Verses and Rhymes By the Way

TO THE RAIN 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.

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