LINES FOR THE BRIDAL

They will place a bridal wreath, maiden, To crown all your shining hair; The mist-like cloud of the bridal veil Will float round a face most fair.

They will dress you in bridal robes, maiden, And the holy words be said, And the ring put on and two made one, And the maiden we love be wed.

You'll give him your virgin hand, maiden, And become a wedded wife; That hand will mingle "honey for two" To sweeten the bitter of life.

They will give you costly gifts, maiden, And many a wish beside Will rise in prayer in blessings come down On thy head O fair young bride

And kind will the bridegroom be maiden True and tender as years roll on Who learns to love in the school of Christ Will cherish what he has won

And so what can I say more maiden Wooed and won and to be wed, Pray that His blessing who loved till death May rest on your fair young head

In the hollow of His hand maiden, He will keep you who fainteth not He will cause the splendour of His face To shine on your happy lot



WELCOME HOME

You are coming home with the breath of spring Flying home to a love-lined nest, Most loving care hath made it fair Your hands will do the rest

And the bridal robe you have laid aside And the vail all of lacy foam, The maiden's wed, the tour is sped So welcome, welcome home

The past is laid by with the bridal wreath The bride has come home a wife, And now we pray that blessings may Crown all your wedded life

What shall be the blessing, my dearest dear, When it's all that we have to give? That peace and love, from God above, Be yours while ye both shall live.

That high love that makes of the wife a queen, Of a cottage a palace home, The coarse web fine, life's water wine, The fire-side chair a throne.

Love that drops like dew from heaven to fill With all blessing your earthly cup; That draws you nigh to Him Most High, Bidding your souls look up

Unto Him who has ordered all your lot, To the Hand that will give the best, That bids you come up to His home To be His wedding guest.



BAPTISM IN LAKE ALLUMETTE

Oh Allumette, hemmed with thy fringe of pine, Watched over by thy mountains far away, Thy waters have been troubled oftentime, Never before as they have been to day!

The red man on the war path, with light stroke, Hath cleaved thy waters moving stealthily; Hunter and hunted deer thy surface broke With splash and struggle of the living prey.

Across thy bosom venturous Champlain And faithful Brule have pursued their way; Seeking for distant golden Indian vain Finding Coulonge while searching for Cathay

The knights of industry the sons of toil, Trouble thy waters in the eager strife To win success and wealth, the glittering spoil For which men daily peril more than life

'Twas a new motive from their homes to day That drew an eager wondering people out, Like those who from Mount Zion took their way, From Judah and the regions round about

It might have been the Jordan flowed along Or that, sweet stream where people met for prayer, Still expectation held the gathering throng By the lake shore, in the hushed Sabbath air

And earnest, fervent pleading prayer was made Rose the sweet strains of the old Scottish psalm And words of witness for God s truth were said, The only sound that broke the sacred calm

Then down into the waters of the lake, The preacher and believer slowly came, Not heeding scornful words for His dear sake, Who bore the cross for us despised the shame

Buried with Him by baptism to death Following the path which He the Sa lour trod, To rise with Him to that new life He saith He hath laid up for us with Christ in God



GOOD-BYE.

(To Miss E E.)

I cannot write, my tears are flowing fast, Yet weeping is unnatural to me; Oh! that this hour of bitterness was past— The parting hour with all I love and thee

If I had never met or loved thee so, To part would not have caused me this sharp pain; Parting so oft occurring here below, And they who part so seldom meet again.

Yet over land or sea, where'er I go, My home, my friends, shall flit before my eyes— And oft I anxiously shall wish to know, If in thy bosom thoughts of me arise.

Oh, I will think of bygone days of glee, Though on each point of bitter sorrow driven; I will not bid thee to remember me, But oh! see to it that we meet in Heaven.

1844.



WEEP WITH THOSE WHO WEEP.

(Mary Maud.)

O friends, I cannot comfort, but will share with you your grieving, In the valley of the shadow where you sit in helpless tears; Greater is the parting anguish, than the joy of first receiving The sweet gift that was your treasure through five happy, golden years

When I laid within your arms the dear babe that God had given, There was hidden in the future all the tears that you must weep, Ah! the little ones so tangled in our heart-strings, they are riven In the parting, are but treasures lent not given us to keep

There's silence in the places her voice filled with happy laughter, Stillness waiting for the echo of the patter of her feet, You are gazing on her picture, and your heart is longing after The tender touch of the little hands, the mouth that was most sweet

In the valley of the shadow, where by God's will you are sitting, Earthly sounds shut out and stilled, yea, and heaven so very near, That the little golden head, through the open doorway flitting, Might come smiling any moment and be greeted without fear

