Than now they are, it might be well, perchance,
That they should study warfare, for, in sooth,
The man who knew not how to poise the lance
Or wield the mighty battle-axe, was then
Despised and scorned by all his fellow-men.
XII.
But now the code of honour should not be
As crude and rough as in that ancient day.
The onward march of Christianity
Should sweep the sword and battle-axe away;
And Love, the creed which Christ our Master taught,
Should bring the pride of martial skill to nought.
XIII.
Let man still glory in the strength and might
That God has given him. But it were well
That he should use it not at all to fight
Against his fellow-men. He still can dwell
In peace with them, and yet retain the power
Which is his great and justly-valued dower.
XIV.
I turn me from the thoughts of war, and gaze
With pleased eyes upon this little bay.
So bright a scene, in all my exiled days,
I have not looked upon; and like a ray
Of light upon my darkened life it seems,
Reviving hope within me by its beams.
XV.
The bay is dotted with a hundred boats,
And brightly on the sail of many a skiff
The evening sun is shining, as it floats
Upon the water, shining thus as if
To tell the little skiff, as on she goes,
That he will guard her from tempestuous foes.
XVI.
In every boat I see, a maiden fair
Accompanies the rower, and the sound
Of merriment and laughter on the air
Arises, softly echoing around.
And all seem bright and happy, and have one
To keep them so--I only sit alone.
XVII.
I sit alone as they pass joyous by,
Nor note my presence; or, if they should see,
Their eyes but rest upon me absently,
Then turn away. They all are strange to me,
And I to them. More lonely is my mood
Here, than in Nature's wildest solitude.
XVIII.
A pang of emulation, so severe
'Tis almost envy, now possesses me;
And, were I woman, many a bitter tear
Would course my cheeks. But now I am not free
To weep; my heart, though throbbing in its pain,
Uneased and comfortless must yet remain.
XIX.
Why stand I thus, and gaze upon this scene,
Since gazing but rewakes the pain that slept?
I had not thought that I should thus have been
So quickly cheated of the strength which kept
My heart from sorrowing. My pliant thought,
Suspecting not this subtlety, was caught,
XX.
And I was self-deceived, as many more
Before have been. Man estimates his power
By what he _would_ do; and but little store
Can well be placed on this, what time the hour
Of trial approaches. For 'tis sadly true,
Man often cannot what he wills to do.
XXI.
His strength is not so great as he had thought
It would be; and perchance, the hour of trial
Has come and gone, and quick defeat has brought,
Without his recognition. But denial
That it has come he dare not now put forth,
His plain defeat would make it little worth.
XXII.
And such defeat, unnoted and unseen
Till it had passed, has been my own to-day;
And, with a sense of mortified chagrin,
I turn me from the pleasing view away,
And in the busy city seek to find
A new diversion to engage my mind.
XXIII.
How pleasing are thy streets and avenues,
Toronto! And what massive buildings rise
Adorning them! I cannot now but choose
To speak my admiration. Yet it lies
Beyond my power to praise as others might,
More rich than I in words, this noble sight.
XXIV.
One mighty pile stands out pre-eminent
Among the rest--thy University,
So builded that itself will represent
Its purpose, and to see it is to be
Convinced, ere word of mouth so testifies,
That 'twas designed for classic purposes.
XXV.
The square-built tow'r, the pillared entrance-way,
The massive doors, and this encolumned porch,
Proclaim that here stern Learning holdeth sway,
And here the classic Muse illumes her torch
And, standing thus, a grand, imposing whole,
It well may awe my poor untutored soul.
XXVI.
I wander on along the tree-girt streets,
Admiring, by compulsion, all the view.
So pleasing is each changing sight that greets
My eye, as thus I slowly wander through
The city, that had Fate not bid me roam
In exile, here I'd gladly make my home.
XXVII.
