Canada and Other Poems
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T.F. Young >> Canada and Other Poems
He look'd each morn, with cultur'd scorn
On homely barks beside him,
And pass'd them by right merrily,
Whenever he espied them.
"O do but note how well they float,"
An aged man did say;
He pass'd him by with flashing eye:
"I've mark'd me out my way."
"And did you see how easily
Those ships their helm obey'd,
When in that storm your vessel's form
So near the rocks was laid.
Young man so stern, you've yet to learn
That sailing on life's sea
Is not an art to get by heart,
Just like the rule of three.
"You'll have to know this 'fleeting show,'
Tho' fleeting it may be,
Requires tact to think and act,
That is not known to thee."
Thus the old man said, but this youth so read
In varied arts and lore,
Bent not his neck, but trod the deck,
And calmly look'd on shore.
But soon the shore was seen no more,
The sea, so calm, got troubl'd;
The billows wild, no more beguil'd,
But round him boil'd and bubbl'd.
The craft it sway'd; the boy, dismay'd,
Saw how she rode unsteady;
The helm in vain they tug and strain,
For storms she is not ready.
She pitch'd and toss'd; she's lost! she's lost!
For see the rocks beside her;
Each effort's vain; she's cleft in twain,
And now, O woe betide her!
The old man spoke, as through her broke
The cruel rocks around her.
"Advice was vain; you took the chain,
And helplessly you bound her.
"For all your store of varied lore,
Tho' guidance and defence,
Was quite in vain to stand the strain,
Like rocks of common sense."
* * * * *
THE TRUANT BOY.
AFTER MOORE'S "MINSTREL BOY."
Oh, the truant boy to the woods has gone,
And you ne'er, alas, can find him,
He's strapp'd his empty school bag on,
For his books are left behind him.
He's gone to shake the beechnuts down
From a height--'twould make you shiver,
And stain his hands a gipsy brown,
With the walnuts by the river.
"Away from school!" said this youth so free,
"Tho' all the world should praise thee,
I'd rather climb this walnut tree,
Because it's such a daisy."
The truant fell, but the stunning shock
Could not bring his proud soul under;
"I'll try again, and here I go
To get those nuts, by thunder!"
So he tightly strapp'd his bag so neat,
This soul of spunk and bravery,
And said, "If I in this get beat,
I will go back to slavery."
But he climb'd the tree, and got the nuts,
And wander'd home in the gloaming,
Well knowing, as the door he shuts,
That his pa, with rage, is foaming.
But he gets some bread, and steals to bed
With his heart fill'd up with sorrow,
And shudders, as he looks ahead,
And thinks of school to-morrow;
He knows the score of lies he'll tell
Will scarce prevent a licking,
And he sadly wonders if 'tis well
To go thus walnut picking.
* * * * *
THE FISHERMAN'S WIFE.
The fisherman's wife stood on the beach.
One chilly April day,
And far out on the lake she look'd,
And o'er the waves, away.
The ice which late had spann'd for miles
This rolling, inland sea,
Had now releas'd its wintry grasp
The long pent waves were free.
And now resistlessly they roll'd,
And frightful was the sound,
As cakes of ice, dash'd to and fro,
Against each other ground.
A north-west wind had lately lash'd
The waves to fury wild,
But now they fast were sinking down,
Like tam'd and frighten'd child.
The woman caught their soughing sound,
As tho' she heard a groan,
And heard them roll upon the beach,
With sad and solemn moan
For late, with wild, hilarious glee,
Their reckless course had run,
And now, it seem'd as if they thought
Of all the ill they'd done.
The fisherman's wife stood on the beach,
And still her eyes did strain,
To catch of mast or sail, a glimpse,
Upon the inland main.
The woman turn'd her from the beach,
Loose flow'd her streaming hair,
And, louder than the white-rob'd gull,
She shriek'd in wild despair.
Three days ago her husband had,
For wife and children's sake,
Dar'd changeful gales and floating ice,
Upon the treach'rous lake.
