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 iiiiiiiii.iliinrii iiiiii. Hi III 
 
 
 B 2 7Tb D31 
 
 
 OLD 
 MEASURES: 
 
 COLLECTED VERSE 
 By W. D. Lighthall 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
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1 
 
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OLD MEASURES 
 
^:^±,o,i^ 
 
OLD MEASURES: 
 
 COLLECTED VERSE 
 By W. D. LIGHTHALL 
 
 MONTREAL: - A. T. CHAPMAN 
 TORONTO: MUSSON BOOK COMPANY 
 
G>pyright, Canada, 1922 
 By A. T. Chapman 
 
 Printed in CanwU 
 
TO 
 
 THE POETS OF CONFEDERATION 
 
 MY FRIENDS 
 
 AND 
 COMPANIONS 
 
 
 484 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 pAGie 
 
 Deathless 59 
 
 Design 61 
 
 To France 62 
 
 THE TREMBLING MOUNTAIN 
 
 The Land of Manitou 65 
 
 The Shebear 73 
 
 Commandant's Isi,e 76 
 
 FlEurant Bay 79 
 
 The Galahads 82 
 
 PHILOSOPHIC 
 
 The Palmer 89 
 
 The Artist's Prayer 90 
 
 The Wind-Chant 93 
 
 Love-Song 99 
 
 Our Underlying Existence 100 
 
 A Problem 101 
 
 To a Fellow-Student OF Kant .... 104 
 
 To THE Soul . .105 
 
 Eben Picken, Bookseller 106 
 
 Van Horne 108 
 
 The Order . . . . . . . .110 
 
 Too-MucH-GoLD River 112 
 
 6 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 IMAGINATIVE AND EARLY VERSE 
 
 PAG^ 
 
 Imitated from the Japanese . . . .117 
 
 The Knight Errant 120 
 
 Cujus Anim^ Propicietur Deus .... 129 
 
 Stanchezza 131 
 
 PiL^TERiTA Ex Instantibus 132 
 
 Sunrise 133 
 
 Reality 134 
 
 Searchings 136 
 
 Homer 139 
 
I. Patriotic 
 
The Founders 
 
 1^ VERY true man is a founder of the future of his 
 ^^ State; 
 As a stone in a cathedral he uplifts and makes it great. 
 Every man who with his life-blood in its need has 
 
 stained the field, 
 Every man who for its service all he hath and is would 
 
 yield, 
 Every man who worketh truly that its laws be fair and 
 
 right, 
 Every f oeman of its error, every messenger of light. 
 Every servant of its sick, and of the children of its 
 
 poor. 
 Every laborer on its streets, if he doth labor to endure. 
 Every one who will not brook in it the evil or the base 
 But whose soul like a pure fountain clears the river of 
 
 his race. 
 And who sayeth ever to it : "Thou art part of human 
 
 kind, 
 Be thou just with all the nations; large in nation — 
 
 heart and mind — 
 Seek from none the base advantage, be no boaster o*er 
 
 the rest, 
 
 11 
 
THE FOUNDERS 
 
 But be that that with its strength, among the peoples 
 
 serveth best," — 
 Every such one is a founder of the future of his State ; 
 As a stone in a fair minster, by his truth it cometh 
 
 great. 
 Yea, though all the rest were rotten, and its form come 
 
 tottering down, 
 God shall build again and of him carve the new 
 
 cathedral's crown. 
 
 12 
 
The Confused Dawn 
 
 (1882) 
 
 YOUNG MAN. 
 
 VI7HAT are the Vision and the Cry 
 
 That haunt the new Canadian soul ? 
 
 Dim grandeur spreads we know not why 
 O'er mountain, forest, tree and knoll, 
 
 And murmurs indistinctly fly. — 
 
 Some magic moment sure is nigh. 
 O Seer, the curtain roll! 
 
 SEER. 
 
 The Vision, mortal, it is this — 
 
 Dead mountain, forest, knoll and tree 
 
 Awaken all endued with bliss, 
 
 A native land — O think! — to be — 
 
 Thy native land — and ne'er amiss, 
 
 Its smile shall like a lover's kiss 
 From henceforth seem to thee. 
 
 The Cry thou could st not understand, 
 
 Which runs through that new realm of light. 
 From Breton's to Vancouver's strand 
 13 
 
THE CONFUSED DAWN 
 
 O'er many a lovely landscape bright, 
 It is their waking utterance grand, 
 The great refrain "A NATIVE LAND!" 
 
 Be thine the ear, the sight. 
 
 14 
 
Canada Not Last 
 
 (1881) 
 
 AT VENICE. 
 
 T O ! Venice, gay with color, lights and song, 
 
 ^^ Calls from St. Mark's with ancient voice and 
 
 strange : 
 I am the Witch of Cities ! glide along 
 
 My silver streets that never wear by change 
 Of years : forget the years, and pain, and wrong, 
 And every sorrow reigning men among. 
 
 Know I can soothe thee, please and marry thee 
 To my illusions. Old and siren-strong, 
 I smile immortal, while the mortals flee 
 Who whiten on to death in wooing me. 
 
 AT FLORENCE. 
 
 What fairer is, by Amo's bridged gleam. 
 
 Than Florence, viewed from San Miniato's slope 
 
 At eventide, when west along the stream. 
 The last of day reflects a silver hope ! — 
 
 Lo, all else softened in the twilight beam : — 
 
 The city's mass blent in one hazy cream, 
 
 15 
 
CANADA NOT LAST 
 
 The brown Dome midst it, and the Lily tower, 
 And grey Old Tower more near, and hills that seem 
 Afar, like clouds to fade, and hills of power 
 On this side, greenly dark with cypress, vine and 
 bower. 
 
 AT ROME. 
 
 End of desire to stray I feel would come 
 Though Italy were all blue skies to me. 
 
 Though France's fields went mad with flowery foam 
 And Blanc put on a special majesty. 
 
 Not all could match the growing thought of home 
 
 Nor tempt to exile. Look I not on ROME — 
 This ancient, modern, mediaeval queen — 
 
 Yet still sigh westward over hill and dome. 
 Imperial ruin and villa's princely scene 
 Lovely with pictured saints and marble gods serene. 
 
 REFLECTION. 
 
 Rome, Florence, Venice — noble, fair and quaint, 
 They reign in robes of magic round me here ; 
 
 But fading, blotted, dim, a picture faint. 
 With spell more silent, only pleads a tear. 
 
 Plead not ! Thou hast my heart, O picture dim ! 
 I see the fields, I see the autumn hand 
 16 
 
CANADA NOT LAST 
 
 Of God upon the maples ! Answer Him 
 
 With weird, translucent glories, ye that stand 
 
 Like spirits in scarlet and in amethyst ! 
 
 I see the sun break over you ; the mist 
 On hills that lift from iron bases grand 
 Their heads superb! — the dream, it is my native 
 land. 
 
 17 
 
National Hymn 
 (1883) 
 
 HT" O THEE whose smile is might and fame, 
 **• A nation lifts united praise 
 And asks but that Thy purpose frame 
 A useful glory for its days. 
 
 We pray no sunset lull of rest, 
 
 No pomp and bannered pride of war; 
 
 We hold stem labor manliest, 
 The just side real conqueror. 
 
 For strength we thank Thee : keep us strong, 
 And grant us pride of skilful toil; 
 
 For homes we thank Thee : may we long 
 Have each some Eden rood of soil. 
 
 O, keep our mothers kind and dear, 
 And make the fathers stern and wise ; 
 
 The maiden soul preserve sincere. 
 
 And rise before the young man's eyes. 
 
 Subdue the jest of idle minds, 
 
 That know not, jesting, when to hush; 
 18 
 
NATIONAL HYMN 
 
 Keep on our lips the word that binds, 
 And teach our children when to blush. 
 
 Forever constant to the good 
 
 Still arm our faith, thou Guard Sublime, 
 And lead thou on our brotherhood, 
 
 Dear Father, till the end of Time. 
 
 Thou hearest ! — Lo, we feel our love 
 Of loyal thoughts and actions free 
 
 Toward all divine achievement move, 
 Ennobled, blest, ensured, by Thee. 
 
 19 
 
The Pioneers 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 A LL you who on your acres broad, 
 Know nature in its charms, 
 With pictured dale and fruitful sod, 
 
 And herds on verdant farms, 
 Remember those who fought the trees 
 
 And early hardships braved, 
 And so for us of all degrees 
 All from the forest saved. 
 
 And you who stroll in leisured ease 
 
 Along your city squares. 
 Thank those who there have fought the trees. 
 
 And howling wolves and bears. 
 They met the proud woods in the face, 
 
 Those gloomy shades and stern; 
 Withstood and conquered, and your race 
 
 Supplants the pine and fern. 
 
 Where'er we look, their work is there; 
 
 Now land and men are free: 
 On every side the view grows fair, 
 
 And perfect yet shall be. 
 20 
 
THE PIONEERS 
 
 The credit's theirs, who all day fought 
 
 The stubborn giant hosts : 
 We have but built on what they wrought; 
 
 Theirs were the honor-posts. 
 
 Though plain their lives and rude their dress, 
 
 No common men were they; 
 Some came for scorn of slavishness 
 
 That ruled lands far away; 
 And some came here for conscience' sake, 
 
 For Empire and the King ; 
 And some for Love a home to make, 
 
 Their dear ones here to bring. 
 
 First staunch men left, for Britain's name, 
 
 The South's prosperity ; 
 And Highland clans from Scotland came — 
 
 Their sires had aye been free ; 
 
 And England oft her legions gave 
 
 To found a race of pluck, . 
 And ever came the poor and brave 
 
 And took the axe and struck. 
 
 Each hewed, and saw a dream-like home ! — 
 
 Hewed on — a settlement! 
 Struck hard — through mists the spire and dome 
 
 The distant rim indent ! 
 21 
 
THE PIONEERS 
 
 So honored be they midst your ease, 
 And give them well their due, 
 
 Honor to those who fought the trees 
 And made a land for you ! 
 
 22 
 
Canadian Faith 
 
 Written when many doubted of our future, (1890). 
 
 TN the name of many martyrs 
 
 Who have died to save their country, 
 Poured their fresh blood bravely for it, 
 And our soil thus consecrated; 
 In the name of Brock the peerless, 
 In the name of Spartan Dollard, 
 Wolfe and Montcalm — world's and ours — 
 The high spirit of Tecumseh; 
 Of the eight who fell at Cut Knife, 
 Bright in early bloom and courage, 
 When our youth leapt up for trial ; 
 In the names of thousand others 
 Whom we proudly keep remembered 
 As our saviours from the Indian, 
 From the savage and the rebel. 
 Or from Hampton, or Montgomery 
 By Quebec's old faithful fortress; 
 And at Chrysler's Farm and Lundy; 
 And upon the lakes and ocean ; 
 23 
 
CANADIAN FAITH 
 
 Or who lived us calmer service ; — 
 Many is the roll, and sacred ; — 
 In their name a voice is calling, 
 Through this native land of ours ! 
 
 Hark, for we have need to listen ! 
 All our martyrs warn and shame us. 
 Do not let them see us cowards ! 
 Why are all these faint-heart whispers 
 In the very hour of progress ? 
 
 Tattles of disquiet vex us, 
 And among us are new enemies — 
 Cowards, weak, ignoble whiners, 
 Esaus, placemen, low-browed livers, 
 Traitors, salesmen of a nation. 
 Some would have us drop despondent 
 And convince us we are nothing. 
 (Us of whom ten thousand heroes 
 Hitherto to here have conquered 
 And we must be faithful to them!) 
 Some are hypocrites and cynics; 
 Some would wreck us ; some would leave us ; 
 Even in the hour of peril 
 Would the hand of many fail us ; 
 They would almost make to falter 
 Our old simple faith in God. 
 24 
 
CANADIAN FAITH 
 
 Therefore this appeal, O brothers, 
 Earnestly do I adjure you 
 
 To believe and trust your country. 
 
 By the glorious star of England, 
 Shining mast-high o'er all oceans ; 
 In the name of France the glorious ; 
 In the world-proud name of Europe; 
 Whence you draw your great traditions; 
 I adjure you trust your country ! 
 
 By all noble thoughts of manhood ; 
 By the toil of your forefathers ; 
 By their sacrifices for you ; 
 By the Loyalist tradition ; 
 And your own heart's generous instincts ; 
 I adjure you be Canadian. 
 
