

Of that grim slaying.

The fort was taken at last,

Blood and fire mingling fast,

Death's bitterness was past,

For none were breathing.

Where lay our enemies,

Side by side were swart allies,

Brave and pale-face mingled, lies

Christian and heathen.

This feat of arms that gave

Unto these bravest brave,

Death and a bloody grave,

Is told in story.

All the valour and the might,

Of the pale-face in the fight,

When the story's told aright,

We will share the glory.

A SATIRE.

A HUMBLE IMITATION.

The rage for writing has spread far and wide,

Letters on letters now are multiplied,

And every mortal, who can hold a pen,

Aspires in haste to teach his fellow men.

Paper in wasted reams, and seas of ink.

Prove how they write who never learned to think;

Some who have talents--some who have not sense;

Some who to decency make no pretence;

But, skilled in arts which better men deceive,

They spread the slander which they don't believe.

A township turned to scribblers is a sight!

Venting their malice all in black and white,

And with, apparently, no other aim

Than merely to be foaming out their shame.

--My own, my beautiful, my pride,

I must lament where strangers will deride,

O'er thy degenerate sons whose strife and hate

Will make thee as a desert desolate

Men of gray hairs are not ashamed to strive

From house to house to keep the flame alive,

Whispering, inventing, without rest or pause,

With a "zeal worthy of a better cause."

Drilling low agents, teaching them to fly,

And spread on every fence the last new lie.

Oh that it were with us as in the past,

And that our peace had been ordained to last

When kindness reigned and angry passions slept,

E'er hatred's serpent to our Eden crept,

Are these the same or of a different race

From those who made this spot a pleasant place,

When cheerful toil, mingled with praise and prayer.

Wealth without pride and plenty without care,

When comely matrons wore the homespun suit,

And mocassons encased his worship's foot

No brawling then disturbed the quiet air,

No drunkard's ravings, and no swearer's prayer

The godly fathers all are passed away,

Gone to their rest before the evil day

The sons serve other gods, bow at their shrine,

Of the bright dollar or the gloomy pine

While envy, jealousy, and low purse pride

Those who were loving brethren now divide,

Like fabled pismires how the scrambling race,

For the small honours of a country place

And thou, who hast a spark of nature's fire,

What are thy aims son of a godly sire?

Thy good right hand, and calculating brain,

Have given thee wealth with honour in its train

Others may strive with anxious cares and fears,

Thou hast much goods laid up for many years,

Wilt thou forget the line from which thou'rt sprung?

Deem rich men always right and poor men wrong?

Forget thy early friends and bearing free?

When thou art angry have no charity?

Shall wealth, not worth and vulgar pomp and show,

Be the sum total of all good below?

Shall we, then, cease for innate worth to scan?

Look to the new made coat and not the man?

Those who are raised in such an atmosphere

Are they who have the ever-ready sneer

At honest poverty, and at the road

To competence which their own fathers trod

If men of worth will stoop among the vain,

We turn from them with sorrow and with pain

Man may repent, reform, his steps retrace,

But is there renovation for a place?

Will a community forego their strife,

Bury the tomahawk and scalping knife?

Will pride, and will self interest prevail,

Where reason and where revelation fail

Like cause makes like effect, abroad, at home--

In this small township as in Greece or Rome.

One motto is my moral, true and sad,

Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad

JUVENILE VERSES.

ON THE BIRTH OF ALBERT EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES

Sing and rejoice,

With heart and voice,

An heir is born to the British Crown,

A royal son,

A princely one,

One born to glory and renown.

A nation's mirth

Rose at his birth,

On every side great joy prevails,

The nation's joy,

The royal boy,

Our dear Queen's infant, Prince of Wales,

With gladness we

Rejoiced to see

A virgin wear Britannia's crown,

Then hailed the bride,

By Albert's side,

And saw her look benignly down.

And now with joy

We hail thee boy,

Heir of thy royal mother's fame,

And see our Isle

With rapture smile,

Resounding Albert Edward's name

Edward, a name

Of deathless fame,

A name each British bosom hails,

That name we see

Revived in thee,

Another Edward Prince of Wales.

O blessings rest

With kisses prest,

On that sweet infant bud that grows,

An early flower,

One born to power,

A scion of the royal rose.