With two stout hearts he left the shore,
To reach the fishing "grounds,"
Undaunted by the freezing winds,
Or ice-floes crushing sounds.
They reach'd the grounds, but scarce had turn'd
Upon the homeward track,
When came the wild nor'wester down
On their frail fishing smack.
Yes, wring your hands, thou fisher's wife,
For thou hast cause to wail
For him who left the fishing "grounds"
In that wild north-west gale.
'Mid frozen snow, and blocks of ice,
And fiercely rolling waves,
He and his little crew went down,
Uncoffin'd, to their graves.
* * * * *
YE PATRIOT SONS OF CANADA.
Ye patriot sons of Canada,
Whate'er your race or creed,
Arise, your country claims you now,
In this, her hour of need.
Arise, with right and valor girt,
To battle with the foe,
Which threatens to defy our laws,
And lay our country low.
Arise, for black rebellion's flag,
Again may 'mongst us wave,
And traitors in our country's camp,
May dig our country's grave.
The law was righteously enforc'd,
Riel did fairly die,
And why should we give way to those,
Who raise the rebel's cry?
In spite of priest's or statesman's voice,
Quebec, forsooth, must rage,
And, with her wrongful acts and words,
Insult experience and age.
And demagogues, with purpose vile,
Must lead the trait'rous cause,
And hound unthinking masses on,
To wreck our country's laws.
Then rise, each patriotic son,
And guard your country's flag,
Both for your own and country's sake,
Oh, never let it drag.
By vote, and action, if there's need,
Assert your country's claim,
To brandish high stern Justice' sword,
O'er any race or name.
Arise then, sons of Canada,
In purpose strong and bright,
Fear not the foe, nor doubt results,
For God defends the right.
* * * * *
A PROTESTANT IRISHMAN TO HIS WIFE.
"Just forty years to-day, my dear,
We sail'd from Irish waters,
And bade farewell, with many a tear,
To Erin's sons and daughters.
"You'll recollect how ach'd our hearts,
That day in Tipperary,
When we set forth for foreign parts,
For distant woods or prairie.
"You know our very hearts were rent
With grief, almost asunder,
And if we thought all joy was spent,
No exil'd heart will wonder.
"But soon we reach'd our strange, new home,
Where mighty forests flourish'd,
With others, forc'd like us to roam,
Who in our isle were nourish'd.
"But now I'm fairly happy here,
And so are you, my Mary,
But still I've seen you drop a tear
Betimes, for Tipperary.
"We've many friends from home, here, now,
And some we call our brothers,
While some we meet with clouded brow,--
Their creed, our feeling smothers.
"There's some from Dublin, Cork, indeed
There's some from distant Galway,
But ev'ry man, whate'er his creed,
Should own his country, alway.
"Tho' one attends the church, and one
Devoutly seeks the chapel,
Agreeably they yet might run,
Nor have one discord apple.
"True Irishmen have often met,
One common cause to feel,
And many a furious onset met,
With 'valor's clashing steel.'
"And surely there will come a day,
When common thoughts and aims,
Will shed a pure and healthy ray,
And show what duty claims.
"Sure Parson E. went o'er the sea,
And back he came so smiley,
With stick so fine from black-thorn tree,
For father John O'Rielly.
"Thus we, as Irishmen, should ne'er
Forget our common land,
Or claims of breth'ren, ev'rywhere,
Upon our heart and hand."
* * * * *
NATURE'S FORCES OURS.
I see the wild and dashing waves
Break madly on the shore;
With glee I watch their stately course,
With joy I hear their roar.
The howling of the wildest storm,
The shrieking of the gull
Drive quickly all of pain away,
And all my fears they lull.
I join my feeble voice with theirs,
Triumphant in its yell,
For evil powers of earth I scorn,
And all the pow'rs of hell.
Tho' men and devils both unite,
And all their force combine,
I feel, ye waves and howling winds,
That all your strength is mine.
For He who holds you in His hand,
And moulds you to His will,
Can whisper to all hostile pow'rs,
As to you, "Peace, be still!"