With earthly toil and serving we will not get encumbered, Our hearts rise to our treasures that are laid up with the King, There your little maiden, Maud, with His jewels fair are numbered, There she learns the songs of gladness that the heavenly children sing

Among those pure and precious who have known no earthly sinning, The Beloved's fair white lilies in the Paradise of God, Those He looked upon and loved, when their lives were but beginning, And brought home before their tender feet grew weary of the road

There clothed on with his beauty, round the child all bliss will gather, All the brightness of the Father's face when looking on His own; For the little children's angels see the bright face of the Father, And gather on the rainbow steps that are around the throne.

For evermore in safety, by the Lamb led to the valleys, Where the light of God is brooding, and life's storms are ever furled; No more watching, no more praying, no more guarding from the malice Of all evil, lest her garments should be spotted by the world.

Heaven draws nearer in our sorrow, and the earth-born cares keep silence, And the still, small voice says kindly, "Though the child may come no more, Time is passing, and the moment approaches from the distance, When the message to come after will appear within the door."

Oh, well it is for baby, safe, and past all toil and grieving, The dear head is laid so early on a loving Saviour's breast; Be not faithless, oh my friends, but submissive and believing, The Hand that makes no blunders hath laid the babe at rest



TO ELIZABETH RAY

First of women, best of friends Take what a village rhymer sends, A tear wet trifle sent to tell The giver must bid thee farewell! And shall I then when o'er the sea Forget thee? No, it cannot be When thinking of much loved Grace Hill, [1] Its drops of joy, its drafts of ill I shed the fond regretting tear, For those I did I do hold dear, First shall mid those I parted with Stand Friendship's Ray Elizabeth

[Footnote 1: Burns]

1844



FAREWELL TO LORD AND LADY DUFFERIN

In leaving us, whom thou hast governed well Holding the helm of state through all these years The land at large unites in a farewell That's mingled with regret akin to tears

My Lord, we welcomed you in coming here As one our gracious Queen thought fit to send Your term of office hath so made you dear We say farewell to you as friend to friend

It is not homage paid to honours worn Lightly, as that which comes to one unsought; Nor to thy high desent, oh nobly born Nor to the aristocracy of thought.

And yet we do not undervalue here Honours the nobles of our land enjoy; We hold in high esteem the British Peer, Warm to the ancient name of Clandeboye.

Warmly we feel to one who is akin To that most marvellous genius Sheridan; But warmer still the tribute that you win, Paid, not to Lord, or Viceroy, to the man,

Who of no party, yet both far and near, In distant wilderness and crowded mart, With words that rouse and stimulate and cheer, Has drawn the whole Dominion to your heart.

From Essex, by thy waters, sweet St. Clair, To Gaspe, sentry on a stormy coast; From Prima Vista to Vancouver, where Will your departure be regretted most?

No Viceroy of this land has ever left Such large regrets, as you my Lord, will do; For admiration, confidence, respect Are felt for you the wide Dominion through.

The miner at his work, the axeman where He hews out fortune with enduring toil; The farmer with his plenty and to spare, For laughing harvests crown our fruitful son.

The fisher on our coast, the pioneer Who strives the distant wilderness to tame; The Indian hunter, wild unknown to fear, On his swift horse swooping upon his game

From settlers fanned by keen Atlantic air, To those the broad Pacific's breezes cool, To forest shade and prairie verdure, where Sit Indian maidens in the mission school

Never did Governor before receive Such loyal homage as your heart has won, Nor left so fair a record as you leave, Or stood so near to us as you have done

You have the kindly sympathetic heart Of her who loved the common people well, The noble lady who with witching art Taught us to sing the "Emigrant's Farewell.'

And the dear lady who has reigned your queen Over the gaieties of Rideau Hall, Her genial, gracious courtesies have been, A talisman to win the hearts of all

Oh, Earl, and Countess, if good wishes may Add anything to your most brilliant state, The wide Dominion with one heart will pray You may be blessed of God as well as great



A WELCOME

THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING

Gather, oh gather! gather, oh gather On with the philabeg every man And up with the bonnet and badge of your father, Belt on the plaid of the great Campbell clan From the heather clad hills of that island In whose straths and glens your fathers were born They come, and so gather, ye hearts that are Highland, Welcome the Lord and the Lady of Lorne! Gather, oh gather, &c.