Our bosoms burn,

To thee we turn,

In willing homage bend the knee;

Hope of our Isle,

We see thee smile,

Edward the hero hail in thee.

We pray for thee,

Our king to be,

The greatest prince the world e'er saw.

May the great King

His blessings bring,

And be His Book of life thy law.

May God above,

In boundless love,

Guard thee and keep thee as his own,

And bless thee so,

That thou mayest grow

Up to support thy mother's throne.

May glory shine,

And grace combine,

Pure as thy father's life be thine.

Mayest thou be strong

Against all wrong,

And be a Prince by Right Divine.

May future days

Record the praise

Of our Victoria's royal son.

May all the earth

Hear of his worth,

And of the greatness he has won.

Innocent babe,

In cradle laid,

Unconscious cause of all this joy,

Each Briton's prayer,

For Britain's heir,

Is "Angels guard thee, royal boy."

GRACE HILL, NOV., 1840.

THE BIBLE.

WRITTEN TO ---- WITH ONE.

The book of life to thee is given,

To warn of death, to guide to Heaven.

Wanderer on the wild astray,

Here wilt thou find the King's highway.

Has thy soul suffered, hunger, pain,

Trying to feed on husks in vain?

Here thou wilt find the palace fair,

Where there is bread enough to spare

Thou'lt find where living waters roll,

To satisfy the fainting soul.

Thou hast been thirsty, very sore,

Here come and drink and thirst no more,

Thou'lt find the pearl of greatest price

Hid in the Master's promises.

And so this book to thee is given

To warn of hell, to guide to Heaven.

GRACE HILL, 1842.

THE ADIEU TO ELIZA.

The night was bright and beautiful,

The dew was on the flower,

The stars were keeping watch, it was

The lover's parting hour.

The night wind rippled o'er the wave,

The moon shone on the two,

The boat was waiting, part they must,

"Eliza, love, adieu!"

"You know how fondly I have loved,

How long, how true, how dear,

And though fate sends me far away

My heart will linger here.

"Bright hope, the lover's comfort, can

Alone my heart console,

Or soothe the pain of parting with

The empress of my soul.

"When other suitors vainly talk

Of fondly loving you,

Remember him who truly loved

As no one else can do.

"I'll think upon the place contains

My dark-eyed source of bliss,

When roaming idly, blindly through

The gay metropolis.

"Weep not, weep not, my dearest girl,

Your tears my bosom pain,

Remember," fondly added he,

"We part to meet again."

He made her pledge him heart to heart

She would not him forget,

Asked her to sigh when at the spot

Where they had often met.

He spoke much of how deep was stamped

Her image on his mind;

One more adieu, the boat was gone.

And she was left behind.

True was the maiden, and she kept

While weeks and months took wing,

His name deep treasured in her heart,

As 'twere a sacred thing.

And he--did he return again

Her long love to repay?

No! in good sooth, as Byron says,

He laughed to flee away.

G HILL, 1839.

TO MY VALENTINE.

1844.

Adieu! Adieu! may angels guard thee,

Hovering near thee night and day,

For all thy good deeds God reward thee,

The rest forgive and blot away.

May no gift nor grace be missing,

May He all on thee confer,

And add a heartfelt prayer and blessing

From the distant wanderer.

O'er the trackless, foaming ocean,

In weal or woe, ever shall be

Mingled in my heart's devotion

Many a prayer for thine and thee.

What tho' across thy memory never

Shall flit my once familiar name,

Hallowed by distance, thine for ever,

Memory shall conjure up again.

All thy follies ever hidden,

All thy virtues raised above,

Thy name, so long, so much forbidden,

Strangers shall learn from me to love.

Adieu! and may we meet in heaven,

Through Him, the Lord, who guides our ways;

And he to whom much was forgiven,

Shall swell the highest notes of praise.

FIRST LOVE.

(A. S.) 1845.

We met--he was a stranger,

His foot was free to roam;

I was a simple maiden,

Who had never left my home.

He was a noble scion

Of the green Highland pine,

To a strange soil transplanted,

Far from his native clime

And well his bearing pleased me,

For I had never seen

Keener eye, or smile more sunlit,

Or more dignity of mien.