He bends your necks like osiers green,
Also the necks of men;
Therefore with you I raise my voice,
And shout aloud, again.
For you are on my side, ye waves,
And you, ye winds, are mine.
If I but cast off worldly cares,
If I my will resign.
Then let me feel what I have felt
Full oft, in days of yore--
A fearful, joyous pulse of life
Thrill through me at your roar.
Let me fling on your crests, ye waves,
My loads of heavy woe,
And on your wings, ye howling winds,
My cares and sorrows throw.
* * * * *
THE READING MAN.
With patient toil, from day to day,
The printed page he scann'd,
The page of learned book, or sheet
With news from foreign land.
And people thought him wond'rous wise,
And he himself was vain
Of all the knowledge he had stor'd
Within his jaded brain.
What other men were working at,
He knew from day to day,
But never dream'd his barren task
Was only idle play.
Fill'd with the thoughts of other minds,
His words were barren, dry;
He seldom coin'd a thought himself,
He had so many by.
And when he found himself alone,
Where self could only think,
He found the store within his brain,
A weight to make him sink.
What he had always thought were ends,
He saw were only means,
And, for his urgent purpose now,
Were worth--a row of beans.
With loud and bitter voice he curs'd
Newspapers, books and all,
That weaken'd his own manhood's force,
And drove him to the wall.
He saw that man must be himself,
Or he will live in vain,
That nothing in this world can take
The place of his own brain.
The man who rides, but never walks,
Should surely never pout,
If in a race he falls behind,
Where horses are rul'd out.
The man who thinks by press or book,
No matter how profound,
Will find a grave some day, beneath
An ink and paper mound.
* * * * *
A VIRTUOUS WOMAN.
Proverbs, Chap. xxxi.
A woman pure, oh, who can find?
Her price is dearer far than gold,
And greater in her husband's mind,
Than shining gems, or pearls untold.
In her he safely puts his trust,
And while her life shall last,
His welfare she shall surely seek,
His honor, holding fast.
With willing hands she works in flax,
In wool, and many other things,
And, rising early in the morn,
Her household's portion duly brings.
She buyeth fields, she planteth vines,
And girds herself to duty's round,
And far into the shades of night,
Her spindle plies with busy sound.
Her open hand, and gen'rous heart,
The poor and needy daily bless,
And in the cold her household walk,
All warmly clad in scarlet dress.
And she herself, in bright array
Of gorgeous silk and tapestries,
Brings gladness to her husband's face,
Who sits in honor 'mid the wise.
In honor and in virtue strong,
Her joy shall come in future days;
She speaks with gentleness to all;
The law of kindness guides her ways.
She governeth her household well,
And eateth not of idle bread,
Her husband gives the praise she earns,
Her children bless her worthy head.
Amid the virtuous and the good,
Of womankind she stands alone,
Unconscious of her priceless worth--
A queen on her domestic throne.
* * * * *
MAN.
One day I sat me down to write,
And thought with might and main,
But neither subject fit, nor thoughts,
Came to my barren brain.
And then I laid my pen aside,
With sad, despairing mind,
And, fill'd with self-contemptuous scorn,
I thought of human kind.
I saw a trifling, feeble race,
With narrow thoughts and aims,
Each noble aspiration crush'd
By rigid duty's claims.
Selfish and hard, they toil'd along,
And, in the bitter strife,
Neglected all that sweeten'd toil,
Or that ennobl'd life.
Another day I sat me down;
A happy subject came,
And pleasant thoughts light up my mind
With bright and cheerful flame.
And, as I thought, with heart aglow,
Self-satisfied I grew,
And guag'd with ampler girt, my mind,
And minds of others, too.
With satisfaction now, I view'd
Creation's mighty plan;
And had a clearer vision too,
And juster thoughts of man.
A toiling mortal yet, I saw,
But saw no more, a clod,
For far as mind o'er matter is,
He stood, plac'd by his God.
For now I saw to man was given
The right to rule and reign,
And bend all other pow'rs to his,
In nature's wild domain.