 25 
 
The Caughnawaga Beadwork Seller 
 
 ir ANAWAKI— "By the Rapid,'^— 
 
 Low the sunset midst thee lies; 
 And from the wild Reservation 
 
 Evening's breeze begins to rise. 
 Faint the Konoronkwa chorus 
 
 Drifts across the current strong; 
 Spirit-like the parish steeple 
 Stands thy ancient walls among. 
 
 Kanawaki~-"By the Rapid/'— 
 
 How the sun amidst thee burns! 
 Village of the Praying Nation, 
 
 Thy dark child to thee returns. 
 All day through the pale-face city, 
 
 Silent, selling beaded wares, 
 I have Wandered with my basket, 
 
 Lone, excepting for their stares ! 
 
 They are white men ; we are Indians ; 
 
 What a gulf their stares proclaim! 
 They are mounting ; we are dying ; 
 
 All our heritage they claim. 
 26 
 
THE CAUGHNAWAGA BEADWORK SELLER 
 
 We are dying, dwindling, dying. 
 
 Strait and smaller grows our bound; 
 
 They are mounting up to heaven 
 And are pressing all around. 
 
 Thou art ours, — little remnant. 
 
 Ours through countless thousand years — 
 Part of the old Indian world. 
 
 Thy breath from far the Indian cheers. 
 Back to thee, O Kanawaki ! 
 
 Let the rapids dash between 
 Indian homes and white men's manners — 
 
 Kanawaki and Lachine! 
 
 O my dear! O Knife-and-Arrows! 
 
 Thou art bronzed, thy limbs are lithe ; 
 How I laugh as through the crosse-game, 
 
 Slipst thou like red elder withe. 
 Thou art none of these pale-faces ! 
 
 When with thee I'll happy feel. 
 For thou art the Mohawk warrior 
 
 From thy scalp-lock to thy heel. 
 
 Sweet the Konoronkwa chorus 
 
 Floats across the current strong; 
 Clear behold the parish steeple 
 
 Rise the ancient walls among. 
 27 
 
THE CAUGHNAWAGA BEADWORK SELLER 
 
 Speed us deftly, noiseless paddle: 
 
 In my shawl my bosom burns! 
 Kanawaki — "By the Rapid," — 
 
 Thine own child to thee returns. 
 
 28 
 
Montreal 
 
 "O EIGN on, majestic Ville Marie! 
 
 Spread wide thine ample robes of state ; 
 
 The heralds cry that thou art great, 
 And proud are thy young sons of thee. 
 Mistress of half a continent. 
 
 Thou risest from thy girlhood's rest ; 
 
 We see thee conscious heave thy breast 
 And feel thy rank and thy descent. 
 
 Sprung of the saint and chevalier ! 
 
 And with the Scarlet Tunic wed! 
 
 Mount Royal's crown upon thy head. 
 And — past thy footstool — broad and clear 
 
 St. Lawrence sweeping to the sea ; 
 
 Reign on, majestic Ville Marie ! 
 
 29 
 
All Hail to a Night 
 
 Written for the Montreal Amateur Athletic Associor 
 tion. 
 
 A LL hail to a night when the stars stand bright 
 Like gold dust in the sky ; 
 With a crisp track long, and an old time song, 
 And the old time company. 
 
 Cho. — All hail to a night when the Northern Light 
 A welcome to us waves, 
 Then the snowshoer goes o'er the ice and the 
 snows, 
 And the frosty tempest braves. 
 
 The snowshoer's tent is the firmament ; 
 
 His breath the rush of the breeze. 
 Earth's loveliest sprite, the frost queen at night. 
 
 Lures him silvery through the trees. 
 
 Yes, the snowshoer' s queen is winter serene. 
 
 We meet her in the glade. 
 Dark-blue-eyed, a fair, pale bride. 
 
 In her jewelled veil arrayed. 
 
 30 
 
ALL HAIL TO A NIGHT 
 
 Let us up then and toast to the uttermost 
 Fair winter ! we knights of the shoe ! 
 
 And in circle again join hearts with the men 
 That of old time toasted her too. 
 
 31 
 
Land Laurentine 
 
 "C^AIR land of mine, when from thy myriad faces 
 
 Of mystery and peace I hence depart, 
 Not ever shall I fail, through all God's spaces 
 
 To turn to thee my ever human heart ; 
 Not once shall I forget, if power avail me, 
 
 Thy glittering distances of silent lakes ; 
 And voices of thy templed woods shall hail me 
 
 Where'er my soul in calm eternal wakes. 
 
 II 
 
 Here dwelt our fathers, sprung of grand old races. 
 
 For whom the world was better ; and their lives 
 Smile ever round about like kindly faces 
 
 O'er the great fabric where their work survives. 
 What truth, what honor, what unmatched devotion 
 
 They brought, like sacred coals, from Albion's 
 strand. 
 The talismans that won us earth and ocean : — 
 
 Forget them never, O my native land ! 
 
 32 
 
LAND LAURENTINE 
 
 in 
 
 Ye band of friends I prized above all others, 
 
 Bards, seers, and servers of the people's peace, 
 Here have we built, for love of all our brothers, 
 
 Nor Death's pale hand can make our labor cease ; — 
 Lampman, still music from thy bow is streaming ; 
 
 Thine, rugged Campbell, is too true to die ; 
 Mair, big-heart Drummond, Reade of gentlest dream- 
 ing, 
 
 And all ye forms of noblest alchemy! 
 
 IV 
 
 And, brethren of the ages that are coming. 
 
 How we shall share your wonder and delight ! 
 For what ye see shall be the riper homing 
 
 Of men more perfect and of hopes more bright. 
 Land Laurentine, in ages far I scan thee. 
 
 Like some enchanting cloud in sunset peace. 
 And through thee shine those faces that began thee. 
 
 In glory of the love that will not cease. 
 
 33 
 
To John Reade 
 
 DEAN OF CANADIAN LETTERS 
 
 ON HIS SEVENTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY, 
 
 NOVEMBER 13tH, 1912. 
 
 IV/f ASTER and Dean, the plaudits of the land, 
 At this the roll-call of thy years, are thine, 
 And myriad hearts turn musing to thy shrine 
 
 And myriad heart-strings feel thy minstrel hand. 
 New Merlin of the West ! we yield thy charm 
 
 Its ample hour, while old ideals arise, 
 As when we saw the newly-lifted arm. 
 
 Light-bearing, of our Canada, her eyes 
 Full of the dreams that are to come, and are, 
 
 And waking all the warblers into song. 
 
 How glorious was that dawn ! And as, along 
 The winds, the joyous chorus sounded far. 
 One throat was fullest of the sunrise fire, — 
 Merlin's, the sweetest singer of the choir. 
 
 34 
 
Dedication 
 
 TO ''CANADIAN POEMS AND LAYS/' 
 1890. 
 
 T^O HISTORY'S vastest Brotherhood,— 
 Which seas that girdle earth but bind : 
 To every man of British blood: — 
 
 To all of the imperial mind : 
 Or who, of any noble race, have by the Empire stood. 
 
 What matter races ! vain the pride 
 
 Who first this brotherhood began ; 
 Than Pict or Gael we grow more wide, 
 
 Our final brotherhood is Man : 
 Unto all union we will hold, so Man still onward 
 stride. 
 
 And you, great Kinsmen scarcely lost. 
 
 Alliance with you still increase : — 
 With you the kindliest, first and most 
 Union for justice, trade and peace ! 
 States are the robes that suit the climes : we move, one 
 spirit host. 
 
 35 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 This March night gleams the elm-Hned street 
 
 With pools beneath a rising moon : 
 In the West's brow rayed Venus sweet 
 
 Holds Nature in a lovelorn swoon : 
 Go songs, glint what these lands shall be in wondrous 
 day complete. 
 
 36 
 
The Battle of La Prairie (1691) 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 I 
 
 npHAT Was a brave old epoch, 
 Our age of chivalry, 
 When the Briton met the Frenchman 
 
 At the fight of La Prairie ; 
 And the manhood of New England, 
 
 And the Netherlanders true 
 And Mohawks sworn, gave battle 
 
 To the Bourbon's lilied blue. 
 
 That was a brave old governor 
 
 Who gathered his array. 
 And stood to meet, he knew not what 
 
 On that alarming day. 
 Eight hundred, amid nmiors vast 
 
 That filled the wild wood's gloom. 
 With all New England's flower of youth. 
 
 Fierce for New France's doom. 
 37 
 
THE BATTLE OF LA PRAIRIE 
 
 III 
 
 And the brave old half five hundred ! 
 
 Their's should in truth be fame; 
 Borne down the savage Richelieu, 
 
 On what emprise they came ! 
 Your hearts are great enough, O few : 
 
 Only your numbers fail. 
 New France asks more for conquerors 
 
 All glorious though your tale. 
 
 IV 
 
 It was a brave old battle 
 
 That surged around the fort. 
 When D'Hosta fell in charging. 
 
 And 'twas deadly strife and short ; 
 When in the very quarters 
 
 They contested face and hand. 
 And many a goodly fellow 
 
 Crimsoned yon La Prairie sand. 
 
 And those were brave old orders 
 
 The colonel gave to meet 
 The forest force with trees entrenched 
 
 Opposing the retreat: 
 38 
 
THE BATTLE OF LA PRAIRIE 
 
 "DeCalliere's strength's behind us 
 And in front your RicheHeu ; 
 
 We must go straightforth at them; 
 There is nothing else to do." 
 
 VI 
 
 And then the brave old story comes, 
 
 Of Schuyler and Valrennes 
 When "Fight/' the British colonel called, 
 
 Encouraging his men, 
 "For the Protestant Religion 
 
 And the honor of our King!" — 
 "Sir, I am here to answer you !" 
 
 Valrennes cried, forthstepping. 
 
 VII 
 
 Were those not brave old races ? — 
 
 Well, here they still abide ; 
 And yours is one or other. 
 
 And the second's at your side. 
 So when you hear your brother say, 
 
 "Some loyal deed I'll do," 
 Like old Valrennes, be ready with 
 
 "I'm here to answer you !" 
 
 39 
 
Winter's Dawn in Lower Canada 
 
 'T^O EACH there lives some beauteous sight: mine 
 •^ is to me most fair, 
 
 I carry fadeless one clear dawn in keen December air, 
 
 O'er leagues of plain from night we fled upon a pulsing 
 train ; 
 
 For breath of morn, outside I stood. Then up a car- 
 mine stain 
 
 Flushed calm and rich the long, low east, deep redden- 
 ing till the sun 
 
 Eyed from its molten fires and shot strange arrows, 
 one by one 
 
 On certain fields, and on a wood of distant evergreen. 
 
 And fairy opal blues and pinks on all the snows 
 between : 
 
 (Broad earth had never such a flower as in my 
 country grows, 
 
 When at the rising winter sun, the plain is all a rose.) 
 
 Then seemed all nymphs and gods awake — ^lieaven 
 brightened with their smiles, 
 
 The land was theirs; like mirages, stood out Elysian 
 isles. 
 
 40 
 
WINTER'S DAWN IN LOWER CANADA 
 
 Westward the forests smiled in strength and glory like 
 
 the plain, 
 Their bare boughs rose, an arrowy flight, and by them 
 
 sped the train. 
 But dream-crown of that porcelain sea, those plains of 
 
 sunrise snow, 
 The green woods east, the grey woods west, and molten 
 
 carmine glow — 
 A light flashed through the sapling wastes and alders 
 
 nearer by, 
 Where Phoebus worked the spell of spells that ever 
 
 charmed an eye. 
 His bright spears to the frost-flakes reached, that on 
 
 their branches lay. 
 And each shot back, as we sped by, a single peerless 
 
 ray. 
 More bright than starry hosts appeared that vision in 
 
 the wood 
 And flashed and flew like fire-flies in a nightly solitude, 
 A maze of silver stars, a dance of diamonds in the day : 
 Through many lives though fly my soul as on that 
 
 pulsing train. 
 That sparkling dawn shall oftentimes enkindle it again. 
 
 41 
 
The Loyalists 
 
 (Front an unfinished Narrative Poem.) 
 
 T N NEW York, the Royal Province, generous were 
 the days of yore 
 
 When the names of King and Empire, stained on hang- 
 ing signs of inns. 
 
 Drunk in toasts and preached in sermons, ever warmed 
 the hearts of men. 
 