His brow was fair and lofty,

Bright was his clustering hair;

I marvelled that to other eyes

He seemed not half so fair

His it was to plead with men,

With "Thus my Lord hath said;"

He stood God's messenger between

The living and the dead

When I heard how earnestly

His pleading message ran,

I said, "Here God has set his seal

To mark a perfect man."

The rapture of a moment

Came suddenly to me;

With softened glance he asked me,

'Could you learn to think of me?'

The star of love shone o'er us,

His arm was round me thrown

And he fondly said he loved me

And loved but me alone

I was but a simple maiden

Village born and village bred

And when this crown of gladness

Dropped down upon my head

A simple maiden's feelings

That moment sprang awake

I wished myself rich, noble

And lovely for his sake

Ah, love akin to sorrow

Ah, ecstasy so fleet!

Why is parting made the surer

When the meeting is so sweet?

Quick as the flash of summer

Came bliss to fade too soon

My poor heart swelled, as ocean

Swells for the lady moon.

I saw him at the altar

Upon a morning fair

The matron and the maiden,

And paranymph were there

There were holy words, and wishes,

And smiles when tears would start

A fair bride stood beside him,

And I--I stood apart.

Then came the parting moment,

After I loved him well;

I stilled my heart's sore beating,

And so I said farewell,

And oh! may no remembrance

Cause him a moment's pain,

But yet, indeed, I loved him,

And I'll never love again.

CHILDREN'S SONG.

We little children join to praise

The Holy Child of endless days.

The Lord of glory undefiled

Was once like us a little child.

Chorus.--

"Sweetly, sweetly, sweetly singing,

Let us praise him, praise him, praise him, bringing

Happy voices, voices, voices ringing

Like the songs of the angels round the throne."

He hears the ravens when they call,

He sees the little sparrows fall,

He heard the little children sing

Hosanna to the Saviour King.

Sweetly, &c.

O Jesus, we sing to praise thee,

Who said let children come to me;

We gather round the mercy seat,

O let our songs to thee be sweet.

Sweetly, &c.

Jesus, our Master, Lord and King,

Spread over us thy sheltering wing,

Keep us unspotted, let us be

Thy children singing praise to thee.

Sweetly, &c.

ANSWER TO BURNS' ADDRESS TO THE DE'IL.

O thou wild rantin' wicked wit;

Are thy works, thy fame livin' yet?

Will thae daft people never quit

An ne'er ha'e done

Disturbin' me in my black pit

Wi' Burn's fun.

Though mony years ha'e fled away

Sin' thou wert buried in the clay,

Thy rhymes, unto this vera day,

Are mair than laws;

Thy name's set up on ilka bra'

Wi' great applause.

And yet, thou wonder-workin' chiel,

I'd let ye' charm Scotch bodies weel,

But that "Address unto the De'il"

Made i' your sport,

Has raised a maist revengefu' squeel

In my black court.

Still by the names you gi'e I'm greeted,

By every Lallan tongue repeated,

I canna turn but what I meet it,

In toun or village;

My bluid, though hot enough, is heated

Till't boils wi' rage.

My deeds that ha'e been handed down,

Sin' I aspired to Heaven's crown,

By thee, Rab, lad, dressed up in rhyme,

To do me skaith,

Are circling still the empire roun'

After thy death.

Ye say I roam in search o' prey,

An' rest na' neither nicht nor day;

A' that ye heard ye'r grannie say

Ye hae confest,

An' mair than hinted at my stay

In Robin's breast.

My secret agents everywhere,

A' Scotland roun', but maist in Ayr,

O guid abuse their ain' an' mair

Ye try to gie them;

Nae credit tae ye that ye were

Acquainted wi' them.

O' ghaists an' kelpies deeds, you ken,

Hauntin' the foord and lonely glen,

Lurin' the tipsy sons of men

In bogs to die;

0' auld wives girnin' but an'ben

Ower bewitched Rye.

An' screeden down, wi' wicked han',

0' my deep laid successfu' plan;

Vexed at the idlest o' man,

Your faither Adam;

That got him sent to till the lan',

Him and his madam.