Ocean to ocean the welcome is ringing, Fair Indian summer, with blush and with smile, O'er forests her right royal vesture is flinging To welcome the bride and heir of Argyle. Princess of Lorne, we rise to receive her, First royal lady our country has seen, To this, the wide land of the maple and beaver, We welcome thee Princess, child of our Queen. Gather, oh gather, &c.

We had regret we sought not to smother— Kind Earl, dear Countess were called to depart; But thoughtfully, kindly, the fair Queen our mother, Sends the son of her choice, the child of her heart. There is a stir, a bustle, a humming, The tartans are waving, plumes floating free, While trumpet and drum sound, "The Campbells are coming" We are all Campbells in welcoming thee. Gather, oh gather, &c.

Son of Argyle, so near to the sceptre, And Princess Louise fair child of a throne, We welcome to stand for our Queen in this empire, Rule us, and love us, and make us your own Blow, wild pibroch, that welcomes no other! Shout million-voiced failte, wave banners the while; She's worthy, fair child of so royal a mother, He's worthy the name and fame of Argyle. Gather, oh gather, &c.



DEATH OF NORMAN DEWAR

(Mr Norman Dewar, commission merchant, a native of Glengarry, Canada who had been assisting Captain McCabe as commissary of the Memphis Relief Committee, died of yellow fever after three days illness A brave and gentle nature, he was loved by a host of friends and will long be remembered as among the noblest of the band of gallant men who during this fearful epidemic died at the post of duty)

Far away from stricken Memphis Came the tidings sad and sure That among the many fallen, Fell the clansman Norman Dewar

There are eyes unused to weeping With the tears of sorrow dim, Hearts with nature's anguish heaving, Yet 'tis wrong to weep for him

None who fell in glorious battle, In the shock of meeting steel, Fell more bravely, died more nobly More like son of true Lochiel

When the cry arose in Memphis That the yellow death had come, When the rich in fear were fleeing, And the poor with terror dumb,

Famine following the fever, Want of all things awful death, When forsaken by their kindred, Human souls gave up their breath,

There were men who felt God's pity, Strong to do and to endure, And among these brave and noble, At his post stood Norman Dewar

Firm and gentle, true and tender, Knowing all the danger well, This true son of old Glengarry Stood on duty till he fell

Highland hearts have breasted battle, Highland veterans show their scars, Highland blood has flowed like water In our Gracious Sovereign's wars.

We have praised in song and story, Those who bravely fought and fell, For Old England's might and glory, For the Queen they love so well.

And shall we this time be silent O thou clansman firm and true, Shall not loyal brave Glengarry, Through her tears feel proud of you

Thou hast fought the sternest battle, Thou hast met the grimmest foe; Christ-like stood by the forsaken Stood till death has laid thee low.

Praise thy sons, dear old Glengarry, Prompt to do, calm to endure; And among your very noblest, Set God's hero Norman Dewar.



THE SHADOW OF THE ALMIGHTY

The Rev Mr Young was one stormy day visiting one of his people, an old man, who lived in great poverty in a lonely cottage a few miles from Jedsburg. He found him sitting with his Bible open upon his knees, but in outward circumstances of great discomfort, the snow drifting in through the roof and under the door, and scarcely any fire in the hearth. "What are you about to day, John?" asked Mr Young on entering "Ah, sir," said John, "I am sitting under His shadow with great delight."

They only see the snow heaped on the moor, The bare trees shivering in the winter's breath, The icy drift that sifteth through the door, Me, old and poor, waiting the call of death.

They think my cot is bare and comfortless, With broken roof and paper-mended pane, They see but poverty and loneliness, And think in pity that my death were gain.

They know not, Master, that Thou art so near, Thou holdest me, I lean upon Thy might, I know Thy voice, Thy whisperings I hear, I stay beneath Thy shadow with delight.

The royal purple of Thy garment died, From Bozrah, is spread over even me, All my unworthiness, my want I hide Under Thy princely vesture shelteringly.

Thy hand is underneath my weary head, Thy strong right hand that saved me long ago; I'm cradled in Thy arms and comforted, What more have I to do with want or woe

What more indeed! so sheltered, so embraced, For ever Thou art mine and I am Thine, Thy banner's love, Thy fruit sweet to my taste, Thou givest to my lips the Kingdom's wine.

How sweetly solemn is this awful place! Where all of earth fades out and vanishes, I cannot fear while I behold Thy face, My help, my friend, the Lord my righteousness.

I do not feel the waters cold and deep, Waters to swim in through whose waves I come, The love that holds me up is strong to keep, 'Tis but a little way from this to home

My sight grows dim, my one Redeemer, Lord, Bring nearer still the brightness of Thy face, I hear Thy voice, assuring is Thy word, Close to Thy heart is my abiding place.