 Westward ranged the boundless forests like innumer- 
 able foes 
 
 Round the palisaded Mohawk forts and war-plumed 
 fields of maize; 
 
 But along the leafy Hudson, clime most gracious under 
 Heaven, 
 
 In unbounded plenty flourished many a thousand yeo- 
 man farms 
 
 Cherishing the cheer of Holland, mother of the cheer 
 of England, 
 
 And the blood of twin stocks mingled that were chil- 
 dren of the sea ; 
 
 There at intervals, from headlands all along the stately 
 river, 
 
 42 
 
THE LOYALISTS 
 
 Mid their trees, ancestral manors stood revealed like 
 dreams of peace. 
 
 (Ah, how many lovely places are upon this pleasant 
 
 earth!). 
 Fair and gentle were the ladies, in those halls who 
 
 played the spinet. 
 Tall and courtly were the men and many a relic there 
 
 — some letter 
 Borne by Indian from a captive to his wife, or lilied 
 
 flag 
 Or map-carven powder-horn, among the stag-heads 
 
 hung, attested 
 The chivalric feud with France that for a century 
 
 burnt bright. 
 Leal and gay were all the tenants, proud as clansmen 
 
 of their squires 
 For by race they held together as a family in kindness 
 And their children grew up courteous, open-handed 
 
 each with each 
 As they played among the orchards and the tulip- 
 gardens quaint 
 By the Flemish-gabled houses sprawled with curious 
 
 iron dates. 
 
 43 
 
THE LOYALISTS 
 
 Inland twenty miles from Hudson on the West New 
 
 England line, 
 Heathcote's Pond, a lake of silver, slept within the 
 
 perfect woods, 
 Up among the hills, and lower was the valley where 
 
 in birdseye. 
 Bright in farm, and dark in forest, lay the ample 
 
 Heathcote Manor. 
 Near the pond, and overlooking all the vale, command- 
 ing all, 
 — Built of wood in fairest classic lines, while through 
 
 its centre ran 
 One great room with one great fireplace, — stood the 
 
 home-like Heathcote Hall, 
 By the living woods surrounded, and behind lay virgin 
 
 Nature, — 
 Quiets scarce by man yet broken, paths of deer and 
 
 nooks of wild duck. 
 And the nibbled water-grasses proved the muskrat, and 
 
 the flopping 
 Of the otter in the branches dipping down along the 
 
 marges 
 Spoke of Life, and the long water-lilied reaches by the 
 
 Pond, 
 With the eagle whistling over, calmed the soul into a 
 
 mirror 
 
 44 
 
THE LOYALISTS 
 
 Of eternal Nature's peace. Thus the squire, Wyllys 
 
 Heathcote, 
 Careful kept the Hall's surroundings, having loved 
 
 them from the first. 
 Many bard-like hours they gave him, and the charm 
 
 grew on his household. 
 So in loveliness they dwelt, and all the region knew its 
 
 wonder. 
 
 No great patron lord was Wyllys, like the thirteen 
 
 on the River 
 With their vast and rich possessions and the hundreds 
 
 of their feus; 
 Fair was Heathcote Hall but simple and the acres of 
 
 the Manor 
 Were the portion of his wife, and from her uncle's 
 
 patent carved, 
 Out of bushlands in the rear towards the West New 
 
 England line. 
 Of a race was she that often through the bygone gen- 
 erations 
 Served the Province and the Empire, lavished treasure, 
 
 blood and toil 
 With such cheerfulness as sparkled in her dark and 
 
 lustrous eyes, 
 
 45 
 
THE LOYALISTS 
 
 And a pride that was the pride alone of doing noble 
 
 things. 
 Of New England stock was Wyllys, high in annals of 
 
 the Pilgrims. 
 Putting thrifty heads together, bridegroom Wyllys and 
 
 Alida 
 From the bush made this possession with its roads and 
 
 farms and home, 
 Cleared and drained and tilled the marshes, thinned the 
 
 brush and dammed the river. 
 Leased to ruddy English settlers and to bronzed young 
 
 Knickerbockers 
 And, in kindly simple plenty, spared not hand at loom 
 
 nor plough. 
 Till the children growing round them had a patrimony 
 
 fair 
 But more fair a hearty training in the honor of their 
 
 toil: 
 "We are farmers!" each said brightly, and adjudged 
 
 the title high. 
 
 At the frosts of late September laughed the scented 
 
 ruddy logs, 
 In the mansion's central hall that ample ran from front 
 
 to rear : 
 
 46 
 
THE LOYALISTS 
 
 Sparkles from their merry lengths up showered, and 
 their changeful gleaming 
 
 Roseate made the faces round them gathered for the 
 social eve. 
 
 There the sons looked in the flames and smiling spoke 
 of years to come; 
 
 There the daughters interchanged their glances, whis- 
 pers, girlish jokes; 
 
 Knitting fast in sweet content the Lady silent eyed 
 their faces; 
 
 While the Squire looked on, a thankful and a medita- 
 tive man; 
 
 And in rear by the carved stairway, round a candle sat 
 black servants, 
 
 Erst the slaves but now the freedmen, glad with 
 harmless Ethiop mirth. 
 
 A portrait and a slender sword were hung above the 
 glistening mantel, 
 
 Ionic-columned, graceful wreathed and tiled in man- 
 ner of the time. 
 
 "Sir,'* said Endicott the grave-voiced, weighted with 
 his eighteen years, 
 
 "Will you tell again the story of your blade above the 
 mantel 
 
 47 
 
THE LOYALISTS 
 
 For the tales of war at Boston move my thoughts. 
 
 Repeat the legend 
 Of this slim and deadly steel so long now idle on the 
 
 wall?" 
 
 Smiled the father ; — then replied he : *'One great scene 
 
 that blade remembers 
 Sleeplessly. In youth I wore it in the Square at 
 
 Montreal 
 Called Place d'Armes, — as strange, provincial and un- 
 
 British as a dream. 
 I was ensign then. Our lines along the west side stood 
 
 in silence 
 On the conquered soil, their muskets grasped like 
 
 statues, and the cannon 
 In their scarlet-coated centre, primed for thtmder. 
 
 Gasped and gazed 
 The folk at us their hated foes, and praying women 
 
 crammed the temple 
 Standing there, with tower and belfry, a rude marvel 
 
 of old France, — 
 Refuge of their wounded souls, as sharply alien unto 
 
 us. 
 
 Now was heard a solemn sound along the street of 
 Notre Dame, 
 
 48 
 
THE LOYALISTS 
 
 Eastward faint, then near and loud, a tramp of men 
 
 that could not speak. 
 Not the march of braves to battle, nor parade, but to 
 
 the burial. 
 Of some mighty hope untimely rendered unto fate. 
 
 The echo 
 P'rom black walls, of house and convent, church, and 
 
 rampart of the city. 
 Regular and soblike came. It checked the joy within 
 
 our bosoms. 
 
 Then appeared a pallid column, rank on rank of men 
 
 of sorrow. 
 White-uniformed, bright-musketed, and line by line 
 
 advanced 
 Wheeling stony to command, and down together laid 
 
 their arms; 
 Then departed, in our silence, and another and another 
 Tramping in with perfect movement mutely followed. 
 
 Our commander 
 Stern Sir Jeffrey, with his staff, upon their chargers 
 
 moveless sat. 
 Till the last battalion's weapons touched the earth. 
 
 But as they touched it, 
 O'er us, with a loud and rending cry the parish church 
 
 bell tolled :— 
 
 49 
 
THE LOYALISTS 
 
 Slow and doleful, cry on cry, it rolled the knell of 
 death. 
 
 But the clouding of that hour to us was silvered with 
 the splendor 
 
 Of the mastery of England and her greatness of 
 dominion 
 
 As we felt with swelling hearts that here was con- 
 quered half the world. 
 
 God of Britain, god of mercies, what a heritage! 
 
 Rejoiceth 
 Therefore ever the leal blade in all its glory won that 
 
 hour. 
 Thus America is ours !" 
 
 50 
 
A Protest (1895) 
 
 Against Lord Salisbury's excuse for not aiding the Armenians 
 during the massacres of Sultan Abdul the Damned, — that the 
 Might of England was limited to a naval demonstration I 
 (Nevertheless the great betrayer of Armenia was President 
 Cleveland when at the crisis he paralyzed the hand of Britain by 
 his diversion about Venezuela). 
 
 T^ NGLAND, if thou must set, go doWn in strength ! 
 If thou, as rivals say, must soon decline, 
 Let it be with thy great unbroken line 
 
 Of champions of the weak ! Must thou at length 
 Hear pratings of thy safety, when the cry 
 
 Of wronged Armenia waileth : must thou wait 
 While evil Turks prepare a hideous fate 
 For those that still in living anguish lie? 
 
 Or shalt thou say, — as we who know thee best. 
 Being thy children, still believe thou must ; — 
 "0 Freedom and O Conscience ! take the trust 
 
 Once more of all my treasure, blood and rest; 
 My face to duty, though to death I bleed : 
 
 Armenia shall be solaced, fed and freed." 
 
 But he who, leader, spoke the trembling word, 
 Be he not there, nor let his voice be heard. 
 
 51 
 
II. The Great War 
 
 53 
 
A Song of Sons 
 
 (December 5th, 1914.) 
 
 T IKE as a lioness, wounded for her whelp, 
 
 Britannia stands, in bleeding strong disdain, 
 And we for whom she bleeds, shall we not help? 
 Thrills there not in us her undaunted strain? 
 Yea, Motherland, we haste o'er ocean's tide. 
 Eager to fight, and perish, by thy side. 
 
 The mad werewolf that covets our estate. 
 And snaps his scarlet fangs, shall feel our own, 
 Ne'er wert thou more magnificently great, 
 Than when he deemed thee feeble and alone ; 
 We haste, brave Motherland, in joy and pride, 
 Burning to fight and perish by thy side. 
 
 Let those mark well who think to conquer thee, 
 They with a might and wealth and new emprise; 
 Must also count, that grows o'er every sea. 
 And is not weak, and fast to power doth rise ; 
 We watch fair Mother, keen o'er every tide. 
 Aflame to win or perish by thy side. 
 
 55 
 
A SONG OF SONS 
 
 We shall not perish ; neither yet shalt thou, 
 Unsilenceable is the song of truth. 
 Freedom fails not. Its star is on thy brow 
 And we bring thee the deathless gift of youth. 
 Yes, Motherland, we haste o'er ocean's tide, 
 In love to fight and perish at thy side. 
 
 Brave Triune Mother, whence we drew our blood, 
 
 Our liberty and every good we share. 
 
 Whose deeds our parents tell us. Take the flood 
 
 Of our hearts throbbing in thine hour of care. 
 
 Dear Motherland, we come, we rise like ocean's tide. 
 
 For freedom's cause of old to combat at thy side. 
 
 56 
 
The Young Veteran 
 
 {of the Great War,) 
 
 January 30th, 1918. 
 
 np HE boyheart of the soldier! 
 The friendgrip of his hand! 
 They warm me Hke no other 
 In all our hearty land. 
 
 His childlove of his mother 
 
 Illumining his strength ! 
 There is no picture fairer 
 
 In any journey's length. 
 
 His knightly eyes that measured 
 
 Aright the New Crusade! 
 I know no sunlight clearer 
 
 Than those eyes unafraid. 
 
 The manglance of the battle, 
 
 How terrible to Wrong! 
 What promise to our country 
 
 Rings in his victory song. 
 
 57 
 
THE YOUNG VETERAN 
 
 The Godsoul in his being 
 That triumphed over death! 
 
 Bringeth the holy Temple 
 Where'er he wandereth. 
 
 58 
 
Deathless 
 
 (October 30, 1917). 
 
 (Each ripe maple leaf before it falls has at the base of its 
 stalk a fully formed next year's leaf in shape of a bud). 
 
 T N THE rugged limestone pasture 
 The old hard maple glows, 
 With burning tone and glory, 
 Like the sun in all its sunset, 
 In the rich Laurentian autumn 
 The sunset of the year. 
 
 n 
 
 At Passchendale I saw it 
 
 When the battlefield was fading, 
 
 And the roar of guns grew silent 
 
 When my life stream stopped its flowing, 
 
 I saw the old hard maple 
 
 And her fire of leaves embraced me 
 
 As my life fell off in glory, 
 
 In the sunset of the year. 
 
 59 
 
DEATHLESS 
 
 III 
 
 The old hard maple glowing 
 With dying. fire and splendor 
 Hid at her every leafstalk, 
 The perfect bud of spring, 
 At the root of the leaf of glory. 
 Of the dying leaf of splendor, 
 The leaf of morrow year. 
 
 IV 
 
 At Passchendale I sleep not, 
 
 Only my leaves of autumn. 
 