The light of endless life gleam'd forth
From his pain'd body's eye,
And tho' in shackles now it liv'd,
That light should never die.
The window now, thro' which it look'd,
Might clos'd in darkness be,
But in a world above, beyond,
Eternal light 'twould see.
And this is what I learn'd that day,
When I sat down to write:
That man, above all earthly things,
Sits plac'd by lawful right.
And tho' he lives this life below,
'Mid accidents and pain,
There is a better life for him,
When he shall live again.
And tho' his road upon this earth
Be dusty, bleak and bare,
Another, and a joyful road,
Is his, to travel there.
* * * * *
LIFE.
"What is life?" I asked a lad,
As on with joyful bound,
He went to join the merry troop,
Upon the cricket ground.
He paus'd at once with pleasant look,
This bright-ey'd, laughing boy,
"Why, life," said he, "is sport and mirth;
With me 'tis mostly joy.
"The tasks which I receive at school,
I feel to be unkind;
But when I get my ball and bat,
I drive them from my mind.
"With other boys I run and shout,
I throw and catch the ball,
Oh, life is a right jolly thing,
To take it all in all."
"And what is life?" I asked a maid,
Who trod, as if on air,
So lightly she did trip along,
So bright she look'd, and fair.
The maiden stopp'd her graceful steps,
And to my words replied,
"Oh, life's a lovely dream," she said,
With some slight boons denied.
"But love, and health, and beauty crowns
My lot so filled with cheer,
That joy beams forth from ev'rything,
To favor'd mortals here.
"The birds and flow'rs are fill'd with joy,
With joy the birds do sing;
The very rain that comes from heav'n,
Seems loads of joy to bring.
"And when I look to future years,
The view seems brighter still,
And brighter grow the perfum'd flow'rs,
As I go up the hill."
"And what is life?" I asked a man,
A man of middle years.
"This world is truly call'd," he said,
"A vale of bitter tears.
"I thought this earth a bright, fair spot,
But that was long ago;
I view it now, with truer sight,
And see a world of woe.
"With disappointment and regret,
And hopes thrown to the ground,
I live, but with an aching heart
I tread life's weary round."
"And what is life?" This time a man
With hoary hair replied:
"This life consists of gracious boons,
With evils by their side.
"To leave the bad, and choose the good,
Is done but by the few,
And that is why mankind are such
A discontented crew.
"With greed, the pleasure now is grasp'd,
Or what they deem is so,
Not thinking that each pleasure now,
May bring a future woe.
"My son, take heed to what I say,
And see thou mark it well,
All earthly joys, too much indulg'd
Will lead you down to hell.
"For Heaven's sake, I pray you now
To curb your youthful will,
Nor give your headstrong passions play,
To use their deadly skill.
"There's joy, my son, all through this life,
To meet, as well as woe,
And if mankind would act aright,
Much more of it they'd know.
"With prudence, virtue, for your friends,
And caution by your side,
And faith in God's o'erruling pow'r,
Your life will calmly glide.
"Content to bear the ills you meet,
Mix'd always with your joy,
For human prudence can't avert
Some woes, which still annoy.
"Pray that your mind be strong and clear,
And vigorous your frame,
Your heart inspir'd with love and fear
For your Creator's name."
* * * * *
A HERO'S DECISION.
He just had reached the time of life,
When cares are felt by men,
But when they're strong to bear them well,--
A score of years and ten.
"Heigh ho!" says he, "and this is life,
The dream of earlier years,
In which we see so much of joy,
And naught of bitter tears.
"I've lived a half a score of years,
In search of fame and glory,
For all earth's boasted joys I've sought,
But ah! what is the story?"
The story! 'tis the same old tale,
Told long, long years ago,
But strange, each for himself must learn
This earth's a 'fleeting show.'
"The dreams of sanguine, hopeful youth,
Are chiefly dreams alone,
Whose falseness often breaks the heart,
Or turns it into stone.
Fame's or ambition's giddy height
Is only seldom gain'd,
And often half the pleasure leaves,
Just when the height's attain'd."