Here happy homes surround me, but the sight
Of happiness is but a mockery
To me. My life is like a darkened night,
And happiness was not prepared for me;
And rankest disappointment, unalloyed
With hope, my trustful patience has destroyed.
XXVIII.
Toronto, fare thee well! I cannot stay
Within thy gates. Eternal restlessness
Possesses me. I must pursue my way,
Though other cities will impress me less
Than thou hast done. My native land apart,
Thou standest first in this my weary heart.
XXIX.
Niagara's small village quiet lies
Where flows the river in the open lake.
The thought of long-past actions sanctifies
This little spot. For those brave soldiers' sake
Who gladly gave their lives a sacrifice
To country, it is hallowed in my eyes.
XXX.
Here Britain's sons, and here Canadians
Were slaughtered by the ruthless enemy,
Who swept the country o'er in furtherance
Of their unjust desire to gratify
Their evil wish, to tear from England's hand
The part still left her in this Western land.
XXXI.
Americans, how sadly should ye mourn
The action of your rulers on that day,
When unrelenting enmity was sworn
Against your fathers' land. Ye cannot say,
As six and thirty years before ye said,
That gross oppression justified your deed.
XXXII.
Nay, ye were young, and, in ambition's youth,
Ye sought to raise you to a greater state,
And waited not to think of honour's truth,
But rushed to war in hope to alienate
The fair domain of Canada, which lay,
Apparently, a not unwilling prey.
XXXIII.
Speak not of Council Orders,[E] nor essay
To prove that these alone provoked the war.
The orders were rescinded ere the day
Of fighting broke.[F] Not these ye battled for.
Nor did the Rights of Search[G] enrage ye so
As to compel your being England's foe.
XXXIV.
Ye wanted more dominion--this alone
Provoked your action; and, since every nation
In Europe in a state of war was thrown,
Your action merits not such condemnation
As otherwise it would. The rage of war
Is quickly spread to nations near and far.
XXXV.
But 'tis not mine to speak of that campaign,
Whose battles raged from Fort Niagara
To Queenston Heights and far-famed Lundy's Lane;
Nor yet abated until Chippewa,
Black Rock, and Buffalo were summoned all
To war and bloodshed by the bugle call.
XXXVI.
Too long I've dwelt on deeds of war, yet one
Brave deed remains which must not be untold;
One act--by which a gallant fight was won,
One act--by which two noble lives were sold.
This only act recounting, I will cease
To speak of war, and court the muse of peace.
XXXVII.
On Queenston Heights the battle raged, and far
Around was heard its long-continued roar.
It echoed loudly where Niagara
Lies nestling on Ontario's green shore.
It echoed loudly, nor escaped the ear
Of him whose gallant heart was steeled to fear.
XXXVIII.
The noble Brock paused not when thus he heard
The sound of warfare. Turning to his aide,
He bade him hastily to give the word
To saddle horse. Then rapidly they made
Their way across the country to the height,
And soon were in the thickest of the fight.
XXXIX.
In numbers far unequal to the foe,
The British had retired. The battery
Was taken by the enemy; though slow,
Defeat for Britain seemed a certainty;
When Brock arrived upon the battle-field,
And bade them form again, nor ever yield.
XL.
Himself then leading, onward to the fray
They charged, restrengthened by his confidence;
And soon they saw the enemy give way,
Retiring slowly from the eminence.
The day was theirs, the tide of battle turned,
But dearly was that day of victory earned!
XLI.
The noble Brock would raise his sword no more;
No more his cheering word would lead them on.
His soul had passed away from scenes of war,
His latest battle had been fought and won.
And with his spirit, in its upward flight,
The soul of young Macdonell passed that night.
XLII.
A lofty monument, upon the Height
Where fell these two, commemorates their deed.
There stands it, tow'ring high within the sight
Of either Land. Thus let it stand, and plead,
In silent mournfulness, that further feud
Between the Lands shall never be renewed.
XLIII.