 My autumn leaves fell there. 
 
 In the hour of farewell splendor 
 
 In the sunset of the year, 
 
 But when they fell I died not. 
 
 For the wondrous spring was in me 
 
 And the life I gave at Passchendale 
 
 Hid the life of morrow year — 
 
 I am here. 
 
 February 3, 1918. 
 
 60 
 
Design 
 
 T N THE fifth year of sacrifice and blood, 
 
 Mid dreams of agony and doubts of God, 
 And cries that screamed, again, again: 
 "What is the mystery of Pain?" 
 
 One morn I was awakened by a voice 
 Crying "Despair not, ye shall yet rejoice, 
 
 ''Our life is but a sample sqtiare 
 Cut from a pattern vast and rare: 
 Could we but see the whole design, 
 We would not change a single line" 
 
 September, 1918. 
 
 61 
 
To France 
 
 WT E KNEW thee, France, in times of peace, 
 And willing sought thy gracious thrall ; 
 The modern heir of ancient Greece, 
 The kind, the gay, the light of all ; 
 
 We knew thee, yet we knew thee not. 
 Sun-tressed Minerva of the Dawn! 
 
 Till by thy dauntless side we fought 
 Darkness and all its Satan-spawn ! 
 
 Again shall j>eace and light return 
 Again men's hearts shall flock to thee 
 
 How bright thy beacons then shall burn ! 
 How deep our homage then shall be ! 
 
 Then thou shalt build thy noblest Arch, 
 Then thou shalt sing thy song supreme, 
 
 And all the world shall join thy march 
 Toward thy best and greatest dream ! 
 
 May 26, 1918. 
 
 62 
 
IIL The Trembling Mountain 
 
 63 
 
The Land of Manitou 
 
 Trembling Mountain, the highest of the Laurentians, 
 is known to the Indians as "Manitou-Ewitchi-Saga," — 
 *'The Mountain of the Dread Manitou." Beside it is 
 beautiful Lac Tremblant. The district is a Govern- 
 ment Park, and no settlements exist between it and the 
 Arctic. 
 
 "^JORTH in the mountains, noblest range of all, 
 Mont Tremblant reigns, far seen from many a 
 height. 
 And, watching from its long majestic line. 
 Hidden in ancient and unconquered pines. 
 And wrapt in misty distance or in clouds. 
 The Manitou-Ewitchi rules the wilds. 
 He watches ever, and when evil men. 
 Infringe the great laws of the wilderness, 
 The long range trembles. He who then defies 
 Must brave the tempest crashing 'round his path, 
 Rough giant hemlocks hurled towards him, hail. 
 Thunders and plunging bolts of fire; huge rocks 
 Tom by mad torrents hunt him, while around. 
 The indignant precipice reverberates 
 
 65 
 
THE LAND OF MANITOU 
 
 Stern condemnation, 
 
 Or if his pathway on the water be 
 
 A 'sudden bright and lofty cloud appears 
 
 Flashing like silver, racing down the lake. 
 
 And, churning white the waves, the air, the sky, 
 
 In universal shroud engulfs the boat. 
 
 But those who learn the laws and them obey, 
 
 Their breath is e'er the scent of balsam tops, 
 
 Their drink the moss-edged, clear and ice-cold springs, 
 
 Their wine the tonic of Auroral air, 
 
 Their feast of eye the never-ending parks. 
 
 Their music myriad forest birds at dawn. 
 
 The shimmering lakes their fairy travel trails. 
 
 Their wings the mountain top above the mist — 
 
 They dwell within the Land of Manitou. 
 
 Whenas of old the Chief of Manitous — 
 
 Whose mask is heaven — these lovely mountains built. 
 
 And set this stateliest range to overtoWer 
 
 Their kingdom, each a spirit He assigned 
 
 Guard of their peace and reverence: he is felt 
 
 At hush of eventide on every lake — 
 
 The guardian manitou — and watches from 
 
 Its hillside forests. Those dark gothic spires 
 
 Of balsams rising o'er the hardwood greens. 
 
 Denote his solemn minsters; ripples light 
 
 66 
 
THE LAND OF MANITOU 
 
 His faint-heard vespers ; healing fragrances 
 His service incense. Then should men be still, 
 For here is spirit and another life. 
 
 On Manitou-Ewitchi here He set 
 The Eagle feather Crown and bade his peers 
 All look toward him : "He shall headchief be 
 And ye his council. At the meeting times, 
 With thunders, on the ridge of his domain 
 Ye shall consult together." There they hold 
 Assembly at his summons, in the night, — 
 The dreadful Council of the Manitous. 
 First o'er the mountain tops their comings flash,— 
 Then soundless, as in distance they advance, — 
 And women say : There is some far-off storm. 
 Then in their splendor lighting the high pines, 
 Then, flashing in triumphant, on their winds. 
 Their sudden livid moonlight floods the woods, 
 Their intermittent day the darkened Lake, 
 And one the other calls in thunder tones. 
 Continuous, ghostly, terrible. And yet 
 Entrancing. 
 
 To their Council thus they pass. 
 Mystic, momentous, on the trembling Mount. 
 
 The great laws of the wilderness are these — 
 Laid down in Council of the Manitous ; 
 
 67 
 
THE LAND OF MANITOU 
 
 Kill naught except for use or in defence: 
 {Thou art the brother of all breathing things). 
 Love the shy plant. The venerable tree 
 Revere. Enjoy the gifts of Manitou 
 With invocation. Scar no haunt of peace. 
 Guard well the friendly but rebellious fire. 
 
 In an eld lichen-clad and sunken down 
 
 To immemorial stone, mist-veiled Evvitchi 
 
 Took up his realm. He first passed everywhere 
 
 Over the bare new ridge of the great mount 
 
 And sister hills and vales, the crisp gray frame 
 
 Of the Laurentians, treeless, waterless, 
 
 Streaked granite squeezed in mighty molten waves 
 
 From Earth's first flaming agonies, then torn 
 
 By titan icebergs, cold, ferocious, strong. 
 
 He having well considered, felt it best 
 
 To lay upon that harsh and rugged frame 
 
 His fur robe soft and beautiful: since then 
 
 The velvets of the mosses clothe the rocks 
 
 With broidery and sheens and kneedeep pile. 
 
 Then taking of his feather ornaments 
 
 He gave their crowns of rockfern to the stones 
 
 And strewed in hollows bracken and maiden hair. 
 
 The opens paved he with close-woven mats — 
 
 The scarlet bunches of the pigeon-berry 
 
 68 
 
THE LAND OF MANITOU 
 
 In serried carpet, here and there relieved 
 By dark blue porcelain aconites, and by 
 Wax wintergreen, and close embroidery 
 Of dainty checkerberry hiding pearls; 
 And in the deepest, most secluded woods. 
 He made two flowers of magic, fair and wise; 
 One is the ghostflower, flower of manitous 
 Pure in its soul as its white waxen form, 
 The symbol of the spirits' pipe of peace; 
 The other, known as La Fleur Ecartante, 
 Mottled and hidden, has the mystic power 
 That whoso steps upon it shall be lost. 
 Then to the heights he called the chiefs of trees, — 
 The pine to watch and the red spruce to guard, — 
 Marshalled the forests in their serried tribes 
 Each in his rank, sungazing on the hills ; 
 Set in the hollows lonely mirror lakes ; 
 Poured out the woodland streams and waterfalls. 
 The river and the heron-haunted marsh. 
 Then last of his imaginings he formed 
 Beside the glorious range its glorious Lake 
 Along the feet of the long mountain drew 
 Its firm bright line of polished metal sheen. 
 By its vast lustre doubling the design. 
 And opposite, with large pictorial bays, 
 Capes garrisoned with ever- watchful woods, 
 
 69 
 
THE LAND OF MANITOU 
 
 And islands, lent discovery and romance. 
 Then forth he sent a fragrant breeze, that bore 
 His invitation far. The gentle deer 
 Stopped, lifted quivering nostrils, inly saw 
 The hemlock-crested bluffs, the wildwood trails. 
 The brookside meads, the mists on meres at dawn. 
 And followed that good breeze ; the moose divined 
 Bays of sweet lily pad, and came ; the bear 
 Saw wild rock-caves and luscious raspberries; 
 All furry tribes ran trustful to the call, — 
 As infants give themselves to loving eyes. 
 So he assembled bird and beast and fish. 
 Only the wolf, the outlaw of the world, 
 Was uninvited. 
 
 Thus peopled he the Land of Manitou. 
 Ages untold dreamed on in fair content. 
 The children of Ewitchi lived his laws. 
 Basked on his blufftops, waded in his creeks, 
 And trustful in the pleasant dream of life 
 Passed trustful to the pleasant dream of death. 
 The trees unnumbered gloried in the sun. 
 Clematis crept, white trilliums flowered and fell, 
 Sedge and red mountain laurel watched by streams. 
 In sandy bays the waterlilies shone, 
 The speckled trout inhabited his nooks 
 The grey his deeps, innumerable schools 
 
 70 
 
THE LAND OF MANITOU 
 
 Of fry forged merrily along the shores 
 Where ran the prudent mink, and flocks of ducks, 
 Contented sailed and silent herons fished, 
 While bright kingfishers flew from tree to tree, 
 And nights rang with the insistent whippoorwill. 
 
 Millions of years they lived their busy lives. 
 Enchanted by Ewitchi. 
 
 Yesterday — 
 Yesterday to those countless years of life — 
 Came the first man — as if he owned it all, 
 One of a brutal race, untribal chief 
 By murder right, of thankless offspring fierce. 
 And by the heron-haunted marsh he lit 
 His fire that frighted — and began to slay: — 
 Slew the great-hearted bear, the graceful deer 
 The painted trout, the whippoorwill, the loon — 
 That laughing fluter in the lonely bays. 
 Then the kind beaver, loved by manitous, — 
 The blameless beaver, slew he in their house. 
 And roared "Ewitchi is not chief, but I," 
 The weeping beaver the Blue Heron prayed 
 "Go tell our Father" : the Blue Heron told 
 The Eagle Gray, Ewitchi's messenger. 
 So from his summits the Ewitchi looked 
 And as the master of that low-browed clan 
 
 71 
 
THE LAND OF MANITOU 
 
 Defiant slaughter spread, a cloud arose 
 Pillared, colossal, black, the great range shook 
 With wrathful tremblings, and the wicked horde 
 Fell crushed beneath the windfalls of the storm. 
 
 Therefore the kindlier Red Man later feared 
 
 The Trembling Mountain — feared with reverent head 
 
 And murmured "Manitou-Ewitchi-Saga" — 
 
 "The Mountain of the Dreaded Manitou" 
 
 And still the mountain shakes when thoughtless souls 
 
 Defy the great laws of the wilderness 
 
 And still the children of Ewitchi live 
 
 His will, and wait the passing of brief Man. 
 
 72 
 
The She bear 
 
 npHE Shebear of the Palisades kens from her 
 cliff side ledge : 
 She kens the forests far below, the great Lake*s sandy- 
 edge, 
 She kens the capes, the piny isles, the towering misty 
 
 range — 
 The Trembling Mountain long and dread — in every 
 
 mood of change, 
 She breathes the rare wind sweeping from the resins of 
 
 the wild 
 Far forests that a cobbled heel has never yet defiled ; 
 And everywhere her soul she feasts, and evermore 
 
 keeps watch 
 Over the Peak's aspiring crag, the fair woods of the 
 
 Notch- 
 To few 'tis given in all the world to feast on scenes so 
 
 fair — 
 The deer perchance that haunt the hills, the eagle and 
 
 the bear. 
 
 And sometimes in the night she calls her kin upon the 
 peak, 
 
 73 
 
THE SHEBEAR 
 
 And sometimes croons to soothe her cubs when in 
 
 affright they shriek, 
 And ever it is her delight to watch the dawning bloom 
 To ruddy splendor o'er the Trembling Mountain's 
 
 haughty gloom 
 And see the shining mists below drift on and fading 
 
 break, 
 While through them half the isles appear and half the 
 
 burnished Lake. 
 
 And when the range in majesty stands up in noontide 
 
 sun. 
 Her heart is filled with unknown joy; but when the 
 
 day is done 
 And carmine lights entint the heights she gazes in her 
 
 awe, 
 And feels as though a nobler air her glossy nostrils 
 
 draw. 
 And when she marks, on the world's rim, the giant 
 
 northern moon 
 And each large star that shines a path upon the Lake 
 
 in June 
 And down into the mystic woods leads, with her tender 
 
 croon 
 Her children to the silent brink and where the berries 
 
 wait; 
 
 74 
 
THE SHEBEAR 
 
 What silver lights among the glooms are weft in her 
 estate. 
 