But still I strive, and still I hope,
And still I fight the battle,
Besieg'd by earth's artillery,
With all its horrid rattle.
Then come, ye mocking earthly foes,
E'en come like fiends of hell,
I'll fight the battle till I die,
And I will fight it well.
"I'll change my tactics quickly, tho',
Fight on a diff'rent line,
And on my waving battle flag,
I'll mark a diff'rent sign.
Until this present moment, I
Have fought in single strife,
But I will fight no more alone,
I'll get myself a wife.
We'll then fight all who dare oppose,
E'en should it be her brother,
And when we've vanquish'd all our foes,
We'll turn and fight each other."
* * * * *
ODE TO MAN.
A man is not what oft he seems,
On this terrestrial sphere,
No pow'r to wield, no honor'd place,
Oft curb his spirit here.
He knows not what within him lies,
Until his pow'rs be tried,
And when for them some use is found,
They spring from where they hide,
To startle and to puzzle him,
Who never knew their force,
Because his unfreed spirit kept
A low and shackl'd course.
Dishearten'd and despairing, he
Had often sigh'd alone,
Not thinking that in other ways
His spirit might have grown.
Not thinking that another course,
Which needed pluck and vim,
Might raise his drowning spirit high,
And teach it how to swim;
To battle with the rolling tide,
That hurries onward men,
And raise his head above the waves,
That come and go again.
* * * * *
A SWAIN TO HIS SWEETHEART.
What subtle charm is in thy voice,
That ever, when I hear its tone,
My heart doth pleasantly rejoice,
And fondly turns to thee alone?
The mem'ries of a toilsome life
Are banish'd by its potent spell,
And earthly care, and earthly strife,
No whisper'd sorrows dare to tell.
Where hope had fled, new hope inspires;
Comes life, where lately life had gone;
New purposes my bosom fires,
To battle hard and bravely on.
What charm dwells in thine eye of blue,
That thus, by its magnetic pow'r,
The world to me hath brighter hue,
And happier grows each passing hour?
With virtuous thought, and pure desire,
Thine eyes look forth from lofty soul;
Contagious, then, my thoughts aspire
To reach, with thee, thy lofty goal.
Thine eyes contemptuously look down
On all that's sordid, mean and low;
Around thy head is virtue's crown,
About the feet is virtue's snow.
* * * * *
THANKSGIVING DAY.
God of the harvest, once again
Our joyful tones we raise,
For all Thy goodness, day by day,
We give Thee thankful praise.
With blessings rich, from fertile field,
And gifts from fruitful tree,
We wish, this day, our thanks to yield
With earnest hearts, to Thee.
We plough'd the ground, we sow'd the seed,
But Thou didst send the rain
In grateful show'rs, in time of need,
And now we've reap'd the grain.
The sun with grateful heat did shine;
The dew did nightly fall;
And now, for loaded tree and vine--
We give Thee thanks for all.
The bee, in well-fill'd honey cells,
Her sweets for us hath stow'd,
The crystal water in the wells,
For us from springs hath flow'd.
The lowing herd, the prancing steed
Receiv'd we from Thy hand,
And we, this day, return our meed
Of praise, throughout the land.
Then let us sing with earnest hearts,
Tho' joyful be each lay,
And thankful ev'ry song that starts
On this Thanksgiving Day.
* * * * *
A SUNSET.
"Oh come," said I unto my love,
"And let us view the setting sun,
And watch the fleeting clouds above,
So brightly color'd, ev'ry one."
Thus lightly to my love, I spake,
And she responded lightly, too,
And by my side her place did take,
Her young heart gladden'd by the view.
I walk'd along, she tripp'd beside,
Short was the time, until we stood
Above the rolling, glassy tide--
Above old Huron's mighty flood.
"Oh, see," said I, "the glorious sight,
Now spread before our favor'd gaze--
The clouds all flame, the sea all light,
The sun, one grand, terrific blaze."
E'en such a time, and such a scene
Could not love's gentle pow'r dispel.
I saw my love's grave, thoughtful mien,
I turn'd and said: "your thoughts pray tell."