You are like money I ha'e saw,

For though ye kenned I caused the fa',

An' as ye say, "maist ruined a',"

In that same hour,

You did na strive to get ava

Out o' my power

At Kirk you'd neither pray nor praise,

But on the lassies ye wad gaze,

Notice neat feet, blue eyes, fine claes,

Or Jenny's bonnet,

An makin rhyme on what ye ha'e,

Seen creeping on it.

Hech Rab ye were na blate ava,

Ae time ye're mockin Kirk an' a',

An' then tae me ye gie' your jaw,

Or my abode,

An' tell how weel I laid my claw

On patient Job.

Aye! an' although ye richt weel knew

That I wi' masons had to do

Ye could na' rest, oh, no, not you!

Till numbered wi' them;

Gi'en your "heart's warm fond adieu,"

When gaun to lea them.

An' aft ye did your sire provoke,

By jest and jeer at better folk,

A' solemn thought wad end in smoke,

Sae wad his teachin',

And fun wad fly in jibe an' joke

At lang faced preachin'.

The mair they frowned, you joked the mair,

0' grave ye had a scanty share,

The verra text ya wadna spare,

Be't e'er sae holy,

An' rhymin' ower the pithy prayer

O' pious Willie

Aye' Rab, ye, rail it at me and mine,

Yet hungert after things divine,

I kenn'd how sairly ye wad pine,

For deeds ill done;

Ower talents lost, ower wasted time,

For sake o' fun

An' then remorse wi' pickled rod,

Wad gie' ye mony a lash an' prod,

But aye ye went the rantin' road,

An prone tae err,

You sair misca'd douce men o' God

An Holy Fair.

I winna say it is untrue

What's certified o' me by you,

If ilka ane their duty'd do

As quick an' weel,

As I, my certie! they'd get through,

Spite o' the De'il.

There's ae guid turn ye did for me,

An' I acknowledge't full an' free,

In praisin' up the barley bree

"In tuneful line;"

Nae bard but you its praise could gie

In words sae fine

An' listen tae me 'Rab, my man,

I dinna ken a better plan,

To ser' my turn wi'silly man

An wark them ill,

Than charming them to pleasure drawn

Frae the whisky gill,

This is what gars me maist complain,

Maist as weel kenned as mine's your name,

Auld Scotia claims ye as her ain,

Her dearest one;

An' that daft gilpey, Madam Fame,

Owns thee her son.

I thocht that jests wad flee fu' fain,

Forgetfulness come in again,

That I wad claim ye as my ain,

Tae baud an bin' ye

But noo through a' o' my domain

I canna fin' ye.

Noo fare ye weel, whaure'er ye be,

Ane thing I ken ye're no wi' me,

I ha'e searched high an' low to see,

By spells an' turns;

Sae I maun even let ye be,

O Robert Burns.

G. Hill, 1840.

SEPARATION.

ELIZABETH TO WALTER

He has come and he has gone,

Meeting, parting, both are o'er;

And I feel the same dull pain,

Aching heart and throbbing brain

Coming o'er me once again

That I often felt before.

For he is my father's son,

And, in childhood's loving time

He and I so lone, so young,

No twin blossoms ever sprung,

No twin cherries ever clung,

Closer than his heart and mine.

He is changed, ah me! ah me!

Have we then a different aim?

Shall earth's glory or its gold

Make his heart to mine grow cold?

Or can new love kill the old?

Leaving me for love and fame

Oh, my brother fair to see!

Idol of my lonely heart,

Parting is a time of test,

Father, give him what is best,

Father keep him from the rest,

Bless him though we fall apart.

Well I know love will not die,

It will cause us bliss or pain;

We may part for many years,

But my loving prayers and tears,

Rising up to Him who hears,

Will yet draw him back again.

From the fount of tenderness,

All the past comes brimming up;

When his brow is touched with care,

When no grief of his I share,

When we're separated far,

It will be a bitter cup;

Bless him from before Thy throne,

Thus my heart to Thee makes moan,

Keep him Lord where he is gone

TO ANNE ON HER BIRTHDAY

Let mirth and joy a season reign

And sorrow flee away

Sadness were perfect sin it is

My Anne's natal day

And now a birthday rhyme for her

This sister of my own

Accept the song then for my sake

Sister and only one

So long we've lived together here

Our hopes and fears the same

Like two of autumn's last grown leaves

Last of our race and name

The past we know its grief and joy

Its pleasure and its pain

But know not what may happen ere

Your birthday comes again

Shall we be cradled in the deep

Beneath the briny wave?