For we are brothers still--the bond of blood
Unites us closely, and, though each has done
The other wrong, unselfish deeds and good,
Which since have been exchanged, should quite atone
For injuries long past. Then clasp our hand,
America. As brothers let us stand.
XLIV.
I wander up the river's bank, my thought
Still dwelling on those troublous times of yore,
Until my mind by slow degrees is brought
To present times and scenes. A distant roar
At first recalls me from my reverie,
Then bids me trace my steps less tardily.
XLV.
I know not why, yet, as I press my way
Towards the world-renowned Falls, I feel
A thrill of awe, which words may not convey
Description of. The feeling may be real
Or fanciful, but now my trembling soul
Seems nearer God, and more in His control.
XLVI.
Majestic Falls! What little words of mine
Can paint thy grandeur? How can I essay
To picture such unpictured might as thine?
And yet I would not silent pass away,
And carry with me nothing that recalls
The grandeur of Niagara's proud Falls.
XLVII.
On, on, tumultuous waters, ever on
Unceasingly ye rush, and blindly leap
From giddy heights, in volume all unknown,
Down, down the jagged rock-protruding steep,
And, ever breaking as ye downward go,
Burst forth in show'rs like iridescent snow.
XLVIII.
Here, rolling in unbroken shining green,
Your waters smoothly curve them o'er the cliff.
No sign of foam or bubbling break is seen
As in their glassy depth they roll, as if
While all around is wreck and chaos wild,
They dare to flow conspicuously mild.
XLIX.
And here again they break while rushing o'er
Some rugged rock--a million flecks of spray
Rise, high projected in the air; before
These fall, or in the sunlight melt away,
A new-born cloud, in high-aspiring pride,
Bursts forth, and casts its foam-drops far and wide.
L.
And each new cloud a thing of life appears,
And each leaps forth as though its wild intent
Were solely to out-distance its compeers,
And rise more high than they. And each seems bent
On reaching to a height unreached before,
And tells its purpose in a muffled roar.
LI.
While, far below, a rocky destiny
Awaits the mighty waters. Loud resounds
The roaring of their falling constantly,
While from the rocks the foaming mass rebounds;
And upward rising, far above the height,
A mist half hides the waters from my sight.
LII.
The evening sun illumes the rising spray,
And forms a bow in beauty unsurpassed.
Above the Falls it bends its glist'ning ray,
While in the deep its radiance is cast.
And, as the mist or fades or thickens, so
It breaks or forms again the changing bow.
LIII.
Above the Falls the rushing rapids rage,
In awesome grandeur only less than they.
Thus have they madly tossed from age to age,
And thus have galloped on their heedless way.
In ceaseless ferment, and in constant change,
Wide o'er their rocky area they range.
LIV.
Now foaming whitely, now in rippling waves
Unbroken, haste they onward to their fate;
Each speeding hurriedly as though it craves
An early death. So reckless is the rate
Which some pursue, that, with a sudden shock,
They burst in foam-clouds on a hidden rock.
LV.
Rush on, ye mighty waters, and declare
To self-conceited man his littleness;
Rush on, and give your music to the air,
And calm our thoughts and make our sorrows less;
For as a friend by words of sympathy
Can soothe us, by your music so can ye.
LVI.
For in your music we can hear the voice
Of Him whose hand hath made both ye and us,
And we, in deepest gratitude, rejoice,
And thank Him who has made ye so. And thus,
While listening to your music-roar to-day,
I seem to hear the Spirit speak and say:
LVII.
"As constant roll these waters o'er the steep,
So ceaselessly thy Father watcheth thee;
As day and night they run, and never sleep,
So worketh He throughout eternity;
And as their volume's measure is unknown,
So boundless is His love towards His own.
LVIII.
"Then fear not, troubled soul, nor seek to know
What destiny has been prepared for thee.
Thou seest these mighty waters onward flow,
Conforming thus to all their Lord's decree--
Then live thou as thy conscience bids thee live,
And know that God due recompense will give."
LIX.
