The Project Gutenberg eBook, Carols of Canada, Etc., Etc., by Mrs. Elizabeth S. (MacQueen) MacLeod

Carols of Canada
etc., etc.
BY
MRS. MACLEOD

Charlottetown, P. E. I.
Printed by John Coombs, Queen Street
1893

Entered according to Act of Parliament, in the year 1893,
By Elizabeth S. MacLeod,
In the Office of the Minister of Agriculture.

To
The Honourable
Sir Donald A. Smith,
K. C. M. G., LL. D.

Who, with the more than regal right
Of generous heart, and princely hand Hath fostered learning in our land; And set it on the highest height.

Who faileth not 'fore certain test
Of faith supreme—true zeal for man; Who, working out supernal plan, Doth serve his God and country best,—

These Carols of Canada, etc., etc.,
are
Most Respectfully Inscribed.

PREFACE.

In sending forth these gleanings from the later compositions of my few leisure hours, I take the opportunity of thanking most sincerely those many friends who have so generously subscribed for the work. Not only has their kind appreciation caused me to realize that I am no longer a stranger in a strange land, but also, that I possess the whole-souled sympathy of not a few, in this the country of my adoption.

Many are the tender memories which unite me to the olden land: a land for ever hallowed as the quiet resting-place of the lovèd dead, and the once happy home of a love-encircled childhood. Still, I cannot but deplore the many evils existing therein; more especially that evil of a system which places the greater number at the mercy of the fewer—the debasing system of extensive landlordism; a system which may have suited in those former periods when kingdoms and positions were mainly dependent upon force of arms, but for which there can be no plausible apology in this progressive, and pretentiously humanizing age; and if any words of mine shall induce the tyrant-crushed and woe-oppressed of other climes to raise their eyes towards the setting sun, and to seek a home in this Canada,—this God-appointed haven, these words shall not have been penned in vain.

I cherish the utmost faith in the future of Canada—faith which leads me to look beyond my little day and view her, with ample resources still developing, with invitations of welcome still extended, a full-grown nation of intelligent, enterprising and generous-souled people, more glorious by far than the world-renowned empires of the past; a nation unfettered from bigotry of sect, envy of position, and clannishness of clime; a nation whose belief is in the eternal fatherhood of God, and the universal brotherhood of humanity; a nation whose every act of every day life is the pure and lofty exponent of a Christly Christianity, and in whose healthy moral atmosphere vice with its attendant train of evils cannot exist; a nation upon which, over all its boundless pasture lands and by its many sounding shores, the sun of Freedom shines, and the honest, earnest worshipper bendeth never a humble knee save to fair Freedom's God.

E. S. MACLEOD.

Charlottetown, Nov. 1893.

CONTENTS.

CAROLS OF CANADA.

CANADA.

Oh Canada! great Canada!
Land of all lands to be; Farewell to lays of olden clime!
We touch the lyre for thee. For thee, Oh gracious, morning land!
Through cycles of renown Thy leal of heart, and firm of hand
Shall guard thy spotless crown.

Exhaustless, boundless Canada!
Thy myriad forests wave; Thy snow-capped mountains cleave the skies;
Thy shores, two oceans lave. Thy sea-wide lakes, thy rivers bold
Are worlds of crystal sheen;
And vast as empires famed of old
Thy prairies, rolling green.

Oh fair and beauteous Canada!
Aneath thy sapphire sky, Gay-plumaged warblers wing their flight
O'er flowers of gorgeous dye, Which own no faint, exotic blush
Of Care's trim, training hand; Rich dowered of health, with nature's flush,
They brighten all the land.

Thou may'st not boast, fair Canada!
The soft, spice-laden breeze; Or palm of Ethiopian land,
Or pearl of Ceylon seas. Yet thine no dread, samiel curse,
To blight thy emerald plains; Thine only wholesome air, to nurse
Pure blood in patriot veins.

Thou may'st not point, young Canada!
To sumptuous mosques of pride; Or watery highways, where with song,
The gay gondolas glide. But thine, beneath wide starry dome,
Along ten thousand streams, O'er many a league of richest loam,
To animate life dreams.

Thou opest, regal Canada!
Floodgates off either sea; And tyrant-crushed, and crushed of fate,
Find peaceful rest in thee. Upon thy generous-yielding sward,
And round thy teeming coast, Just labor finds its just award;
Nor heart of hope is lost.

Oh high-souled! hopeful Canada!
Long may thy banner wave O'er soil where will to work is gold,
Nor man nor mind is slave. God's grace thee further, lovèd land!
Live thou thy high behest! So shalt thou 'mid the nations stand
Erect; through blessing blest.

[SIEUR DE MAISONNEUVE,]
OR
THE FOUNDING OF MONTREAL.