 And later in her glorious year, the pageant meets her 
 
 eyes 
 Of all the hillsides burst aflame with fire of Paradise, 
 And all the angels sing therein, and God himself 
 
 descends, 
 And round her in her creedless faith, His heaven on 
 
 earth extends. 
 
 75 
 
Commandant's Isle 
 
 {Chief Commandant was the last Indian resident at 
 Lac Tremblant.) 
 
 T AST of your tribe and long departed hence, 
 
 Algonkin brave, here unto whom was given, 
 To close the chapter of primeval man. 
 Each night returning to your cedared isle 
 I see your fire upon the Sandy Point, — 
 The stick-supported pot, the shadowy lodge. 
 The deerskin soaking by the shore, the gleam 
 Of trout, the ghostly smoke, and round the glow. 
 The ruddy, blackhaired children, turned to you 
 Their other sun, and you recounting lore. 
 
 What ancient legends of the wilderness ! 
 What doomsday record of old valiant chiefs! 
 What explanations of some pictured rock 
 Or carven pine ! What battles in the woods. 
 Centuries ago, with the Bad Iroquois ! 
 What ghostly tales of giant windigoes, — 
 Cunning man-eaters, black and terrible. 
 Long-following, undesisting, — ^vanquished now, — 
 By sign of cross, and of man-hunger dead — 
 
 76 
 
COMMANDANT'S ISLE 
 
 Only their shrivelled- bodies here and there 
 Descried among gaunt trunks of blackened trees. 
 
 And then upon the glowing logs you cast 
 The sacred leaves, and as the incense mounts 
 The stories of Ewitchi you retell, 
 Pointing to the faint moondawn on the heights. 
 Full of the sense of spirit you and yours 
 Familiarly knew the living fays 
 We call the flowers, each as full of joy 
 As full of beauty, each with speaking voice 
 And hearing ear, and when its sleeptime comes 
 Ready to dream, and rise another spring. 
 To you the forests were all breathing men, 
 Fair women and loved children : — even the chase 
 A strife of cousins, preordained in rites. 
 
 You were Ewitchi's children like the rest. 
 Part of his ordered subjects : — all your hours 
 Moved with celestial dial hands, the dawn 
 Noon, sunset, evening, night ; the birchbark frail 
 Of your life sailed on beauty as a lake: 
 Princes you were of all to be desired. 
 
 Commandant — it was almost yesterday 
 Your fire glowed on the Sandy Point. To-day 
 Your spirit only, haunts the cedared i5le. 
 Who is the dream ? Is it ourselves or you? 
 
 77 
 
COMMANDANT'S ISLE 
 
 Dreamland you left us. Is there chance the mist 
 
 Some mom may lift and your canoe be seen — 
 
 Gumsewn, with ochre eye upon its prow — 
 
 Forth setting to your traps in Fleurant Bay? 
 
 Or might it be your earliest ancestor? 
 
 Who jirst, a hundred thousand years ago 
 
 Came paddling up the wide and silent Lake 
 
 Gazing in wonder at the mighty Mount. 
 
 And to Ewitchi made his sacrifice, 
 
 And cut his birchen poles and built his lodge 
 
 And lit his fire upon the Sandy Point 
 
 As you and all your fathers since have done. 
 
 Calm rest to you, Algonkin ! May your lot 
 Be cast in scenes as lovely as this isle 
 That sits above its double on the Lake, 
 Its greatest chami these memories of you. 
 
 78 
 
Fleurant Bay 
 
 r^ HILDREN'S hero, dean of guides, 
 Famous through the Laurentides ! 
 Moise of the hundred bears, 
 Curious baits and cunning snares, 
 Plumtree planter in wild spaces, 
 Sweet-william sower in camping places, 
 Moise Fleurant, voyageur. 
 Good companion, raconteur ! 
 
 When we left the haunts of moil 
 Fed with fashion, pale with toil, 
 And our footsteps felt the sand. 
 Of the fair Ewitchi strand. 
 What cheery hail you gave us first! 
 Then the little merry burst 
 Of the aerated wit. 
 And catching laughter when it hit. 
 Then you soothed away our cares, 
 Gathering our gear and wares. 
 Led us sailing after you 
 In your treasured birch canoe 
 To some sunflecked solitude 
 79 
 
FLEURANT BAY 
 
 Of the universal wood, 
 
 Poled the tent and struck the fire 
 
 In the forest of desire ; 
 
 Told us of the settler's child 
 
 Whose brave father dared the wild, 
 
 Axe for fortune, faring forth 
 
 Into the unroaded north. 
 
 How kind redmen shewed the youth 
 
 Their ancestral mines of truth. 
 
 Made him keen of mind and sight 
 
 Till he learned to read aright 
 
 Where the bear his footmark left. 
 
 Or the balsam's bark had reft, 
 
 Where the herons rear their brood. 
 
 In the gaunt-armed lofty wood. 
 
 Lore of every plant and tree 
 
 And the myriad fantasy 
 
 Of primeval totem stories 
 
 And the ancient tribal glories; — 
 
 Hence your never-dull delight 
 
 When you found us ghost-flower white, 
 
 Or the ribbed-leafed food of moose. 
 
 Or the shrub the Indians use 
 
 For the painted calumet, 
 
 80 
 
FLEURANT BAY 
 
 LeadWood, or the goldtwine plant, 
 Or the fateful ecartante. 
 
 Moise of the hundred bears 
 Cunning baits and clever snares 
 Many a savage glen and glade 
 Saw the daring feats you played — 
 Saw you furious Bruin meet — 
 Skilful lay him at your feet. 
 
 Moise, honest, simple, wise, 
 The clear lake was in your eyes. 
 The big mountains in your soul, 
 Strong and manly was your worth, 
 The quintessence of the North, 
 And as artless Nature's man. 
 You were of Ewitchi's clan. 
 
 81 
 
The Galahads 
 
 A T SUMMER'S noon upon the wilds there crept 
 An evil shadow, and the wind stood still ; 
 The parks eternal shivered ; in the camps 
 The children's laughter hushed, and 'round the board 
 Lurked close that shadow of the Prussian crime. 
 The great star Lucifer had dropt from heaven — 
 A race, once honored, boasted in the mire 
 Of theft and murder ; Goethe's crown of light 
 Rolled from Germania's brow; Kant's majesty 
 Of skylike conscience like a sky crashed down; 
 And in the peace of the remotest woods 
 Reverberated those foul boasts of shame. 
 
 Yet faint above the din, on ether borne, 
 
 A clear voice rang the ancient battle cries : 
 
 "Freedom and honor ! truth and chivalry ! 
 
 St. George, defend thy pledges unto death! 
 
 St. George, defend the weak, and save the world !" 
 
 And all true sons of Britain felt it vain 
 
 To live, unless as British knights of old, 
 
 Then lo ! with reverence and pride we saw 
 The knights of old appear, — Sir Galahads, 
 
 82 
 
THE GALAHADS 
 
 None purer, none more brave. They had been known 
 
 Till then but as the schoolboys of the camps, 
 
 Carefree and merry, warming elder blood 
 
 By pranks of diving, reckless climbing feats 
 
 Up sheerest precipices. Trackless wilds 
 
 Knew them as tenters. The shy beaver heard 
 
 Their paddles unafraid. Widely they ranged 
 
 The peaks and dales uncharted, seeking risks 
 
 For love of danger and the jest with Death. 
 
 Skilled by adventure in a score of arts 
 
 Their strength they stinted not to all that asked. 
 
 Pleasant they were to look on, clean their speech 
 
 And honest-eyed the cheerful countenance. 
 
 Ewitchi claimed them. His enchantments fell 
 
 Upon them in his woods and ridges wild ; 
 
 He loved and sent them dreams, asleep, awake, 
 
 And spun light threads to reach them o'er the world ; 
 
 All his rare beauty was their heritage, 
 
 And in their hearts he left his mystic call. 
 
 Yesterday they were children. Scarcely yet 
 Knew we they needed less our tender care. 
 Until some grave look or some manly deed 
 Warned us the soul was ripe. We pondered then. 
 
 So came the world's great need and Honor's call, 
 And silent, modest, up they rose to serve, — 
 
 83 
 
THE GALAHADS 
 
 Then in our wonder we beheld them men 
 And saw the Knights of Arthur's Table stand 
 Before us in their sacred panoply. 
 Little they said and naught delayed their going, 
 Farewells to launch, canoe, fair lake and range, 
 A tender word to Mother, and forth they fared, 
 As thousands like them fared from lake and stream. 
 Crusaders of the Grail. Rude knights were some 
 But knightly all: God loves all faithful men. 
 
 Their deeds are written on the sun. What need 
 To tell again how, — equals with the best 
 Of Britain's and of France's chivalry — 
 (Equals of those at Mons who taught the hordes 
 Trusting in guns and nimibers, what soldiers were ; 
 Equals of those who at Verdun stood firm 
 In the long storms of fire) ; — what need to tell 
 How ours broke Prussia's heart of cruel pride 
 At Ypres, Festubert and Courcellette ! 
 
 Galahads of the camps ! For this you learnt 
 The fearless life and strenuous company 
 Of the wild North, contempt of hurt and cold, 
 Joy of unmeasured contest, wit to meet 
 Emergency, deft skill and steady nerve. 
 What seemed but sport was training, and the best 
 Was inner, — ^loyal will and heart humane. 
 
 84 
 
THE GALAHADS 
 
 And in your battles you remembered oft 
 The mountains of the Land of Manitou. 
 Some shall return with honor, henceforth called 
 The heroes of the world. But where are those 
 Who never shall return? 
 
 They saw the Grail 
 And were caught up to heaven. Where is Lysle, 
 With eyes of sunlight ever brimming mirth, 
 Magnet of every heart? Where Edward kind 
 Who knew no bounds to faithfulness, and bore, 
 Three times shell-buried, that message to his chief ? 
 Alas ! to earthly eyes they sleep afar 
 In fields of glory famed to end of time. 
 Yet ever shall they clothe these leafy hills 
 With visions of the noblest deeds of men 
 And hold before Canadian youths to come 
 The quest eternal of the Holy Grail. 
 
 85 
 
IV. Philosophic 
 
 ^7 
 
The Palmer 
 
 /^ SOLEMN clime to which my spirit looks, 
 ^^^ No more will I the path to thee defer, — 
 Worn here with search— a too sad wanderer, — 
 The dance-tune spent, surpassed the sacred books, 
 And spumed that city's walls where I did plan 
 A thousand lives, unwitting I was pent ; 
 As though my thousand lives could be content 
 With any vista in the bounds of man ! 
 
 Eternal clime, our exile is from thee ! 
 Flood o'er thy portals like the tender morn ! 
 Receive ! receive ! and let us new be bom ! 
 We are thy substance — spirit of thy degree — 
 Mist of thy bliss — fire, love, infinity ! 
 And only by some mischance from thee torn. 
 
 89 
 
The Artist's Prayer 
 
 J KNOW thee not, O Spirit fair! 
 
 O Life and flying Unity 
 Of Loveliness! Must man despair 
 Forever in his chase of thee ! 
 
 When snowy clouds flash silver-gilt, 
 Then feel I that thou art on high ! 
 
 When fire o'er all the west is spilt, 
 Flames at its heart thy majesty. 
 
 Thy beauty basks on distant hills ; 
 
 It smiles in eve's wine-colored sea ; 
 It shakes its light on leaves and rills; 
 
 In calm ideals it mocks at me; 
 
 Thy glances strike from many a lake 
 
 That lines through woodland scapes a sheen; 
 
 Yet to thine eyes I never wake : — 
 They glance, but they remain unseen. 
 
 I know thee not, O Spirit fair! 
 
 Thou fillest heaven : the stars are thee : 
 Whatever fleets with beauty rare 
 
 Fleets radiant from thy mystery. 
 90 
 
THE ARTIST'S PRAYER 
 
 Forever thou art near my grasp ; 
 
 Thy touches pass in twilight air; 
 Yet still — thy shapes elude my clasp: — 
 
 I know thee not, thou Spirit fair ! 
 
 Ether, proud, and vast, and great. 
 Above the legions of the stars! 
 
 To this thou art not adequate ; — 
 Nor rainbow's glorious scimitars. 
 
 1 know thee not, thou Spirit sweet! 
 