Rush on, ye waters, with your message fraught
Of constant love and care of God; rush on
Through lake and ocean, until ye have brought
Your message to the One whose love has shone
Through darkness on my life; and bear from me
A message, too, of love and constancy.
* * * * *
Though far I roam from thee,
My fondest Love, my thought
To theeward constantly
By love's dear bond is brought.
Whate'er I hear or see,
If not thy voice or face,
Has interest for me
For but a little space.
And, whatso'er befall,
It little recks to me,
If it be not a call,
To summon me to thee.
My widowed spirit cries
Aloud for her twin-soul;
My heart in sorrow lies,
And needs thee to console.
Thus all my being faints,
And for thy presence pants;
In sorrowful complaints
It mourns our severance.
Then, dearest one, think not
That we shall never be
United--such a lot
Is not for thee and me.
And when at last we meet,
(As is our destiny),
In commune pure and sweet
We'll live eternally.
CANTO THE FIFTH.
I.
Around, both far and wide, on every hand
The prairie all environs me; I see
Nought save a stretch of green and treeless land,
Conspicuous alone for nudity:
A sea of earth, a boundless stretch unspanned
Except by Heaven's broad horizon-band.
II.
The very vastness of its sameness lends
A fascination which it else had not;
And here my sense of solitude transcends
What I have felt on any other spot:
Of solitude, yet not of loneliness,
For God seems present, and His distance less.
III.
The sea alone of Nature's works can vie
With this in solitude. None else can be
Compared to it. Here 'neath his Maker's eye
The creature seems to stand more openly
Than elsewhere. Here his very solitude
Makes man appear by God more nearly viewed.
IV.
Yet is not here God's awfulness displayed;
His kindliness and mercy more appear;
For flow'rs, the precious emblems He has made
Of graciousness, in plenitude are here.
In rich profusion blooming unconfined,
They seem to whisper softly: "God is kind."
V.
Yet break they not the solitude; nor can
The works of Nature break the solitude.
Man needs the presence of his fellow-man,
And ever needs it, whatsoe'er his mood;
Except when, in the hour he calls his own,
He holds communion with his God alone.
VI.
How vast this solitude! And yet 'tmay be
That, ere a decade's course is fully run,
This prairie, where no being I can see
Inhabiting, may be well built upon;
And even on this lonely stretch of ground
Surrounding me, a city may be found.
VII.
So rapidly have risen in the past
The cities in this Western land, that well
May we expect that not at all less fast
Shall future cities rise. And here may dwell
A population, whose increasing rate
Shall rival cities of an older date.
VIII.
I once had thought that I would choose to live
Upon the prairie-land. My youthful eyes
Raised here a mighty castle, which should give
A home to me and mine. To youth there lies
A fascination in the great Unknown,
Which some in old age have not yet outgrown.
IX.
Thus was I fascinated, and I thought
A prairie life, untrammeled, free and blest,
Much happiness to me had surely brought;
And so I longed to roam the mighty West.
But kindly Fate forbade me then to roam,
Well knowing that the West was not my home.
X.
But now I stand upon the prairie, now
I see the land which once I longed to see--
And fain must smile, as I remember how
This land seemed once a paradise to me.
But that was ere my eye had ever seen
These thousand miles of treeless prairie-green.
XI.
Nay, this is not the prairie that I saw
In youth's mirage; 'twas fairer far than this.
For youth's imagination knows no law,
And soars to heights of future-coming bliss,
In lands where gladness reigns eternally,
Too bright, too beautiful, alas! to be.
XII.
For each his load of pain and woe must bear,
And each must feel the weight of Sorrow's hand,
And each will sometimes bow in deep despair,
And 'neath his burden think he cannot stand.
But strength will come to each in time of need,
For they whom grief destroys are few indeed.
XIII.
Thus youth's bright visions vanish all away,
And nought remains save memory. And we
Can calmly watch them thus dissolve, and say:--
"'Tis better thus; 'tis best they should not be."