Tho' rough be the path thou art destined to tread,
Let courage and truth be thy stay; Thy course be straight onward, aye looking ahead,
Doubt not, neither droop by the way. Who spanned the wide ocean, who narrowed the soil,
With spirits untrammeled of fear, Have found, through the struggle, the sorrow, the toil,
Sure help from on high ever near.

He had ta'en his last look of those terraced hills
Where the golden and green intertwine; Where song of the peasant doth sing in the rills,
As he gleaneth the fruit of the vine. He had breathed fond adieux to his own loved land,
A land of rare science and art; Where learning's vast treasure to genius lends hand,
And knowledge ennobleth the heart.

Aglow with the fire of a heavenly grace,
He had sailed for the ice drift and snow; With vigor of purpose had ventured his face
To yet fiercer, more deadly foe. To the darkening scowl of the dusky crew
He would radiate beams of love; Would labor and bide, with his well-chosen few,
The unction bestowed from above.

They told him of brothers who perished before;
Of the tortures of savage hate; Vain pleading! it stirred but his courage the more
To conquer, or share in their fate. Not his to recall, with a sigh of regret,
Those voices far over the main; Where the sun of his brilliant boyhood set,
On the banks of the royal Seine.

Not his to feel faint on the thorniest path,
Or to shrink whate'er might betide: They know not, or heed not humanity's wrath
Who are vowed to the Crucified. He gazed on the shore, with its dark fringe of pine;
To the heavens, with bright disc on the blue; Then, lightened his vision with rapture divine;
The future arose to his view.

"I shall go," said he, "unto Montreal
Though each tree were an Iroquois!" And the God of the dauntless hearkened his call,
The God of the martyred ones saw. Now the great city smiles where the grim forest loomed,
And the red man boweth the knee; And the Cross which was trampled in triumph hath bloomed
From mountain to uttermost sea.

THE HUNTSMAN.

'Twas in the lone, uncultured wilds
Of far Assiniboia, Ere commerce took its giant stride
From east to western sea. From grasp of lordly tyranny
Came brave and sturdy band; The sons of sires who framed the old,
To build the fair, new land.

The red men tracked the hunter's path
Through miles of gloomy wood; And now, with whoop and fiendish yell,
Before their victim stood. With rifle shot he kept his ground,
And held the foe at bay; Yet, what avail his single strength!
Ten times his number they.

He leaped upon a rocky ledge
Which overhung the wave; Far kindlier fate than scalping-knife,
The risk of watery grave. He glanced towards his precious haven
Upon its patch of green; He saw his loved ones by the door,
But—the river rolled between.

Another saw; love prompted wit;
Upon the grassy floor She laid her babe, then fleetly sought
The wherry by the shore. With strong, young arm she plied the oar;
The waters twirl and toss; 'Tis vain! beneath that cataract
No human power may cross.

List! through the noisome, seething surge,
A voice of hope and cheer: "Leap in, and swim adown the stream,
I'll meet you—never fear!" The current bears the slight skiff on,
The Indians' arrows fly, But the huntsman's form is seen no more
Against that lurid sky.

For he hath plunged into the foam
And, borne upon the tide, Is now beyond all chance of harm,
His brave wife by his side. Saved by that faith-inspiring Love
Which glorifies the hearth; Which amply fills with choice-drawn wealth,
And crowns the loves of earth.

CAPE LE FORCE.

Where frowning bulwarks guard the coast
Around our sea-girt Isle, Where wildest winters wreak their wrath,
And sweetest summers smile.

In holy calm of eventide
Which crowned the sunbright day, We sat upon a grassy knoll
That overlooked the bay.

All glorious the lingering light
From out the radiant west, As loath to leave a scene so fair,
Illumined ocean's crest.

Along the path, with quiet tread,
There came an aged form Whose sunburnt features told that he
Had weathered many a storm.

He'd held command in goodly craft
On nigh and far off seas; Had furled the sail on foreign strand,
And scoured 'fore every breeze.

Now, 'yond all lure of worldly wealth
Through commerce on the foam, He anchored where affection set,
Within his childhood's home.

Nor tide, nor wind, nor black storm-cloud
Could bar his passage more, As he waited sailing orders
For glad Beulah's shore.

We asked him, as he rested near,
If he the story knew Of that bleak, lonely cape which stretched
Upon our right hand view.

"I can relate," he said, "the tale
My grandsire told to me:— It happened in the year of grace
Seventeen sixty-three.

"That year the Isle of St. Jean
Was ceded, this you know, To Britain, in the treaty signed
By France, at Fontainebleau.

"French privateers, which robbed our coast,
Were harassed by our men; McKenzie, with a British sloop
Unaided, captured ten.

"One, fleeter than the rest escaped,
Commanded by Le Force; In dread of foes, or unknown seas,
He held a leeward course.

"But all too fast the gallant ship
Bore down towards the bay; Caught on deceitful shifting sands,
A stranded wreck she lay.