"My thoughts! Oh yes, since you request,
My thoughts were centr'd all in you,
As chang'd my gaze from crest to crest,
Across the glassy ocean's blue;
"And, as I saw the waters shine
With polish'd splendor from the sun,
Thus gleam'd, I thought, this love of mine,
Thus shall it gleam till life is done.
"And, as I saw the bars of gold,
And clouds with crimson deeply dy'd,
Your love, I thought, was wealth untold,
And my heart's blood, your crimson tide."
"And yours," I said, "your love to me
Is one great, shining, glassy flood;
Your face, reflected, there I see,
So beautiful, so bright and good.
"My nature glows at thy dear name,
With deep, red heat, like yonder ball,
It shines with constant, ruddy flame;
It shines for you, but tinges all.
"But see, the sun has sunk to rest,
As if beneath the distant wave,
But still the colors in the west,
Show that he still shines from his grave.
"And thus, my love, when I shall sink
Into the dark and dread Unknown,
'Tis surely just for us to think,
Some rays shall shine for thee alone.
"And if it be my fate to stay,
While thou shalt calmly sink to rest,
'Tis surely right for me to say,
Some light from thee shall cheer my breast."
* * * * *
THE MAPLE TREE.
Where craggy hills round Madoc rise,
With scenic grandeur bold,
Where frowning rocks, from wooded heights,
Look down so stern and cold,
On peaceful vales, and silent lakes,
And islets, wild and fair,
Where trees, in fadeless beauty clad,
Display their verdure there.
Where men, undaunted by the force
Of nature's stern array,
Determin'd, drive a prosp'rous course,
And honorable way.
Here doth the oak rear high its form,
The spreading beech beside,
And here the hemlock meets the storm,
With branches stretching wide.
The pine, with straight and lofty stem,
The birch, whose shapen rind
Sails o'er the lakes by dusky hands,
Or favorable wind.
Such trees as those, are widely known,
And many more beside,
And may be found from Madoc's hills,
To Huron's waters wide.
Right dear they are to sturdy hearts;
To pioneers, their name
Lights up the thoughts of other days,
With bright and cheerful flame.
But dearer far than all of these,
Than all from sea to sea,
To Canada's brave sons of toil,
Is the stout maple tree.
The maple tree! the maple tree!
Because its leaf so fair,
Is emblem of our Canada,
And all our hopes are there.
Our country thrives, and so shall we,
On this, our native sod,
If we respect our maple tree,
And worship only God.
The maple leaf! the maple leaf!
Tho' in the fall it fade,
May it but die, to bloom again,
And brighten up the glade.
Oh, deeper strike each year thy roots,
Young Canada's fair tree,
That no rude hand may tear thee up,
Thou emblem of the free.
If on thy branch an eagle bold,
Or other bird of prey,
Shall dare with haughtiness to sit,
May it soon fly away.
* * * * *
GODERICH.
Where once the red deer, wolf or bear,
Pursued by hardy Indian braves,
Lay low, in cunning grove or lair,
And listen'd to the rolling waves.
Where once the maple and the beech,
In nature's splendor tower'd high,
Far, far beyond the white man's reach,
Was this lone spot, in years gone by.
The lofty bank, and level plain,
With wide-mouth'd maitland stretch'd to view,
Look'd out upon the inland main,
And back, where virgin forests grew.
No harbor then, nor water-break,
Made by the mind and hand of man,
But fast into the rolling lake,
In nature's course, the river ran.
No pennon stream'd from lofty mast,
No ships were there, propell'd by steam,
For then, instead of whistle blast,
Was heard the lordly eagle's scream.
The light canoe of birchen rind,
Sent o'er the waves by skilful oar,
Express'd so plain the untrain'd mind--
Content with this, it wish'd no more.
No chimneys, tall and massive made,
Show'd where the white man ground his corn,
For there no white man yet had stray'd,
Where but the forest child was born.
And now, where spacious mansions stand,
Where grace and culture now reside,
There clasp'd the Indian brave the hand
Of his own war-won forest bride.