For Time has shown us, in his onward flight,
That all our visions were too grossly bright;
XIV.
That, had the dreams we cherished come to pass,
We should not be the men that now we are;
That what we saw through youth's bright distance-glass
Was but a trinket shining as a star;
That selfish pleasure, with its gaudy gleams,
Alone illumed the brightest of our dreams.
XV.
And we have learned that 'tis not all to be
Self-seeking pleasure-hunters; higher far
Are works of kindliness and charity
Which we can do, whate'er our frailties are.
And we have learned that pain and sorrow, though
Unwelcome guests, have each a work to do.
XVI.
And so we grieve or sorrow not to see
Our visions melt away like Winter's snow;
But rather thank we all our God that He
Sent forth the edict that it should be so;
And humbly bless, with gratitude sincere,
The hand that led us to a higher sphere.
XVII.
Farewell! thou vast and fertile prairie-land.
Farewell! Not long so dreary wilt thou be;
Already man, with ever-busy hand,
Is cultivating and enriching thee;
And with the wealth of this, thy virgin soil,
Thou well rewardest him for all his toil.
XVIII.
In cloudy height surrounding me, uprear
The Rocky Mountains their uncounted heads.
And mountains, mountains only now appear,
So thickly clustered that the sun but sheds
Upon their highest peaks his morning light,
While all below is hidden from his sight.
XIX.
Here rise their sky-aspiring pinnacles
In barren ruggedness and majesty;
While here some verdure-covered height instils
An awe less dread by its fertility;
And here again, a peak of snowy whiteness
Relieves the gloom and shadow by its brightness.
XX.
Each one a thing of grandeur, each alone
Inspiring fearsome wonder in my soul,
What marvel that my being all is thrown
Aghast in awe by this stupendous Whole?
What wonder that I stand in mute amaze,
Dumfounded by the scene whereon I gaze?
XXI.
My God, how wonderful Thy works appear!
How mighty art Thou, and omnipotent!
Before Thee, bending low in reverent fear,
I humbly bow. My human pride is bent.
Thou, Thou art God my awful Maker, I
Am helpless in my weak humanity.
XXII.
I hear the Psalmist's words again,[H] and now
Their fuller meaning bursts upon my soul;
Thou madest all the earth and heaven, Thou
Dost hold the mighty seas within control;
These lofty heights were form'd by Thy right-hand;
Thou formedst all--all bow to Thy command.
XXIII.
And what is man to Thee? He well may fall
Before Thee worshipping, when thus he sees
Thy vast creations. Weak indeed and small
Doth man appear before such works as these.
In meek humility I bend my knee
Before Thee. Lord, why thinkest Thou of me?
XXIV.
Yet why should all these wonders, thus arrayed
Before me, more command my reverence
Than man, the greatest creature God has made,
And chiefest pledge of His omnipotence?
Before the man these wonders fade away,
As pales the moon before the orb of day.
XXV.
For man is given a living, loving soul;
Man lives as other works of God live not;
He strives to reach a high and Heav'nly goal--
Incomparably higher is his lot.
God's greatest work, how fitly he should be
The one which most adores His majesty.
XXVI.
But each creation, when it first reveals
Itself to man, impresses him anew
With God's omnipotence, and so he feels
New cause for adoration in each view.
Himself though greatest, these creations each
Their own great lessons to his spirit teach.
XXVII.
And ye, great mountains, have your lessons, ye
Have mighty truths to teach the heart of man
Of God's omnipotence and majesty,
Which, if he will to learn from ye, he can.
But many blindly grope upon their way,
Refusing all the light of Nature's ray.
XXVIII.
A mountain tarn, with waters still and blue,
Here nestles, open to the heavens whence
It seemingly derives its azure hue.
Here, has this little tarn pre-eminence,
For 'mid such mighty works appearing less,
It must attract us by its littleness.
XXIX.