"The boats made shore, the crew dispersed,
One officer remained With his commander, and large share
Of ill-won booty gained.

"On yonder cape they pitched a tent,
And from the vessel's store In haste, with slightest interval,
Much precious freight they bore.

"But where 'twas hid no mortal knew;
Folk say within yon grove, Whose crowding giants dull the day,
Exists the treasure-trove.

"Be't so or not, to me it seems
This cursed greed of gold Shuts all the finer feelings out,
Deforms life's fairest mould.

"Rends rare affection's dearest ties,
Transforms the friend to foe; In battlefield of worldly gain
Smites with unsparing blow.

"Repels all humanizing love;
In haste to reach its goal, Draws even from gates of paradise
The earnest, God-ward soul.

"Two daring youths, from hamlet nigh,
Through motives curious, went When friendly even lent its shades,
Anear the strangers' tent.

"They heard dispute o'er money hoard,
Then louder, wrathful tones, Which hotter, higher, waxed until
They sunk in low, faint moans.

"Next morn three sturdy fishermen
Steered out across the wave; They heeded not the swelling surge,
Their hearts were firm and brave.

"But, Oh! what vision met their gaze!
Upon that silent shore The Captain of the stranded bark
Lay stiffening in his gore.

"Far from his loved in La Belle France,
Far from his native plain; Where longing eyes, and yearning hearts
Might long for him in vain.

"He died not as the soldier dies;
For country and for king; For him no martial banners wave,
No lyre his praise doth sing.

"Rough hands, but souls of sympathy,
Entombed him where he fell; While sounding ocean wailed his dirge,
And wavelets rang his knell.

"Now, until ocean yields her dead,
Till dries yon river's source, That cape, baptizèd with his blood,
Shall bear the name 'Le Force.'"

He paused. "What of the murderer?
And what to him befell?" "He fled, from that dread hour of guilt
No tongue his fate could tell.

"No legal technicality
Could paint his black as white, Or color with a golden tinge
The blackness of his night.

"Though richly-garbed, accomplished vice
May bide the Final Day; With brutal, prompt, unstudied crime
The law brooks no delay.

"His was no deed of villain art
Which slowly works its will, Which wiles its victim to his death,
And slays with callous skill.

"It may be that a Higher Judge
Could measure best his crime; And that, through penitence he found
Pardon and peace in time."

The sun had sunk beneath the wave,
The moon had risen on high; And glorified, with silvery beams,
The earth, and sea, and sky.

Light zephyrs thrilled on ocean's chords,
Through wavelet's hum and flow; Alas! that scene surpassing fair,
Should sin or sorrow know.

Alas! that guilt, or causeless woe
Should darken nature's smile; As that foul deed, the first to blight
With crime Prince Edward Isle.

SISTER ST. THOMAS.

I.

Bright beauty of northern winter!
The sun, with its tenderest glow, Gilded the haze of the housetops,
Warm-tinted earth's mantle of snow.

Flashed forth the crystalline branches,
Bedazzling of jewelry rare; Rich set in radiance of splendor,
Choice pearlets of nature's own wear.

Dark night with its gloom had faded,
Fair morning its halo unfurled; Yet stirred not the solemn silence
With the hum of a waking world.

Unheard was the sound of labor,
Mute—hushed was the voice of the street; Only the tread of passers by,
Who stayed not their hastening feet.

Only half whispers, curt replies
To eager questions, doubtful given; For hearts were awed with sudden fear,
For dearest ties of earth were riven.

Soft cloudlets afloat on the blue,
Pure wreaths of the shimmering snow, Re-uttered in language sublime,
The breathings of unwonted woe.

Alas, for the dreaming of life!
Though heard not the roll of the drum, Nor witnessed the ensign of war,
A merciless tyrant had come.
Strife is no strife ill-divided
When man fighteth frail brother-man; But war is a warfare unequal
When giant force leadeth one van.

What marvel that mortals shrank back,
That science e'en held bated breath;— Over the lights of our dwellings
There hovered the angel of death.

The flags which drooped from the windows,
And waved in the winterly sun, Signalled fierce battle was raging,
But told not of victory won.

They were no flags of our nation,
No tri-colored red, white and blue; Heralds of hope, or of freedom,
Beamed not in their pale, saffron hue.

II.

Sore lack of helpful, nursing hands
Was keenly felt within those walls; Since selfish dread had closed the soul
To lucre's bribe, or mercy's calls.

Had closed the soul of all save those
Whose life is but to do His will; Who fear not Afric's burning sands,
Nor Javan swamp, nor Iceland chill.

Three Sisters, vowed to charity,
Out of the well trained city band; Skilled nurses[Note] they, and fit prepared,
Came forward as with life in hand.

When, shame to tell, their proffered aid
Was scouted; reason urgeth why? Search not dim aisles of bigotry,
Sift thou thy soul for just reply.