 I chained pursue, while thou art free. 
 Sole by the smile I sometimes meet 
 I know thou. Vast One, knowest me. 
 
 In old religions hadst thou place: 
 Long, long, O Vision, our pursuit! 
 
 Yea, monad, fish and childlike brute 
 
 Through countless ages dreamt thy grace. 
 
 Grey nations felt thee o'er them tower; 
 
 Some clothed thee in fantastic dress ; 
 Some thought thee as the unknown Power, 
 
 I, e'er the unknown Loveliness. 
 
 To all, thou wert as harps of joy; 
 
 To bard and sage their fulgent sun : 
 To priests their mystic life's employ; 
 
 But unto me the Lovely One. 
 91 
 
THE ARTIST'S PRAYER 
 
 Veils clothed thy might ; veils draped thy charm ; 
 
 The might they tracked, but I the grace ; 
 They learnt all forces were thine Arm, 
 
 I that all beauty was thy Face. 
 
 Night spares us little. Wanderers we. 
 
 Our rapt delights, our wisdoms rare 
 But shape our darknesses of thee, — 
 
 We know thee not, thou Spirit fair ! 
 
 Would that thine awful Peerlessness 
 An hour could shine o'er heaven and earth 
 
 And I the maddening power possess 
 To drink the cup, — O Godlike birth ! 
 
 All life impels me to thy search: 
 Without thee, yea, to live were null ; 
 
 Still shall I make the dawn thy Church, 
 And pray thee "God the Beautiful." 
 
 92 
 
The Wind-Chant 
 
 The Soul, the inner, immortal Ruler. — Hindu Upanishad. 
 
 n 
 
 TI/' ITCH-LIKE, see it planets roll, 
 Hear it from the cradle call — 
 Nature ? — Nature is the soul ; 
 That alone is aught and all. 
 Grieved or broken though the song, 
 
 The fount of music is elate, 
 For the Soul is ever strong. 
 For the Soul is ever great." 
 
 "For the Soul is ever great !" — 
 
 Songless sat I by a grove. 
 Pines, like funeral priests of state, 
 
 Chanted solemn rites above. 
 Dark and glassy far below, 
 
 The River in his proud vale slept, 
 Eve with olive-shafted bow 
 
 Like a stealthy archer crept. 
 
 Why, O Masters, then I thought, 
 Is the mantle yours, of song? 
 
 Why with hours like this do not 
 Glorious strains to all belong? 
 93 
 
THE WIND-CHANT 
 
 Why all choosing, why all ban ? 
 
 Why are lords, and why are slaves 
 And the most of gentle man 
 
 Clipt and harried to their graves ? 
 Foiled and ruined, masses die 
 
 That one fair and noble be. 
 Why are all not Masters ? Why 
 
 So unjust is Life's decree? 
 
 Why are poor and why are rich ? 
 
 Why are slaves and why are lords? 
 Unto this the splendid niche : 
 
 Those caste damneth in their words. 
 Do not powers of evil reign? 
 
 Do not flashes storms make dread? 
 Should not He of Life again 
 
 Bring the just peace of the dead ? 
 
 Oft the Pines, like priests of state, 
 
 Have spoke the heavenly word to man ; 
 So above me as I sate 
 
 ^ol voices chanting ran: 
 "For the Soul is ever great 
 
 For the Soul is ever strong; 
 In the murmurer it can wait — 
 
 In the shortest sight see long. 
 
 94 
 
THE WIND-CHANT 
 
 "Not a yearning but is proof 
 
 Thou art yet its aim to own: 
 Thou the warp art and the woof, 
 
 Not the woof or warp alone. 
 Couldst thou drop the lead within 
 
 To the bottom of Thyself, 
 All the World— and God— and Sin— 
 
 And Force — and Ages — were that Elf. 
 
 "With thy breathing goes all breath. 
 
 With thy striving goes all strife, 
 In thy being, deep as death, 
 
 Lies the largeness of all life. 
 The world is but thy deepest wish, 
 
 The phases thereof are thy dream; 
 They that hunt or plough or fish 
 
 Are of thee the out-turned seam. 
 
 "Helpless, thou hast every power, 
 
 In thee greatness perfect sleeps — 
 And thou comest to thy dower. 
 
 And thy strength perennial keeps. 
 Stir the Aeol harp elate ! 
 
 Make a triumph of its song. 
 For the Soul is ever great. 
 
 For the Soul is ever strong!" 
 
 95 
 
THE WIND-CHANT 
 
 Rushings cool as of a breeze 
 
 Amened to their litany 
 In their pure sky smiled the trees ; 
 
 And no more was mystery. 
 Clear I saw the Soul at work, 
 
 All through fair Saint Francis vale, 
 Beauty-making ; like a dirk 
 
 Peering bright amid the mail. 
 
 Vital the dark River wound. 
 
 Glassy in his cool repose ; 
 Many a bird-like country sound 
 
 As the Soul-voice upward rose. . 
 Then as in a glass I knew 
 
 / was vale and town and stream, 
 Shadowed grove and northern blue 
 
 And the stars that *gan to gleam. 
 
 This was I, and all was mine. 
 
 Mine — yea, ours — the grace and might. 
 With the lordship of a line 
 
 That laughs at any earthly knight. 
 Ah, what music then I heard ! 
 
 What conceptions then I saw! 
 Master-thoughts within me stirred, 
 
 And there flashed the Master-law. 
 
 96 
 
THE WIND-CHANT 
 
 Next them did the greatest shapes 
 Of Angelo crowd in a dream: — 
 
 Vain the grace that marble drapes ; 
 A village mason's these did seem. 
 
 But — the light from Angelo's eye 
 
 That so deeply eager bums 
 With its fierce sincerity! — 
 
 Ah, the ancient saw returns : 
 "Greater artist than his art ;" 
 
 Meaning: greater yet than he 
 Is the vast outfeeling Heart 
 
 In him lying like the sea. 
 
 With a sudden eagle-stroke 
 
 How this truth can lift one wide. 
 Then he sees the sublime joke 
 
 Of humility and pride; 
 For the Soul is ever great, 
 
 The one Soul within us all : 
 One the tone that shakes a state 
 
 With the helpless cradle-call. 
 
 Yes, that wonder of the Soul 
 
 Is the riddle of it all. 
 And the answer, and the whole, 
 
 Bright with joy that rends the pall. 
 
 97 
 
THE WIND-CHANT 
 
 Brother-man, I pray you stand, 
 Hear a minstrel ; but the song 
 
 If you do not understand, 
 Pass and do not do it wrong. 
 
 98 
 
Love-Song 
 
 T^ HOUGH others plight for pride or gain, 
 
 And mix the cup of love ; 
 Theirs be the duller troth, the stain; 
 
 Ours the sweet stars approve. 
 My riches, love, they shall be thou ; 
 
 My pride, thy love for me : 
 No diamond fairer decks a brow 
 
 Than thine sincerity. 
 
 Though ours be tenements, not towers, 
 
 Theirs, lawns and halls of ease. 
 Beloved, 'tis heaven, not gold, is ours, 
 
 And the realities. 
 No sordid wish doth make us one. 
 
 But love, love, love. 
 O surely, surely, that is done 
 
 Which the sweet stars approve. 
 
 99 
 
Our Underlying Existence 
 
 /^ FOOL, that wisdom dost despise, 
 ^^^ Thou knowest not, thou canst not guess 
 Another part of thee is wise 
 And silent sees thy foolishness. 
 
 Yet, fool, how dare I pity thee 
 
 Because my heart reveres the sages; 
 
 The fool lies also deep in me; 
 We all are one beneath the ages. 
 
 100 
 
A Problem i 
 
 /^NCE, in the University of Life, 
 ^^^ Remember and Inquire, my old Professors, 
 A question hard requested me to solve : 
 "How can man's love be great and be eternal 
 
 If Right forewarns he may be called to leave it: 
 Whether should Love rule Duty and be all, 
 Or Duty turn his back on sweet Love crying?" 
 
 I paused — ^then spoke, not having what to answer : 
 "Ye know, Professors, how to utter problems 
 And man perplex with his own elements. 
 Yet I believe the ways ye teach are perfect 
 And able are you what ye set to solve. — 
 Admiring you, however, aids me nothing, 
 I speak because I have not what to answer." 
 "Ponder," they said, those quiet, sage Professors. 
 
 I had seen Love — O Vision, I was near thee 
 When Death refused that I should speak with thee! 
 And I had seen her soft eyes' trustful brightness 
 Wondrous look down into the soul of many 
 And lead it out and make it of eternity. 
 Yes, truly, in her look men find true being! — 
 What ruin if such being must be withered! 
 101 
 
A PROBLEM 
 
 I had seen Duty — soldier of his God — 
 
 Of Virtue and of Order sentinel — 
 
 Grand his firm count'nance with obedience. 
 
 His troth to Love would everlasting be 
 
 Or nothing. What then should commanding orders 
 
 Bid him have done with her and all renounce ? 
 
 How can he look on Love and know this shadow ? 
 
 "I see no answer," answered I dejected, 
 "Except that either Love must be abased, 
 Or he resign perfection in his calling.'* 
 
 "Nay," said they, but by strange, clear apparatus 
 (Whereof within that College there is much) 
 Gave illustration — ^paraphrased as follows: 
 
 "Thou hast not reckoned for eternity. 
 The True fears not Forever : fear thou not. 
 Duty and Love are noble man and wife 
 (If otherwise thou see them 'tis illusion), 
 'Tis she sends Duty forth with dear embrace 
 And proudest of his battle through her tears 
 Encourages : 'Regard me not but strike V 
 And Tf thou must depart alas, depart! 
 Follow thy noblest, I am ever true!* 
 He strikes and presses, sending back his heart 
 As forward moves his foot on the arena ; 
 
 m 
 
A PROBLEM 
 
 Or marches bravely far and far, until 
 
 Hope of return as mortal disappears: 
 
 This should true soul endure, though everlasting— 
 
 But then, besides, we know that One has mercy." 
 
 103 
 
To a Fellow-Student of Kant 
 
 npHE sweet star of the Bethlehem night 
 Beauteous guides and true, 
 And still, to me and you 
 
 With only local, legendary light. 
 
 For us who hither look with eyes afar 
 From constellations of philosophy. 
 
 All light is from the Cradle ; the true star, 
 Serene o*er distance, in the Life we see. 
 
 104 
 
To the Soul 
 
 AN ODE OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 r\ LARK aspire! 
 
 Aspire forever, in thy morning sky!— ^ 
 Forever soul, beat bravely, gladly, higher. 
 And sing and sing that sadness is a lie. 
 
 Forever, soul, achieve! 
 
 Droop not an instant into sloth and rest. 
 
 Live in a changeless moment of the best 
 
 And lower heights to Heaven forgotten leave. 
 
 Man still will strive. 
 
 Delight of battle leaped within his sires. 
 
 They laughed at death ; and Life was all alive : 
 
 In him not blood it seeks, but vast desires. 
 
 He wakens from a dream : 
 Reviews the forms he fought in ages gone — 
 He or his ancestors, their shapes are one: — 
 And also of himself the forms he battled seem. 
 
 He sees the truth! 
 "I wrestled with myself, and rose to strength. 
 Still be that progress mine ! — I see at length 
 All World, all Soul are one, all ages youth !" 
 105 
 
Eben Picken, Bookseller 
 
 piCKEN of Beaver Hall, what modest hand, 
 ■■" Or thoughtless, wrote thy sign? "Bookseller" 
 thou 
 Forsooth ! Though goodly word it be, and graced 
 By learning, honor, men of fair repute. 
 Not this the operation of thy days, 
 No barter thought, no views of bank account, 
 Silver and bills, profit, advertisement; 
 Not this thy avocation — but to lead 
 The novice soul along the temple path 
 To the hid shrine, the thirsty heart to find 
 Some quenching draft, the world's delights to lift 
 Before the unthinking. Gentle Levite thou 
 Of Art and Wisdom and Humanity 
 And the inclusive ONE. To thee we fare 
 To meet the souls of poets, and converse 
 With sages, known or called from quarters strange 
 By thy skilled wand. That unpretentious door 
 Leads where wise Plato visits still the earth 
 And Shakespeare calls his airy host to view : 
 Ah, what a world is there, delectable, 
 
 106 
 
EBEN PICKEN, BOOKSELLER 
 
 Serene, of perfect grace, the land of Thought! 
 There in their kingly ranks the Masters walk 
 By crocus-edged Kephisos' sleepless stream 
 Along the cypress paths. There Socrates, 
 Virgil and Zarathustra, Francis mild, 
 Memlinc and Angelo and Angelico, 
 The bard of Faust and he of Paradise — 
 Heroes and saints innumerable appear. 
 While in their converse he who will takes part 
 And thou art friend and guide. Assuredly 
 Tis blessed to be thus amid a world 
 Mad after fruit of ashes, running fast 
 Because the rest are running, blind and deaf 
 And needing quiet voices like to thine. 
 