We're nearing home—forever all is well, In through the agate windows I can see The place prepared—glory ineffable, To which in royal love Thou leadest me



IN MEMORY OF JOHN LEACH CRAIG

In the midst of Life we are in Death.

What is it that has stilled the usual hurry, Checking the eager tread of rapid feet? Why does the business face look sad and sorry Within the place where merchants choose to meet? A something not unusual or strange, One face is missing on the Corn Exchange.

Alas! they say he had uncommon merit, High the esteem and confidence he won; He brought to business life a joyous spirit, And mixed commercial tact with boyish fun. We miss his breezy laugh, his pleasant face, The skill that marked him for the foremost place.

There is a ship steaming across the billow, That should have brought him to his mother's knee; Did warning dreams hover around her pillow, Of the dear face she never more shall see? She sits at home deeming that all is well, Who shall the tale of her bereavement tell?

She waited for him in the bright May morning, When the spring buds were blooming in their prime, And the green earth was crowned with their adorning, To greet his coming with the summer time. The mists have fallen and her eyes are dim, Looking across death's valley after him.

The good ship sailed upon the day of sailing, And furled her sails in port the voyage o'er; But in his home waiting is changed to wailing, For he will come to them on earth no more. The Master called—he answered speedily, And sailed away across the "silent sea."

They praise him in the land of his adoption, Say what he was, and what he might have been, Speak of the honours that were at his option, Since he came here a fair lad of nineteen. That upward has his path been ever since, To sit among the first a merchant prince.

The "never more" chills through the friendly praises, Never to see his face, his coming form; Never his foot shall stand on Antrim daisies, Or tread again the Parks of old Galgorm; Nor sleep among his fathers, silent, still, Beneath the sycamores in fair Grace Hill.

His mother in her island home is weeping, For what her eyes desired she shall not see; The fair young wife her widowed vigil keeping Among her babes on this side of the sea— One in their sorrow which is all too deep For comfort—theirs to sit apart and weep.

Mother and wife one in their poignant grieving, One in their anguish over lifeless clay; One in the consolation of believing That he was worthy who has passed away. By sorrow consecrate and set apart, To ponder all the past within their heart.

The mother, with her heartstrings quivering after The Master's stroke, sits underneath the cross; The sad wife stilling all the childish laughter Of his sweet babes, too young to feel their loss. Who wonder in the quiet, darkened home, Why their glad-voiced papa will never come.

So in his home beside the terraced mountain, They sit within the shadow of his death; So they who were the tardy moments counting, Till he would come to them with summer's breath. His kith and kin by the Maine water's side, Weep very sore for love of him that died.

Oh Death is ever coming, loved ones going, Hearts rent with sorrow because one is not; The waves of trouble ever swelling, flowing, Past the tall castle, past the sheltered cot! "I am bereaved!" is the unceasing moan, Rising forever to our Father's throne.

O Christ Thou dost remember earthly weeping, When the bereaved at Thy dear feet have cried, Beside the grave where the much loved lay sleeping, "Lord if Thou hadst been here he had not died." Comfort the mourning friends, the sorrowing wife, O Thou the Resurrection and the life!



FAREWELL

My brother George has gone from me, Far away o'er the trackless sea. His gladdening voice I hear not now, I see not the light of his sunny brow. My cheeks with lonely tears are wet; But go where he will he will love me yet. O Thou whose blessings the heart enlarge, Keep from all evil my brother George!

1842.



THE PRINCE OF ANHALT DESSAU.

From Carlisle.

The young Prince of Anhalt Dessau, The Dowager's only son, Was a sturdy strong-limbed fellow And a most determined one.

Shook the tutor his locks of silver, "And if I have any skill, This young Prince of Anhalt Dessau, He will always work his will.

"I cry to the Wise for wisdom, I cry for strength to the Strong, That I train him to stand firmly For the right against the wrong.

"If he grow to gracious manhood, I shall not have wrought in vain, And my Fatherland so noble Shall most surely reap the gain."

The Dowager in her chamber, With pride did her blue eyes shine; "Fatherland hath many princes, But none of them all like mine.

"He has courage, fire and wisdom, Yet tender of heart is he; Proud, but just and full of pity; This is as a prince should be.

"My son, growing up so worthy, Shall comfort my widowed fears; And he shall be my strong right hand, Through the cares of future years."

The Dowager's waiting women Said; "Our Prince gives up the chase, And every day his steed reins he Down there in the market-place.