Oh, narrow bounded prejudice!
Hedged round of a Christian name, Thou low, dim burning altar light!
Unlit of celestial flame.

Right royal blood in honor's cause,
Red stains the patriot battle field; Thou slay'st thy myriads for naught,
God in the conscience may not yield.

Thou! blind and selfish prejudice;
Vile, murky source of endless strife; Know that a world reviving faith
Doth blossom into fruitful life.

III.

'Mid comfort of our peaceful homes,
We heard the rattle of the car Which bore the vanquished from the scene
Of bloodless, but relentless war.

For them no sacred bell was tolled,
Nor rose the chant of plaintive psalm; Yet through deep mists shone guiding light
From cruel cross, to blissful palm.

Within the City Hospital,
With satchel in her willing hand, She waited, as a soldier waits,
Intent to hear his lord's command.

She knew that fickle human aid
When sought at risks is sought in vain; That in no human breast exists
Will to encounter death or pain.

"And can'st thou think to go?" I said,
"When all thy purposes of good Were balked by callous ignorance,
Close-linked with base ingratitude."

She looked me calmly in the face;
A shade, which noted sad surprise Stole o'er her placid countenance,
And spake from out her gentle eyes.

Her answer echoes down the years,
Illumes the hall in which she sat, Breaks through all cant of class or creed:—
"Those sick must not suffer for that.."

IV.

Emblazoned in archives of light
Those titles no worldling may hold; Whilst their star, in our nether sky,
Shines forth in a circlet of gold.

With practised eye, and tender hand,
With quiet mien, and noiseless tread, They grappled with the dire disease,
Or soothed the sufferer's dying bed.

They listed, with a patient mind,
The longings of the exiled one; Or treasured, for a mother's ear,
The last faint accents of her son.

Yea! all along that tardy night,
Black with the bitterness of woe, They toiled in unison with those
Whose skill[Note] and courage foiled the foe.

Fame proudly vaunts her hero dead;
Ambition's tools, in glory's van; Thrice worthy he of lasting wreath,
Who lives for God, and dies for man.

Ah me! for the silent martyr
Whose tireless feet so surely trod The pathway leading on and up
Towards the city of our God.

The poison draught entered her blood;
In brightness of Spring's early day Sister St. Thomas bowed her head,
And passed from her labors for aye.

I know that 'yond the swelling surge,
She reached that tideless, tranquil shore, Where faith finds anchor nigh its source,
And storms of time are heard no more.

I know that robed in spotless white,
Her pure soul on Mount Zion stands; And yet I see her as she sat
With satchel in her willing hands.

Ho, peerless crown! Ho, fadeless palm!
Bright land where ransomed spirits be! True love to God with love to man,
Ensures a blessed eternity.

THE MESSAGE.

Ye sweet summer birds! in your flight
Afar o'er the southern sea, Will ye stoop from your aerified height
To whisper my lover of me?

Again will ye hoist your bright wing
When ice-fields unloose from our shore; New tunes through the woodlands shall ring;—
Those tones! shall I hear never more?
Remind him that low in the sky
Sails the god of the long summer day; That later the glory-glints hie
From their couch, with its curtains of gray.

Yet—tell him through nature's vast range,
Reaped harvests, ripe forests aflame;— Oh! tell him, through oceans of change,
I'll love him forever, the same.

HIS OFFERING.

"Where's mother?" and with eager haste
He bore Love's offering; The first, bright flowers which oped their eyes;
Sweet heralds of the Spring.

Those tiny stars which dot with light
The young year's tender green; As silvery tapers gem the doole
Of evening's sable screen.

Ho! worlding of the callous mind!
Deem this a trifling thing? O'er little deeds of loyal love
Great mother-love doth sing.

More precious from those chubby hands,
Those sweet, wild flowers of Spring, Than priceless jewels from the store
Of coroneted king.

LOUISBURG—1745.

"Unbridled appetite was followed by deadly fever, and before
Spring 1200 of Peperell's men filled graves in the conquered soil."

Brave maiden-love! bright sister-faith!
Of this Columbian land, Why should fair youth, as tidal wreck,
Drift up on either strand? Ye mothers! when your sons set sail
On life's tempestuous seas, Why pray ye Heaven's propitious calm
To quell each rising breeze?

If haste for fame, or wealth of lore,
Or thirst for worldly pelf Be set above that priceless boon,
The power to conquer self. To guard that no insidious foe
The citadel shall win; To note, as quick-eared sentinel,
The first approach of sin.

The surges tossed in seething foam
Upon that rock-bound shore; Yet the brave men of New England
Down to the leeward bore. The Frenchman's warning gun booms forth,
The heavy seas resound; What reck they! with determined mien
They tread the solid ground.