 107 
 
Van Home 
 
 January 2, 1916. 
 
 f\ F STORIED race, yet claiming not descent, 
 
 Merit the sole nobility of men 
 He held. And first, the merit of the heart. 
 His will of bronze, though such as Caesar's own. 
 Fit for imperial conquests, to whose force 
 Grim Nature bowed her Rockies ; his vast brain, 
 Ingenious, swift, wide-ranging; fount of wit 
 That turned the gravest graybeards into boys ; 
 Energy sleepless ; even his subtle love 
 Of Beauty, and acquaintanceship with her; 
 The artist hand ; the artist soul and eye 
 That saw the loveliness the careless pass, — 
 (The fair reality of our human dower) — 
 All these his gifts were less than one supreme. 
 The bigness of his heart. 
 
 Around his bier 
 Assembled all the leaders of the land, 
 Bent heads mid banks of flowers. But obscure. 
 In lowly hall upon a humble street 
 
 108 
 
VAN HORNE 
 
 The Colored People weeping mourned his loss, 
 
 And gently said: "He was our greatest friend/* 
 
 Van Home, the best friend of the lowliest! 
 What prouder title can descent afford ? 
 Thou wert the exemplar of thy chosen rule. 
 
 109 
 
The Order 
 
 ^O-NIGHT thy soul," the Chairman said, 
 "Of thee shall be required, 
 A poem write. 
 It is desired. 
 
 To-morrow in the double lead 
 Thus long — thus wide — 
 Timely and bright." 
 
 Then by the drear tumultous riverside 
 
 Of Babylon the poet lifted 
 
 Fain hands unto a harp that, hanging there. 
 
 Dreamed, whispered, sang. 
 
 To every spirit that past drifted, 
 
 His thought, his wraith, his own imagined air, 
 
 In mirrors of soft music, sweet and fair. 
 "Nay!" sang that harp (His wraith did in it ring), 
 "Nay !" thrilled that harp, "when thou dost truly sing. 
 
 It is not thou. 
 
 The lilt, the rhyme, the tones, that tremblant cling, 
 
 Are of another Voice ; 
 
 And not in labor of the pen nor brow. 
 
 Acknowledge these their gauge." 
 110 
 
THE ORDER 
 
 "Th* Aeolian harmonies, the springs of sacred rage, 
 
 The vasty whispers from the starry land. 
 
 The surf-roar of the universal Mind, 
 
 Are as wild horses of the wind. 
 
 That leap the stone walls of Command 
 
 And slip the lariats of Choice." 
 
 Ill 
 
Too-Much-Gold River 
 
 "pAR up the precipiced Klondyke, 
 In the Arctic drear, we are told, 
 There speeds a mysterious river, 
 "The River of Too-Much-Gold." 
 
 O say, ye powers of darkness ! 
 
 Did the Yukon Indians dream 
 The longing they roused in our heart-chords 
 
 When they named us that hidden stream? 
 
 There was once an El Dorado 
 Men crazed their lives to behold ; 
 
 But what was the merely Golden 
 To the River of Too Much Gold ? 
 
 O if we could stand on its border. 
 And, after our sacks were distent. 
 
 Kick round us still beaches of nuggets, 
 Would we feel we could then be content? 
 
 Would we feel, as we shouldered our million. 
 Pledge of pleasures ten thousand fold, 
 
 That even then this River 
 
 Was a River of Too Much Gold? 
 112 
 
TOO-MUCH-GOLD RIVER 
 
 Or when will the heart of mortal 
 
 Be ready to cry "Enough!" 
 And what is the use of the struggle 
 
 For the "stuff" if it does not stuff? 
 
 But however it be, I am longing, 
 
 As though it would free me from care, 
 
 For the banks of that Arctic River 
 And a little of what is there. 
 
 113 
 
V. Imaginative and Early Verse 
 
 115 
 
Imitated from the Japanese 
 
 "I have forgotten to forget.*' — Japanese song. 
 
 ^ I ^HE morning flies, the evening dies; 
 The heat of noon, the chills of night, 
 Are but the dull varieties 
 
 Of Phoebus' and of Phoebe's flight- 
 Are but the dull varieties 
 
 Of ruined night and ruined day; 
 They bring no pleasure to mine eyes, 
 For I have sent my soul away. 
 
 I am the man who cannot love. 
 
 Yet once my heart was bright as thine. 
 The suns that rove, the moons that move. 
 
 No longer make its chambers shine; 
 No more they light the spirit face 
 
 That lit my night and made my day ; 
 No maiden feet with mine keep pace 
 
 For I have sent my soul away. 
 
 O, lost ! I think I see thee stand 
 
 By Mary's ivied chapel door, 
 Where once thou stood' st, and with thy hand 
 
 Wring pious pain, as once before. 
 117 
 
IMITATED FROM THE JAPANESE 
 
 Impatient, crude philosopher, 
 
 I scorned thy gentle wisdom's ray. 
 
 All vain thy moistened eyelids were ; 
 I sent my soul and thee away. 
 
 A causeless wrath, a mood of pride, 
 
 Some tears of thine, and all was done ; 
 On alien plains I travelled wide 
 
 And thou wert soon a veiled nun. 
 Not long a veiled nun, but soon 
 
 Unveiled of linen and of clay ; 
 And I am March from June to June, 
 
 For I have sent my soul away. 
 
 For now when I would love thee well, 
 
 There sits alone within my breast 
 Calm guilt that dare not from its hell 
 Look up and wish the thing thou art. 
 I see a dreadful gulf of fright 
 Beneath my falling life; and gray. 
 Thy light becomes the ghost of light 
 Above it as it falls away. 
 
 I have a life, a voice, a form, 
 A skilful hand to lift and turn, 
 
 I have emotions like a storm, 
 A brain to throb, a heart to burn ; 
 
 118 
 
IMITATED FROM THE JAPANESE 
 
 But that which Jesus' blood can save, 
 Which looks toward eternal day, 
 
 Is gone before me to the grave. — 
 It was my soul I sent away. 
 
 The past is past, and o'er its woe 
 
 It is no comfort to repine; 
 But I would wage my life to know 
 
 Thy feet in heaven keep pace with mine. 
 I have no hope, I will not weep. 
 
 The only wish that wish I may 
 Is this, that I may find asleep 
 
 The soul I thought I sent away. 
 
 119 
 
The Knight Errant 
 
 CLOUD TO WIND. 
 
 /^BLOW, blow high, for I descend; 
 Friend must go to meet his friend, 
 If to earth you tie your feet 
 You and I will never meet. 
 
 WIND. 
 
 Nay, I haste. A trifle wait ; 
 I exceed my usual gait. 
 Ha ! this hill-top is sublime, 
 But it makes me pant to climb. 
 
 CLOUD. 
 
 Once again, a little space, 
 Meet we in this Alpine place. 
 Before you leap adown the vale 
 Or I along my pathway sail. 
 
 WIND. 
 
 Then let our little bell of time 
 Ring onward with a chatty chime — 
 
 120 
 
THE KNIGHT ERRANT 
 
 How we have fled o'er earth and sky, 
 And what you saw and what saw I. 
 
 CLOUD. 
 
 O, I from off my couch serene, 
 Woods, meadows, towns and seas have seen ; 
 And in one wood, beside a cave, 
 A hermit kneeHng by a grave : — 
 The which I felt so touched to see 
 I wept a shower of sympathy. 
 And in one mead I saw, methought, 
 A brave, dark-armored knight, who fought 
 A shining dragon in a mist. 
 That, mixed with flames did roll and twist 
 Out of the beast's red mouth — a breath 
 Of choking, blinding, sulphurous death, 
 On which I shot my thickest rain 
 And made the conflict fair again. 
 And from one town I heard the swell 
 Of a loud, melancholy bell, 
 That past me rose in flames of sound 
 And up to Saint Cecilia wound. 
 And on one sea I saw a ship 
 Bend out its full-fed sails and slip 
 So light, so gladly o'er the tide 
 I could not help but look inside — 
 
 121 
 
THE KNIGHT ERRANT 
 
 Its passengers were groom and bride. 
 
 I floated o'er them snowily, 
 
 They felt my beauty in the sky, 
 
 Their eyes, their souls, their joy were one, 
 
 I would not cross their happy sun. 
 
 I love this life of calm and use — 
 
 No bonds but windy ribbons loose. 
 
 No gifts to ask but all to give. 
 
 Secure Elysium fugitive. 
 
 WIND. 
 
 Your life, though, drinks iiot half the wine 
 Of active gladness that doth mine ; 
 I spread my wings arid stretch my arms 
 Over a dozen hedged farms ; 
 I breast steep hills, through pine-groves rush, 
 Rock birds' nests, yet no fledgling crush. 
 Tossing the grain-fields everywhere, 
 The trees, the grass, the school-girl's hair, 
 Whirling away her laugh the while — 
 (We breezes love the children's smile) ; 
 And then I lag and wander down 
 Among the roofs and dust of town. 
 Bearing cool draughts from lake and moor 
 To fan the faces of the poor, 
 While sick babes, stifled half to death, 
 
 122 
 
THE KNIGHT ERRANT 
 
 Grow rosy at my country breath. 
 I lent a shoulder to your ship; 
 I moaned with that sad hermit's lip; 
 I helped disperse the dragon's mist ; 
 And some bell's voice, 'twas yours I wist, 
 I handed up to winds on high 
 Who wing a loftier flight than I. 
 But, hark! a rider leaves the vale. 
 
 CLOUD. 
 
 Ah, yes, I catch the gleam of mail. 
 
 RANDOLPH. 
 
 speak again ye voiced ghosts ! 
 
 1 heard afar your cheerful boasts, 
 And, if I doubt not, ye are they 
 That here have met me many a day. 
 
 WIND. 
 
 We are they. 
 
 CLOUD, (echoing). 
 
 We are they. 
 But whither now doth Randolph stray, 
 And why the mail, and why the steed ? 
 
 123 
 
THE KNIGHT ERRANT 
 
 RANDOLPH. 
 
 This is my father's mail indeed, 
 Bequeathed with message to his son : 
 *'Stand straight in it and yield to none." 
 
 WIND. 
 
 But whither off and why away ? 
 
 RANDOLPH. 
 
 Pff to the world ; I cannot stay — 
 That world I have so often viewed 
 Here from this upper solitude — 
 This bulwark barring strife and trade. 
 Love calls me off. I love a maid, 
 Loving her silently and long, 
 Learning for her to hate the wrong, 
 
 Learning for her to seek the right, 
 To hew at sloth and faint resolve 
 And thoughts that round but self revolve. 
 And pray for grace and virtue — wings 
 That bear men to the highest things, 
 
 Enwrapt and rising into light. 
 For her, for her, O Cloud and Wind ! 
 I trained my limbs and taught my mind. 
 Ran, wrestled, clomb, and learned to bend 
 
 124 
 
THE KNIGHT ERRANT 
 
 The cross-bow with each village friend; 
 And by my hermit-guardian spent 
 The earliest dimness morning lent, 
 And the faint torch that evening bore, 
 In science and in saintly lore, 
 Reading the stars and signs of rain, 
 Noting each tree and herb and grain ; 
 Each bird that flutters through the leaves, 
 Each beast, each fish that green lake cleaves, 
 The curious deeds Devotion paints 
 In missals and in lives of saints. 
 And every olden subtle trick 
 Of grammar, logic, rhetoric. 
 But most on chivalry I turned 
 A torrent eagerness, and burned 
 To hear of wrong repaired, or read 
 The working of some famous deed, 
 Like those I dreamt that I could do 
 When what I set myself was through : 
 Vexed lest the inward clock of fate 
 That ticked 'Too soon !" might tick 'Too late!' 
 But now that dial points the hour 
 When I must test my gathered power, 
 And leave my books and leave my dreams 
 Of steeds and towers and knightly themes, 
 Of tourney gay and woodland quest, 
 
 125 
 
THE KNIGHT ERRANT 
 
 Of Perceval and Perce forest, 
 Of Richard, Arthur, Charlemain, 
 Amadis and the Cid of Spain — 
 Must leave them all and seek alone 
 Some grand adventure of my own. 
 