'Tis small; but, like the cloud that servant saw
Whose master bade him look for rain, it grows
To greater bulk; for hence the streamlets draw
Their first supplies; and each one onward flows,
With speed increasing, down the mountain side,
And rolls, a river, in the ocean tide.
XXX.
So great from little things evolve; and as
Man looks upon this tarn and cannot see
The mighty river flowing hence, but has
To hear report of its immensity;
So faith should teach him patiently to wait
While little things of life lead on to great.
XXXI.
But I must leave ye now; I cannot stay,
Great mountains, in your midst. Regretfully
Must I be borne upon my Westward way,
And leave ye far behind me. Yet, should ye
No more delight my eye, it cannot be
That I shall e'er forget your majesty.
XXXII.
A quiet voice within me whispering,
Advises me to tarry not, nor spend
Unneedful hours in westward travelling;
For peace awaits me at my journey's end.
Alas! 'tis but the mountain solitude
That thus has calmed and soothed my weary mood.
XXXIII.
I would it _were_ a voice intuitive
To say that all my suffering should be
Now swept away; that henceforth I should live
In peace and quiet happiness; that she
Whose love alone can shine upon my life
With healing light, could be my loving wife.
XXXIV.
Ah no! It cannot be. Such happiness
Is not for me. Yet will I haste me on
As best I may. Kind fortune yet may bless
The man on whom her smile has never shone.
No more I'll linger here, no more delay
My steps, but haste with speedy gait away.
XXXV.
With rapid flight I pass the mountains through,
Nor pause to rest upon my hurried way
Till, like a picture, burst upon my view
The unsung beauties of Vancouver's Bay.
Nor here I pause, and, onward speeding fast,
Victoria appears in view at last.
XXXVI.
Here Nature's gifts, all lavishly displayed,
Make this a spot most fair and beautiful.
Utopia's scene could here be fitly laid.
These wooded heights, these straits so clear and cool,
The distant mountain's--In the poet's eyes
What, more than this, could be earth's Paradise?
XXXVII.
But beauties physical cannot combine
Alone to make an earthly Paradise;
But where the lamps of Love most brightly shine,
There, there the happiness of Heaven lies,
And bitter hatred, by its cursed spell,
Will make a very Paradise a hell.
XXXVIII.
I wander through the city; there is nought
Of beauty or attractiveness here shown.
Nature, and Nature only, here has brought
Adornment. But that little man has done
Which bare necessity compelled him do;
And nothing tasteful meets my weary view.
XXXIX.
I pass the city through, and onward, till
A pleasing view awakens me, I stray.
Here, standing on a high and wooded hill,
Imposing is the view that I survey.
Afar, across the straits, the mountains rise
In sunlit mightiness before my eyes.
XL.
So near they seem that I could almost be
There, at their feet, before the noon of day.
And yet I know the mountains, seemingly
So near, in truth are many miles away.
The air, so pure and undefiled, brings near
The view, which else far distant would appear.
XLI.
Thus is it with our cherished hopes. We see,
Not seeming far, a life of happiness
Before us; and so close it seems to be,
That present grief and trouble pain us less
Than otherwise they would. More cheerfully
We bear our trials for their brevity.
XLII.
But, as the days of pain roll slowly by,
And lengthen them to weary months and years,
And all our hopes of happiness still lie
Unfructified, these almost yield to fears;
And faith alone will give us strength to bear
Affliction's heavy scourge without despair.
XLIII.
Deep disappointment constantly renewed
Has weakened us; but still we hope to gain
That brighter life. But oh! if we'd reviewed,
At first, that life of long-continued pain,
We scarce had found the strength to struggle through
The path o'ershadowed with so dark a hue.
XLIV.
But each new day has brought a new-born hope,
Each night of rest has strengthened us anew,
And given us again the power to cope
With pain and trial; and we still pursue
Our way in faith, and day by day we cherish
The hope that on _that_ day our pain will perish.
XLV.