Or shall the white deer lightly bound

Over my forest grave?

Or living yet divided far

With lands and seas between

And sorrow reigning in the hearts

Where childhood's joy has been

The future's sealed we know it not

But wander where we will

On this broad earth we shall remain

Lone loving sisters still

TO ISABEL.

(ISABELLA STEWART)

Since ere I left my native isle,

My childhood's home, life's happy smile

And crossed the separating seas,

Nothing my lonely heart could please

Till now--and oh, I cannot tell

How I admire thee, Isabel!

There are, in my dear island green,

Most lovely faces to be seen,

Beautiful eyes, with kindly glee,

Beamed there in laughing love on me

Now I'm alone from day to day,

They're all three thousand miles away.

A stranger's face each face I see,

And every eye is cold to me,

No friendly voice, no kind caress,

No spell to break the loneliness,

Until I fell beneath the spell

Of thy rare beauty, Isabel

I watch thee from my window pane

In hopes a stolen glimpse to gain

I know that purely lovely face,

I know that form of stately grace,

The sweet blue eye, the silken hair

Whose tresses shade thy forehead fair

Thy beauty, like God's summer flowers

Blesses and cheers this world of ours.

Thy smile, the sunshine clear and true

Of a bright spirit looking through

But words of mine can never tell

All of thy praise fair Isabel

Fair Isabel fair Isabel

I learned to know thy beauty well

It rose upon my exiled sight

A very treasure of delight

My loneliness so comforting

That my caged heart began to sing

And if I sing thy beauty's fame

Thy loveliness is all to blame

I loved before I understood

That in thy veins flowed Erin's blood

And I could not help but tell

Of the fair maiden Isabel

On earth the fairest sweetest spot

I'll leave and shall regret it not

Since I have left my earthly home

What matter is it where I roam

Not to the hill I bid farewell

But to the gentle Isabel

Accept then from an Irish heart

This humble tribute ere we part

For thou to me art very dear

The lone star of my sojourn here

To thee I sadly bid farewell

God bless the maiden Isabel

V K HILL 1846

ISABEL.

(ISABELLA STEWART)

Heart of mine, by thy quick beating,

Thou knowest Isabel is near,

And the gladness of the greeting

Dims my eye with rapture's tear.

Heart of mine, each beat will tell

How I love young Isabel.

When I first beheld the maiden,

So fair to see, so sweet to bless,

I, a stranger, sorrow laden,

Arrested by her loveliness,

Then I thought some hand would set,

On that brow a coronet.

She had grace all hearts beguiling,

She had the wealth of silken hair,

And sweet lips, half proud, half smiling,

Neck of snow and bosom fair,

And each eye a sapphire gem

For a monarch's diadem

Oh, she was peerless in her beauty,

Like the fair moon she walked alone,

And loving her was but a duty,

A spell her loveliness had thrown;

And I thought that I could trace

Erin's pencil on her face

With the fervour of my nation,

I worshipped her as months went by,

She was the one constellation,

In my cheerless sky;

Though on me there never fell

One kind glance from Isabel.

Heart of mine we love, we love her,

She is still our lady bright,

Fairest of them all we prove her

Queen of beauty as her right.

And in simple verse we tell

The praises of fair Isabel.

THOUGHTS.

I am glad when men of genius

Array a common thought,

In imperishable beauty

That it cannot be forgot.

The heart thoughts all bright and burnished

By high poetic art,

As sweet as the wood-bird's warble

Touching the very heart.

Have not I, poor workday mortal,

Some thoughts of living light,

In the spirit's inner chambers,

Moving with spirit might?

And they come in the fair spring time

Of heart and life and year,

When sweet Nature's wild rejoicings,

Draws votaries very near

To the heart of all that's lovely

On earth and in the sky;

Making audible the music

Of the inner melody.

Underlying all the sunshine,

Whispering through every breeze,

As it crests the ruffled ocean

Or sways the forest trees.