 CLOUD. 
 
 Yet if you seek and cannot find 
 
 Or fail to work what you designed. 
 
 Be it but as the steadfast sun 
 
 Who bright or dim his course doth run, 
 
 And last doth reach as far a spot 
 
 Whether he seems to shine or not. 
 
 RANDOLPH. 
 
 The height, the fynial of my aim 
 Is to be worthy of her name, 
 
 CLOUD. 
 
 You mortals are a curious race — 
 More whirled by passions, hot in chase 
 Of passions, than myself am whirled 
 When tempests tug me o^er the world ; 
 I cannot understand your ways. 
 We clouds live our divinest days 
 
 126 
 
THE KNIGHT ERRANT 
 
 Beneath great sunny depths of sky, 
 High above all that you think high, 
 Drifting through sunset's surf of gold. 
 Dawn-lakes and moonlight's clear waves cold, 
 In realms so distant, chill and lone, 
 That Love, impatient, leaves the throne 
 To meditative Amity. 
 
 RANDOLPH. 
 
 So would my guardian have it be. 
 
 So flowed his constant voice to me. 
 
 Of those to make me one, he sought. 
 
 Who watch from mountain towers of thought, 
 
 Or wandering into paths apart 
 
 Pursue the lonely star of art. 
 
 WIND. 
 
 But you would rather love and do. 
 Well said, so much the wiser you ! 
 But let your love be false as maid's, 
 Your every fire a flame that fades — 
 A word, a smile, an easy thing 
 To fledge and easy taking wing. 
 Kiss every lip, as tired of rest 
 As I am now. I'm off to west. 
 
 127 
 5 
 
THE KNIGHT ERRANT 
 
 Good-bye, and some day when you're hot 
 I'll meet you cool. 
 
 CLOUD. 
 
 And I should not 
 
 Delay my showers so long as this. 
 
 God speed! Good-bye! 
 
 RANDOLPH. 
 
 Good-bye. 
 
 I miss 
 
 Their wonderful companionship. 
 So onward seems the world to slip. 
 Now one glance backward firmly cast ; 
 Thy next foot forward bears thee past 
 The mountain's crest. Ah, I behold 
 Our reckless river leaping bold 
 Down all its ledges. And I see 
 The castle where Elaine must be. 
 Lo, in yon window sits she oft. — 
 From yon green maze of willows soft 
 I hear our hermitage's bell. 
 Sweet sound, sweet many scenes, farewell. 
 Elaine! Elaine! 
 
 128 
 
Cujus Animae Propicietur Deus 
 
 A QUIET, old cathedral folds apart 
 
 At Oxford, from the world of colleges 
 A world of tombs, and shades them in its heart ; 
 
 Contrasting with the busy knowledges 
 This wisdom, that they all shall end in peace. — 
 "Vex you not, slaves of truth! there is release." 
 
 There every window is a monument 
 
 Emblazoned : every slab along the pave, 
 Each effigy with knees devoutly bent, — 
 
 Or prone, with folded gauntlets, — is a grave. 
 Unnoticed down the sands of Kronos run : 
 Slow move the sombre shadows with the sun. 
 Hard by a Norman shaft, along the floor 
 
 A portraiture on ancient bronze designed 
 In Academic hood and robes of yore, 
 
 Commemorates some by-gone lord of mind. 
 Mournful the face and dignified the head : 
 A man who pondered much upon the dead. 
 
 Repose unbroken now his dust surrounds, 
 
 He is with those whom mortals honor most. 
 Respect and tender sighs and holy sounds 
 129 
 
CUJUS ANIM^ PROPICIETUR DEUS 
 
 Of choirs, and the presence of the Holy Ghost 
 And fellow spirits and shadowy mem'ries dear 
 Make for his rest a sacred atmosphere. 
 
 Sometime a gentle and profound Divine, 
 
 Father revered of spiritual sons. 
 He died. They laid him here. About his shrine, 
 
 Of what they wrote this remnant legend runs: 
 "Nascitur omnis homo peccato mortuus 
 Una post cineres virtus vivere sola facit."''' 
 
 There as I breathed the lesson of the dead : 
 Sudden the rich bells chorussed overhead : 
 "O be not of the throng ephemeral 
 
 To whom to-day is fame, to-morrow fate, 
 Proud of some robe no statelier than a pall, 
 Mad for some wreath of cypress funeral — 
 A phantom generation fatuate. 
 Stand thou aside and stretch a hand to save. 
 Virtue alone revives beyond the grave." 
 
 * "Every man is born dead in sin. Virtue alone brings life 
 eternal." 
 
 130 
 
Stanchezza 
 
 EARLY LINES. 
 
 T O ZEPHYR floats, on pinions delicate, 
 
 Past the dark belfry, where a deep-toned bell 
 Sways back and forth, Grief tolling out the knell 
 
 For thee, my friend, so young and yet so great. 
 
 Dead — thou art dead. The destiny of men 
 Is ever thus, like waves upon the main 
 To rise, grow great, fall with a crash and wane. 
 
 While still another grows to wane again, 
 
 Dead — ^thou art dead. Would that T too were 
 gone 
 And that the grass which rustles on thy grave 
 Might also over mine forever wave 
 
 Made living by the death it grew upon. 
 I ask not Orpheus-like, that Pluto give 
 Thy soul to earth. I would not have thee live. 
 
 131 
 
Praeterita Ex Instantibus 
 
 T-JOW strange it is that, in the after age, — 
 When Time's clepsydra will be nearer dry — 
 That all the accustomed things we now pass by 
 
 Unmarked, because familiar, shall engage 
 
 The antique reverence of men to be; 
 
 And that quaint interest which prompts the sage 
 The silent fathoms of the past to gauge 
 
 Shall keep alive our own past memory, 
 
 Making all great of ours — the garb we wear — 
 Our voiceless cities, reft of roof and spire^ — 
 The very skull whence now the eye of fire 
 
 Glances bright sign of what the soul can dare. 
 
 So shall our annals make an envied lore, 
 
 And men will say, Thus did the men of yore.' 
 
 132 
 
Sunrise 
 
 EARLY LINES. 
 
 T SAW the shining-limbed Apollo stand, 
 
 Exultant, on the rim of Orient, 
 
 And well and mightily his bow he bent, 
 
 And unseen-swift the arrow left his hand. 
 
 Far on it sped, as did those elder ones 
 
 That long ago shed plague upon the Greek — 
 Far on— and pierced the side of Night, who weak 
 And out of breath with fright, fled to his sons, 
 The nether ghosts ; and lo ! his jewelled robe 
 No more did shade a sleep-encircled world ; 
 And thereupon the faery legions furled 
 
 The silk of silence, and the wheeling globe 
 Spun freer on its g^and, accustomed way, 
 While ail thin^ living rose to hail the d^. 
 
 133 
 
Reality 
 
 A FANCY. 
 
 T^ADE lesser dreams, that, built of tenderness, 
 Young trust and tinted hopes, have led me long. 
 These jagged ways ye whiled will pain me less 
 Than hath your falsity. Your spirit song 
 Sent magic wafted up and down along 
 The waves of wind to me. Your world was real. 
 There was no ruder world that I could feel. 
 I lived in dreams and thought you all I would. 
 Nor knew what dread, bare truth is doomed to rise, 
 When love and hope and all but one far Good, 
 Like sunset lands feel the cold night of lies. 
 
 Go, sweetest visions, die amid my tears. 
 For hence, nor cheered, nor blinded, must I seek 
 That larger dream that cannot fade ; though years 
 Of leaden days and leagues of by-path bleak 
 Must intervene, with austere sadness gray. 
 Fade dimmer! lest in agony I turn 
 And heartsick seek ye, though the Fates shriek "Nay !" 
 And the wroth heavens with judgment lightnings 
 bum.' 
 
 134 
 
REALITY 
 
 Go useless lesser dreams. And where they were, 
 Rise, grave aerial Good! Thy texture*s true. 
 There is no good can die. "No ill," says Time, "can 
 
 bear, 
 However beautiful, my long, long earnest view." 
 
 135 
 
Searchings 
 
 EARLY LINES. 
 
 C OUL, thou hast lived before. Thy wing 
 Hath swept the ancient folds of light 
 Which once wrapt stilly everything, 
 Before the advent of a Night. 
 
 O thou art blind and thou art dead 
 Unto the knowledge that was thine. 
 
 A longing and a dreamy dread 
 Alone oft shadow the divine. 
 
 Full loud calls past eternity, 
 
 But Lethe's murmur stills its roar, 
 
 The one vague truth that reaches thee 
 Is this — that thou hast lived before. 
 
 Home often comes some voice of eld 
 Confused and low — a broken surge 
 
 By fate and distance half withheld — 
 Rich in linked sadness like a dirge. 
 
 The muffled, great bell Silence clangs 
 His solemn call, and thou, O soul ! 
 136 
 
SEARCHINGS 
 
 Dost stir in sense's torpid fangs, 
 Like the blind magnet, toward a pole. 
 
 The deep, vast, swelling organ-sound ; 
 
 The cadence of an evening flute, 
 Bring oft those ancieut joys around 
 
 To linger till the notes are mute. 
 
 And when thy hushed breathing fills 
 
 The shrine of quiet reverence. 
 Then, too, a freeing angel stills 
 
 The clanking of the chains of sense. 
 
 But nearest to that former life 
 
 Another power calleth thee. 
 Away from care, away from strife. 
 
 Toward what thou wast — infinity. 
 
 And in thee, soul, the deepest chord 
 Thrills to a strain rung from above ; 
 
 That strain is bound within a word, 
 A sole, sweet word, and it is — Love. 
 
 Love — yet it cannot set them free 
 To sweep again those folds of light, 
 
 It torches but a part to thee 
 
 And dim, though fair. The rest is night. 
 
 137 
 
SEARCHINGS 
 
 As the fine structure of a man 
 
 Fits into life's great world, foremade, 
 
 So too it shadoweth the plan 
 Of ages hidden in the shade. 
 
 And thou hast lived before; hast known 
 
 The depth of every mystery, 
 Has dwelt in Nature, hid, alone 
 
 And winged the blue aetherial sea ; 
 
 Hast looked upon the ends of space ; 
 
 Hast visited each rolling star, — 
 Before Time measured forth his pace, 
 
 Scythe-armed, on a terrestrial war. 
 
 138 
 
Homer 
 
 EARLY LINES. 
 
 ^TpIME, with his constant touch, has half erased 
 The memory, but he cannot dim the fame 
 
 Of one who best of all has paraphrased 
 The tale of waters with a tale of flame. 
 Yet left us but his accents and his name. 
 
 Upon that life, the sun of history 
 
 Shines not, but Legend, like a moon in mist, 
 
 Sheds over it a weird uncertainty. 
 In which all figures wave and actions twist. 
 So that a man may read them as he list. 
 
 We know not if he trod some Theban street. 
 And sought compassion on his aged woe, 
 We know not if on Chian sand his feet 
 Left footprints once ; but only this we know. 
 How the high ways of fame those footprints show. 
 
 Along the border of the restless sea. 
 
 The lonely thinker must have loved to roam, 
 
 We feel his soul wrapt in its majesty. 
 And he can speak in words that drip with foam, 
 As though himself a deep, and depths his home. 
 
 139 
 
HOMER 
 
 Hark! under all and through and over all, 
 Runs on the cadence of the changeful sea ; 
 Now pleasantly the graceful surges fall, 
 And now they mutter in an angry key 
 Ever, throughout their changes, strong and free. 
 
 How sternly sang he of Achilles* might, 
 How sweetly of the sweet Andromache, 
 
 How low his lyre when Ajax prays for light; 
 (Well might he bend that lyre in sympathy, 
 For also great, and also blind was he.) 
 
 We almost see the nod of stembrowed Jove, 
 And feel Olympus shake ; we almost hear 
 
 The melodies that Greek youths interwove 
 In paean to Apollo, and the clear. 
 Full voice of Nestor, sounding far and near. 
 
 140 
 
OLD MEASURES : COLLECTED VERSE BY W. D. 
 LIGHTHALL, HAS BEEN PRODUCED FOR THE 
 PUBLISHERS, A. T. CHAPMAN, MONTREAL, 
 AND THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY, LIMITED, 
 TORONTO, BY WARWICK BROS. & RUTTER, 
 LIMITED, TORONTO. 
 
C0310bTS33