Mere raw recruits and all untrained
In stratagem of war, Not Gallia's veterans, skilled in arms,
Their landing place might bar. Through hardships dire and manifold
They upward, onward press; On, till the blossomings of hope
Are fruited with success.

And all through proud New England,
And far across the wave, The name of Massachusetts
And of her soldier brave Is linked with joy and feasting;
While Britain's fair renown Gleams fairer for the added gem,
Which decks her ancient crown.

More bright the clear, translucent sky,
More dense the shadows fall; More glorious the spirits glow,
More black the dismal pall; Oft, through celestial sunlight,
Breaks forth dull thunder shower; Oft, over brilliant visionings
Dark disappointments lower.

So, in first flush of triumph,
Crept in an artful foe, Whose craft and daring overcame
Without one open blow. More certain than the Gascon shot
In siege, on field of war; And deadlier than the scalping knife
Of subtle Indian, far.

And those brave, who never faltered
Before a human form, Who never shrank from danger's path,
Or cowered beneath a storm, Fall down before that reaper's hand
As falls the sun scorched grain; And Glory's wreath, and Victory's song
Alike are void and vain.

THE WOODS AND THE SEA.

They gathered round with feeling heart,
From hamlet far and near; They strove in vain, with kindly words,
Her stricken soul to cheer. For over the night of anguish
Dawned never break of day; That sun which sank in frowning skies
Left ne'er a softening ray.

Oh broken heart! Oh empty life! Oh sad, low monotone! "The woods and the sea have ruined me; Alone! yea all alone!"

She'd left her peaceful, native shores
And dared the stormy wave With him whose troth was love and truth;
The young, the strong and brave. They raised a cabin on the wild,
In shade of branching tree; And there the mother reared the child,
And time passed merrily.

Toil reaped the gain of comfort sweet;
And by the fireside blaze, Glad souls went up in grateful song,
In voice of joy and praise. Sweet lyrics of the heather land
The evening hours beguiled; While age re-lived its youth once more,
And happy childhood smiled.

Dark shadows mar the brightest heaven,
And, sharp as warning bell, Sore tidings of their sailor's death
Upon that homestead fell. Then, when the winter spread earth's shroud
Of pure white, glistening snow, Upon those mourners fell apace
A still more bitter blow.

All night, amid the biting frost,
With darkest gloom o'er head, Upon the fir-tree's broken boughs
Three wanderers made their bed. But, ere the dawn had streaked the sky
With glorious hues of day, The brightest life e'er blessed a home
Was stilled in death for aye.

The seasons cycled; peaceful years
Again verged into woe; By fatal stroke of falling tree
The silvered head lay low. She stood beside the aged form;
Her brain seemed all on fire;— The billows rolled, the forest waved
O'er fated sons and sire.

Oh narrow bounds of earthly ill!
Oh sad and suffering throng! Oh ye! who drink the bitter cup;
It cannot be for long. The woe-worn frame now resteth well;
The soul hath found its own; Where shades of earth no more may blight,
In lustre of the Throne.

No more she sings, in lonely grief Her weary monotone: "The woods and the sea have ruined me; Alone! yea, all alone!"

THE GATE.

The light of love o'er her features played,
The silver streaks through her bright hair strayed.

Her noble mien and her gentle hand
Proclaimed her daughter of no mean land.

Voice and action attested her birth,
Better than mere gilt baubles of earth.

Winter had folded its shroud and fled;
The daisies peeped from their grassy bed.

The dark mounds rose from their circling green;
Young plants smiled back to the bright'ning sheen.

No wealth of splendor, yet choice as gold
Those gifts from hands of the loved of old.

Hands which will clasp my hand nevermore
Till feet stand firm on the tideless shore.

Careless young Playful had oped the gate;
Hastening footsteps, that could not wait,

Had sped where playtime and boyhood meet;
The gate, forgot, swung ope from the street,

From the highway where the cattle roam,
And Arabs find their kindliest home.

The gate might swing till the twilight hours;
Meantime, alack for the tender flowers!

II.

She, of the high-bred, Christian school,
Soul-lit and sunned of the golden rule.

Questioned she whether! halted she long!
Qualms of propriety right no wrong.

Yield form and fashion their fitting place;
Yet, cramp not the soul in meaner space.

Hence to marauders, and riskings of fate,
She quietly closed—then latched the gate.

Trumpet bequests of the miser-mind,
Who spreads abroad when he cannot bind.

Boast ye those deeds which blazon the name,
Lofty as adamant heights of Fame.

Dawning of glory! the world's great heart
Throbs not its truest response to art.

Nor skill, nor fame, nor glamour of gold;
Only Love's chain doth the world enfold.

And those who will soar on angel wings,
Are the generous even in smaller things.

Generous when shadows darken fate,
To close 'gainst evil a neighbor's gate.