Bright thoughts that are heart prisoners

Vibrating on its chords,

For, alas! I have not genius

To bring them forth in words.

But full oft, like friendship's greeting

Upon life's weary way,

Do I meet in other's language

What I most wished to say.

To such words my bosom echoes,

I feel they are my own,

They bright echo of my day dreams,

That else were ever flown.

Ah to think, ye men of genius,

What joy your art affords,

Giving to the thoughts of millions

The dress of glowing words!

And a blessing on these words then

To bear them far and free;

That they glad the hearts of many

As they have gladdened me.

TO J W

Dear Jane you say you will gather flowers

To win if you may a verse from me

Can you bring to me those brillant hours

When life was gladdened by poesy?

Bring me the rose with pearls on her breast,

Dropped down as tears from early skies,

Pale lilies gather among the rest

And little daisies, with starry eyes

The heart's-ease bring for many a day

In vain for that flow'ret fair I sought

Turn not your gathering hand away

From the wee blue flower, forget me not

Unless inspiration on them rest

In vain you tempt me to rise and sing

The passage bird that sang in my breast

Has fled away with my life's young spring

My harp on a lonely grave is laid,

Untuned, unstrung, it will lie there long,

If you bring flowers alone dear maid

Without bringing the spirit of song

But accept the friendship that can spring

Out of this romantic heart of mine,

Devoted, true and unwithering,

And for ever thine, for ever thine

THE ORPHAN'S GOOD-BYE.

When my heart was sad and lonely,

And had closed its inmost cell

Over the impulsive feelings

That rule my nation's hearts too well.

When the tie was cut asunder,

That had bound me to a home,

And I felt the desolation

Of being in the world alone;

When I first, the veil assuming,

Masked before a treacherous world,

And the hopes romance expanded

Reality had sternly furled;

And the touch of disappointment,

Blighted what was green and fair,

And the spirit's bright revealings

Are not so hopeful as they were.

Precious are the words of kindness,

Falling on the heart like dew,

Freshening though, alas for weakness,

They cannot make things new.

Thoughts come warm from that deep fountain

Where the hidden feelings dwell,

First to thank thee, noble stranger,

Then to say a kind farewell.

1846.

TO ANNIE ON HER BIRTHDAY.

Sister, sweet sister, years have passed away,

Since first, 'mid warm hearts, sunny, frank and true,

I commenced rhyming on thy natal day,

On the green sod where Erin's shamrock grew.

'Twas in that age that ne'er returns again,

Whose tears are but as dew on Summer flowers;

And young, warm hearts beat kindly round us then,

And eyes beamed brightly, answering love to ours

And now an exile from my native land,

Thinking of well remembered, loved Grace Hill,

To mine own sister verses I will send,

Worthless, yet proving that I love her still

It is thy birthday, and I am alone,

Thinking of that dear land that gave us birth,

The land of hearts that beat to truth alone,

The brightest emerald gem of all the earth.

These fond regrets that press around my heart,

And bring a pain I cannot rise above,

Makes thee still dearer here, alone, apart,

For fate has left me nothing else to love.

Changing life and ever swallowing death,

Have taken what I loved against my will,

But, never mind, for thou, kind hearted, true,

Changeless and noble, thou art left me still.

Happy returns I surely wish thee, Ann,

In this new land that's fated to be ours,

And may you have a happy heart, that can

Enjoy the sunshine, and endure the showers.

GONE.

The heavens look down with chilly frown,

The sun blinks oot wi' watery e'e,

The drift flies fast upon the blast,

The naked trees moan shiveringly.

The sun is gone, by mists withdrawn,

Muffling his head in snow-clouds grey,

The earth turns white, against the night,

The laden winds drive furiously.

The flowers are slain that graced the plain,

The earth is locked wi' bitter frost;

And my heart cries to stormy skies

After the dreary loved and lost.

The spring will come, the flowers will bloom,

The leaves in beauty clothe the tree,

But never more, oh, never more,

Will my lost darling come to me.

Beyond the skies her happy eyes

Look fearlessly in eyes Divine;

The bitter smart, the hungry heart,

Waiting with empty arms, is mine.

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's Verses and Rhymes by the Way, by Nora Pembroke