"He forgets his rank so princely, To his grievous harm and loss; A trap for his youth so tender Is laid by the damsel Fos."

The Princess rode in her chariot, Away to the market-place, With her own proud eyes beholding The beautiful tempter's face.

But she saw a stately maiden, With such pure and dove-like eyes, Clothed in beauty like a flower, Or a saint from Paradise.

"No wonder my son, so youthful, Fixed his heart on one like thee; For if I were a Prince of Dessau, Willing captive I might be.

"But you are a doctor's daughter, My son's of a princely line; You may wed with one more humble, But never with son of mine.

"But my son is very wilful, We must conquer him with guile; To foreign courts he shall away, Where most noble ladies smile.

"One he'll see whose rank is princely, Fair of form and fair of face; She shall win him by her beauty From his love in the market-place."

Said the lily maiden weeping, "'Twere well we had never met, Go, my Prince, to be with princes, Be happy, and so forget."

Said the Prince of Anhalt Dessau: "What's to be God keeps in store; I am Prince of Anhalt Dessau, But your lover for evermore.

"Duty is the yoke of princes, It is good I go away; For that widow's son there's blessing, Who his mother can obey.

"But we who are ruling princes, Should be patterns of faith and truth, The Prince thou hast loved, my lily, Shall never deceive thy youth.

"For as sure as to the ocean Arrow-swift flows on the Rhine, I go for my mother's pleasure, I am coming back for thine."

A year past—the waiting-women Said: "Our Prince is back again," And he shows before the Empire, That his mother's plans are vain.

He came from the courts of Europe, He came to his mother's knee; But first went to the market-place, The maiden he loved to see.

Said the Princess, "Son, you're welcome, Anhalt Dessau's hope and pride; Have you well and wisely chosen For Dessau a high-born bride?"

"I saw many royal beauties, Dames courtly and fair and kind, But with married eyes I saw them, For my heart was left behind."

Said the lady to her council: "So our plans have failed thus far, He'll forget his low-born chosen When he learns to look on war.

"While he's gone I'll seek to rid me Of the beauty which I dread, I will give a precious dower To him who shall woo and wed."

Said the Doctor to his daughter: "Here's a life of wealth and ease, And a fair bridegroom too, daughter, For we must our Princess please."

"Ah me!" said the lily maiden, "That I am the cause of strife! Woeful is the gift of beauty— I'll be an unwilling wife.

"I have no strength for the battle, No more than a wounded dove; O Leopold Anhalt Dessau, Where art thou, my only love?"

With a moan of helpless sorrow, From the bridegroom turned her face, And saw a gallant troop of horse Drawn up in the market-place.

A strong arm is soon around her, Young Dessau is by her side, "Draw and defend yourself, you wretch! Who would dare to claim my bride."

Then he stood before his mother, With a stern and angry face; "I have stopped a gallant wedding, Begun in the market-place.

"The maid thou wouldst give in marriage, Is mine by her plighted word; And his blood who would supplant me, Has reddened on my good sword.

"Be a queen in Anhalt Dessau, Let tower and town be thine; But leave unto me my treasure, This fair low-born love of mine.

"She's my first love and my last one, And never we two shall part; I'll take her—with rites most holy I will bind her to my heart."

Now the holy words are spoken, At the young Dessau's command. He wedded the lily maiden, And he gave her his left hand.

"What's to be," said Anhalt Dessau, "Is known but to God above, But I have obeyed my mother, Been true to my early love.

"Now must I go to the battle, Leave mother and bride behind; My wife, be a child to my mother, Mother, to my love be kind.

"A soldier's life is uncertain, Let us sternly do our best, Love and duty be our watchword, And leave to our God the rest."

And thus the high Prince of Dessau, While giving obedience due To his gracious lady mother, To his own first love was true.

* * *

He is gone away to battle, He's always in high command; As a man of vast resources, Who is as the king's right hand.

Drilling, battling, planning, seiging, The bravest of all the brave; The wisest of all in counsel, Loyal, courteous, kind and grave.

This was in the time of battles, Battles for the native land; Whatever was in safe keeping, Was held by the strong right hand.

Anhalt Dessau, bold and daring, Anhalt Dessau wise and slow, With a brain full of expedients, To subdue or outwit the foe.

In each conflict still to conquer, In each counsel wiser grown, Till he stood above his fellows, A supporter of the throne.

Till the king in council chamber, Said: "My lords we must devise New honours for Anhalt Dessau, My general brave and wise.

"Leopold of Anhalt Dessau, First in counsel, first in fight, What high reward you choose to name Is yours by undoubted right."

"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.