THE HIDING PLACE.[Note]

The low, sweet voice of a summer's sea
Floats far along the pebbly strand; Whilst melodies, from greening grove,
Resound o'er all the pleasant land. The streamlet, freed from icy band,
Sings gaily on its seaward way; All nature, in responsive mood,
Doth chime in Springtide roundelay.

What notes discordant dare to mar
Those tender cadenzas of song? Can those shrill tones be tones of wrath
On softest zephyrs borne along? Yea! over Ocean's peaceful hum
A woman's wrathful voice soars high; And through the green-arched forest aisles
Rings out young childhood's plaintive cry.

Who cometh, arrayed in priestly guise,
Full-charged with embassy divine, Of noble mien, of princely port,
Of lofty brow and look benign? The mother stays the uplifted hand;—
The culprit turned, and quickly ran And refuge sought, and shelter found
Beneath cloak of the holy man.

Calm, clear and firm the warning fell
"Forgive! if thou wouldst be forgiven; Whose heart doth harbor angry thoughts
Can ne'er as penitent be shriven. Forgive thy son! this once forgive!
His surety I shall gladly be; Or, if justice claimeth punishment,
Then—visit his crimes on me."

In centre of a glittering throng
The reverend Father stately stands; And, in the name of the Triune God,
He upraiseth his sacred hands. Whilst, leader in that vast array,
Whose torches brighten wave and shore, Is he whose faults were answered for;
The saved of many years before.

So we, in our rebel sin-nature,
Pine under the chastening rod; And fly with our burden of evil
From wrath of a just-dealing God, To hide in Christ's sheltering raiment
Of righteousness, inwove with peace; To find, in a sinless substitute,
The sin-fettered soul's release.

So we, when our Great High Priest shall come,
Begirt of power, enrobed of state, And the peoples of ten thousand isles
With eager joy His advent wait, Shall hail, with a heartsong of rapture,
His step on our sin-furrowed strand; Shall march, with the grand triumphal throng,
In the glow of a God-lit land.

A CHRISTMAS MEMORY.

Hail Christmas! beacon ever bright;
Athwart the way-worn years; Full lustred of celestial light,
Thy white-robed dawn appears. Blest season! when our much beloved
Around one altar meet; When voices from the spirit-land
Our longing spirits greet.

In tender memories arise,
Sunlit, the days of old, When radiant vistas oped the skies
And streaked earth's grey with gold. Beneath a lofty castle dome
Three fair young dreamers smile; And, fraught of love, the light of home,
The flitting hours beguile.

They wander by the river side,
They rest in woodland bowers; Pure joy flows like the rippling tide
Through all the sunny hours. They climb the purple mountain crest,
They list the vesper call;— Ah me! gay life, then quiet rest;
Earth's shadows! darksome pall!

Yet, lo! seraphic vision breaks;—
That beauteous band I see, Where glory-dawn in gladness wakes;
Where all the ransomed be. High-seated in Immanuel's land,
'Yond shadow of the tomb; Safe-nurtured 'neath a Father's hand
Immortal youth doth bloom.

Oh! happy, happy hearted!
Who tread the golden floor; Oh! sinless, early parted!
Who live, to die no more. Bright land, where none may sever!
Where life is life for aye; Where, through the long forever,
No night shall veil the day.

Within the grand, orchestral throng
They harp, with crownèd brow; While sadness mingles with our song,
We at His footstool bow. Hail Christmas! light to weary eyes!
Light thou the years along; Till, all as one in Paradise,
We sing our Christmas song.

THE IMMIGRANT'S APPEAL.

Oh! ye who suffer ills untold
Upon the ground you tread! Whose children pine from want and cold,
And cry in vain for bread, Fold not your hands o'er cruel fate,
Nor weep with blinded eyes; Look onward! peace and plenty wait
Aneath our western skies.

I left my home in Erin's Isle,
By Shannon's glittering wave, I bade farewell a mother's smile,
A youthful husband's grave. Together with my orphan band
I crossed the raging sea, And sought and found in this bright land
A home for them and me.

Where riches may not rob the feast
Won by the hand of toil; Nor oust the man to feed the beast
Upon God's fertile soil. Where sterling worth may upright stand,
Where industry is blessed;— Yes! though I love my native land,
I love this land the best.

Here Scotia finds her sweet blue bell,
Here Erin's shamrock blows; Whilst incense floats o'er hill and dell
From England's fragrant rose. Each country finds its own again
Tenfold, in this great world, Where Freedom's hand, from mount to main,
Her banner hath unfurled.

Fair Canada! all lands above
In power to conquer wrong; Thou yieldest love in turn for love,
Thy strength shall aye be strong. Oh beauteous, peerless, wide domains!
Oh ever teeming store! Though exiled myriads seek thy plains,
There's room for myriads more.

Now, where the Rocky summits rise,
At tender eve's decline, I watch the sun of cloudless skies
O'er many an acre shine. My heart's best treasures by my side,
The years may ebb and flow; Till I shall greet, 'yond storm and tide,
The loved of long ago.

THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE.

I.

Ring out, gay notes! through the brightening blue;
Peal forth o'er the shimmering wave; Re-echo in souls of the brave; Bestir the hearts of the loyal and true.

Waft the sweet strains from the dear Mother-land
To the dwellers by far off sea; Loud anthem the glad Jubilee From white-robed North unto burnished strand.

Anthem the years of the peaceful decades
When learning asserted its sway, And poortith revived in its ray; When science and art illumined our glades.

Broken that power which the conscience would bind,
Base umpire 'twixt God and the soul; No tyrant free speech doth control; Loosed are the fetters which burdened the mind.

Rides Progress aloft on triumphal car,
Out-coursing the wings of the wind; To the gorgeous fanes of Ind Rich blossoms his path, from the Polar star.

Philanthrophy opeth her gentle hand;
Devotion Heaven's dictate obeys; Dawns clearly Hope's halcyon days;— Golden their gleam, as Aurora's bright wand.

Live Commerce, careering the white crested wave,
Quells baneful suspicion and fear; From high unto lowliest sphere Blendeth in union—our Empire to save.

II.

Praise for those virtues which never wax old,
Lustrous gems in a noble life; Praise for the calm amid the strife;— Serene is the spirit of sterling gold.

Rolls from our vision the mist of the years,
Adown through the dark aisles of time, Life's canvas, with picture sublime, In its radiance of beauty, appears.

Soft falleth the sun of a kindly zone
On the Abbey, so old and grey; On the tomb of a former day; Bathing in splendor the image of stone.

Sparkling in flame on the jewelled brow
Of the peeress, highborn and fair; Anon on the mouldering chair, Yclad of the royal, pure ermine, now.

Arrayed in the trappings of princely state,
Loadstar of a glittering band; Our fair young Lady of the land— She stands—the greatest where all are great.

Crowned with the crown which her brave fathers bore,
Largess of honors kiss her feet; Enwraps her with dignity meet Prestige of might, as the birthright of yore.

High-throned in the love of a nation's heart,
Rich treasures of promise, I ween, Cheer the steps of our youthful Queen; Lighten the future, and courage impart.

III.

Full oft, o'er the fairest spring morning,
There falleth a bitter, cold blight; Oft shroudeth in darksomest night The ruddiest sun heaven adorning.

So fell he in full flush of his manhood,
So dropt they in life's glowing spring; Yet the anguished soul wakened to sing, The tear-bedimmed eyes perceived the All-Good.

Richer than diamond of Indian mine
The treasure Victoria owns; Firmest pillar of earthly thrones, True sympathy,—typing the Love Divine.

Thrice blessèd sympathy! may it surround
And cheer her graceful evening's calm; Till sceptre yields to victor's palm, May the faith and hope, and the love abound.

Voice then the homage of millions as one;
Wreathe garlands of amaranth flowers; Nor last be Canada—hers and ours;— For here doth the blood of true fealty run.

Thunder it over the wide ocean's sheen!
Sing it by peaceful inland sea; "God bless our glorious Jubilee! God bless and defend our most noble Queen!"

POINT PRIM.

Far off from the smoke, and the city's glare,
To the breath of the clover lea; From the din and dust to the healthful air,
And the song of a tranquil sea. Which falls on the ear like a holy psalm
From a world unkenned of strife; As the eve glides past in a blissful calm,
Like the close of a well-spent life.

Yet sighings of sorrow are heard in the foam
Which white-wreathes thy border, Point Prim; As she telleth their fate, who left thee, to roam,
The eyes of the mother wax dim. Of him who ne'er quitted dread danger's post
Till engulfed in the treacherous wave; Or of him who fevered on sultry coast,
And was launched in the sailor's grave.

No thrilling oration shall vaunt their praise,
No flowers bloom over their breast; The surges shall wail through the long, long days,
Yet disturb not their quiet rest. No kindred shall bind them in narrow bed,
No marble earth's sympathy crave; Sea-shells will pillow the wave-shrouded head,
And winds sigh the dirge of her brave.

No more by the wood path, through falling leaves,
Will she hasten their steps to greet; But yet will she gather her golden sheaves,
When time and eternity meet. No more will they weather the tempest's strain,
With a lowering sky o'erhead;— One haven will shelter her loved again
When the sea giveth up its dead.

ORWELL BAY.

Sweet, pale-faced Queen of silent night!
Calm-seated on thy azure throne, Shed forth thy beams of silvery light
Till nether realms embrace thine own. Till gleaming spire on tree-crowned hill,
With waving corn on valley land; Till peaceful flood, and noiseless mill
Seem burnished of enchanter's wand.

And you, ye moonbeams! softly glide
Along fair Orwell's glittering wave; And gently rest where all my pride
Lies buried, in my Mary's grave. Oh Mary! lovèd of my youth!
Oh blissful dreams of early day! When love was life, and troth was truth,
And hallowed shrine was Orwell Bay.

Full oft, upon thy banks, of yore,
With hearts entwined in love divine, While murmuring wavelets kissed thy shore,
We watched the radiant day's decline. When sorrow fell, when times were hard,
Love held its faith, youth hoped the best; I bade farewell thy greening sward,
And turned me to the glowing West.

Dull seasons fled, dark shadows lowered,
My utmost efforts were unmeet; When sudden, fickle Fortune showered
Her golden largess at my feet. As needle turneth to the pole,
So, homeward hied my steps to thee; But ne'er shall love, or kindred soul,
Or joys of youth return to me.

Not all my wealth of hard-won gold
Could shield from blight that lustrous head Now lying in the churchyard mould;—
The church where we had hoped to wed. I list the sweet, clear notes which thrill
Through wooded uplands o'er thy wave; The music in my heart is still,
Still as the stars o'er Mary's grave.

Oh, gorgeous lamps of living light!
Which halo all the arc of blue, Ye emblem to my raptured sight
The white soul of a life most true. My Mary! tender guiding star!
I bow before the Sovereign sway;— That higher realm, where nought can mar,
Is fairer e'en than Orwell Bay.

GOING ABROAD.

Oh fleeting hour! Oh faltering heart!
Oh long and sad farewell! How bitter long we twain may part
It is not ours to tell. For many a golden shaft will beam
Through many a pearly rain, Down forest aisles, o'er mountain stream,
Ere we can meet again.

Yet, when on far off ocean's foam,
Or on some foreign strand, Bright Memory wafts thy spirit home
Unto thy native land, Bethink thee of those gladsome days
When carelessly we strayed O'er furrowed sand, or daisied braes,
While Ocean minstrels played.

'Neath gleaming skies of cloudless blue;
Beyond the tropic's glare, Where bright-eyed birds of rainbow hue
Float through the perfumed air; By pictured scenes of former age;
In seats of ancient lore, Where poet, painter, sculptor, sage
Illumined days of yore,

Recall that grand, familiar sight,
When heaven seems all ablaze With floods of gold and purple light,—
Aurora's matchless rays. And when, from black, dissonant sky
No stars may vigil keep; When boisterous seas exult on high
And o'er the taffrail sweep,

Bethink thee of those days to be,
When floods shall swell no more; Nor loud-voiced surge, nor angry sea
Shall break upon the shore. Where white-winged storm shall never beat
Across the verdant plain; Where severed lives, once more complete,
E'erlasting life shall gain.

THE STUDENT.

The cloudless sun of southern clime
Shone full that Christmas Day, As the city of the Cæsars
Held regal holiday.

For Him whose gracious advent,
Hailed in seraphic tone, The saved of earth, and saints in Heaven
In grateful praises own.

Full loud above the city's hum
Pealed forth cathedral chime; While round the loftiest, proudest dome,
Wreathed harmony sublime,

Which thrilled among those ruins vast
That long have braved the skies; Proud monument of Pagan hate
And Christian sacrifice.

Rejoicing echoes filled the breeze
That fanned the martyrs' tombs; Fit requiem! they sowed the seed
Which now triumphant blooms.

Where Reason held its vaunted sway,
Firm-leagued with Godless might, Round storied urn, through marbled halls
Loud shriek the birds of night.

Whilst borne along the sounding waves
Which fleck the furthest shore, That light of life, that perfect faith
Sealed with the martyrs' gore.
But, within that regal city,
On that bright Christmas Day, In hectic flush of fever heat
A stranger student lay.

A stranger from a distant land
Across the western sea, Where peace doth reign, and howe'er poor
Man feels that he is free.

Of faith inspired, he'd crossed the foam
And left his native sod, That he his years might consecrate
To winning souls for God.

No higher aim was ever sought,
No purer soul was shriven; For the whole purpose of his life
Unto his Lord was given.

A noble matron sat beside
And soothed his dying bed; One who, with mother's tenderness,
Had wept her early dead.

Sore, sore it grieved that mother's heart!
When fever's pulse beat high And reason reeled, the parchèd lips
Gave forth the wailing cry,

"Oh! take me to that far-off land
Where cool sea-breezes blow; Where wintry sun doth smiling shine
Athwart the pure, white snow.

"Oh! thither wist I to return
Fraught with my mission high, To bear the standard of the Cross
Beneath my native sky.

"For this my spirit waked to zeal
Where soft the sunlight falls; For this I craved the higher lore
Of Propaganda's halls."

Then "list the strains of music!
Now loud, now soft and clear;— It is the voice of wavelets sweet
Which greets my listening ear.

"Brimful of glee, it seems to me,
They ripple o'er the strand, As when they sang the lullaby
Of our dear, household band.