The Emigrant Mechanic and Other Tales In Verse

T >> Thomas Cowherd >> The Emigrant Mechanic and Other Tales In Verse

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Once I owned a little thing
Called a daisy here about,
And it bloomed awhile in Spring,
But the Winter froze it out.

'Twas a pigmy flower at best,
Though in red robe it was dressed.
English daisy's lively mien
Never in its face was seen.

When it died I did not fret,
Nor a dirge sung o'er its bier.
Some few plants that I have met
Claimed at least from me a tear.

Now what is it that I see?
Daisies growing on a tree!
White and double--white as snow,
Hundreds of them in full blow.

Let me look awhile at them,
Even through sweet fancy's eyes.
Every flower's a perfect gem.
And as such I will it prize.

But let Fancy stand aside,
Common folks might me deride.
Thinking something ailed my brain,
Should I such a thing maintain.

Well, 'tis all as one to me,
Fancy still shall have the sway.
That _Daisies here grow on a tree_
_I_ mean to insist alway!

[Footnote: The blossoms of the double flowering cherry tree. They bear
a great resemblance to the white double daisy of English gardens, and
in fact were pronounced to be the same by a lady friend of mine. I took
the hint and wrote the above.]

THE CHARMS OF JUNE.

INSCRIBED TO MY WIFE.

The lilacs are now in the full flush of beauty,
The fruit trees have blossomed, the tulips are gay,
And birds' gushing melody points out our duty
To God who doth bless us so vastly each day.

Brilliant verbenas in rich robes are glowing,
And spireas their fair silver glories maintain,
While violets and lilies their charms are bestowing
To add to the splendors of sweet Flora's reign.

O, soon will the odors of bright blushing roses
Unite with the woodbines in fragrance complete;
For hoards of their incense this fine month discloses,
To all who are fond of a garden retreat.

Viburnum Opulus its snowballs is forming,
The peonies are ready to burst into bloom,
Rude Boreas has ceased for awhile his dread storming,
And Nature at last has got rid of her gloom.
[Footnote: Guelder Rose.]

In flower-bedecked fields or vast woods at this season
I would 'twere my privilege to frequently roam;
But fear such indulgence might well be termed treason
Against the sweet duties and pleasures of Home.

Then since this solacement by God is denied me,
I'll joy that in fancy it still is my lot
To rove with my own lovely Ellen beside me,
Through scenes that can never by us be forgot.

TO DR. LAYCOCK, ON HIS LEAVING BRANTFORD ON ACCOUNT Of
ILLNESS.

NOVEMBER, 1854.

Doctor, you must not hence depart
Ere I address a parting lay
Fresh gushing from an honest heart,
Which grieves because you cannot stay.

To Rhyme I make but small pretence,
Yet what I write is what I feel;
And should it prove but common-sense,
Many defects this will conceal.

I have oft wished since you came here,
That we might years together spend;
And now I hang 'twixt hope and fear,
In strange uncertainty, my friend.

Right glad, dear Doctor, would I be
If you left here in perfect health;
I know 'tis prized by you and me
As far before the greatest wealth.

And well it may! For that is wealth
In most men's hands but splendid dross
To purchase _friends_ who leave by _stealth_
Their friend, when he has found its loss.

Yet 'tis I own, when rightly used,
A goodly thing for you and me,
Who can't of hoarding be accused
At least from all that I can see.

Then take what I most freely give--
A wish sincere that you may yet
Return in health near us to live,
An honest livelihood to get.

And may your partner live to share
With you for years fresh joy and peace.
For this I urge an earnest prayer
To God who makes my joys increase.

TO MR. COWHERD, FROM HIS FRIEND, H. S. LAYCOCK.

[Perhaps my readers will have the goodness to pardon me if I here
present them with an exact copy of a Rhyming Letter which I received in
answer to the poem above from my much respected and greatly lamented
friend, the late Dr. Laycock, of Woodstock, Ont. I place it here
because of the compliment he was kind enough to pay me on my rhyming
abilities, and chiefly in relation to those Pieces to my Children. I
candidly acknowledge that it was his opinion, so freely and perhaps
flatteringly expressed, which weighed with me greatly as an inducement
for giving so many of them in these pages.]

Dear friend, though a poor hand at rhymes, I'll try
In _kind_ to your _kind_ verses to reply.
Together we have passed some happy hours,
Pleasantly loitering in the Muses' bower;
Not with the Bards who sing of Wine and Love,
But those who can the nobler Passions move
To finer sympathies, and by their art
Instruct, amend as well as cheer the heart!
Such Bard our COWPER. Oft his pleasing strains
Have won us to forget the cares and pains
The world lays on us all; WORDSWORTH the same;
And other bards besides _less known to fame;_
_Thyself,_ dear friend, amongst the rest. Thy rhymes
Flow from a heart in tune with Nature's chimes,
And breathings of Sweet Home, Domestic joys,
The opening graces of thy girls and boys,
And themes like these _to Nature dear_ please all
Whose souls like ours respond to Nature's call.
Nature, to whom proud Art can _lend a grace,_
But whom if absent _Art can not replace!_

Take these poor lines in haste and sickness penned,
As tribute from a warm and grateful friend,
Who, though thy kindness he can not repay,
Will ne'er forget thee, Cowherd, nor thy lay.

BRANTFORD, Nov. 16, 1854

TO MR. JAMES C----T

NOVEMBER, 1853.

"A friend in need's a friend indeed."

My friend much respected, 'tis hardly the thing
That I on some subjects so often should sing,
And yet never manage a rhyme to bestow
On one whose great kindness I'd gratefully show.

It oft has been spoken, as oft has been penned
That "It cannot be ever too late to amend."
And as I'm unconscious of lacking respect,
Will do what I can to repair my neglect.

O, can I look back to the time of my need,
When thou, under God, prov'dst a kind friend indeed,
And feel no emotion my bosom to swell?
'Twere baseness of conduct too shocking to tell.

Time was when chill penury stared in my face,
And I was made feel it almost a disgrace.
As a fruit of thy kindness that time has gone by,
So I to be thankful would constantly try.

O, well I remember how often I thought
My business endeavors would all come to naught;
That I, 'midst my toiling should surely stick fast,
And most sad disappointment meet me at last.

The Lord sent thee to me at such time of trial,
When exercised well with the grace Self-denial.
Thy kind way of speaking took from me my sadness,
And left in its place a rich increase of gladness.

And oft since that time though a much chequered life
Amidst this world's bustle, its turmoil and strife
My mind has been solaced with thoughts of thy love,
Which does thy relation to Christ clearly prove.

Under the weakness of age thou art bending,
Yet no doubt have I that the Lord is still sending
The joy of His presence thy spirit to cheer,
By doing thy duty while thou stayest here.

And Oh, may it please our kind Father and God
Thy steps to support with his "Staff and his Rod;"
Then cause his bright Angels thy way to attend,
And thus bring thee safely to Life-journey's end.

May thy good example to those that remain,
Be useful in showing Religion is gain,
That they may still follow the path that Christ trod,
And join thee in singing the praises of God.

TO THE CHRISTIANS OF BRANTFORD.

OCTOBER, 1853.

Christians of Brantford, list awhile,
An humble Rhymer speaks to you.
Perhaps the fact may cause a smile,
Though I speak not from motives vile,
But with your interest full in view.

You are engaged in warfare great
With that great sin which oft has made
A loving husband full of hate,
A young wife's beauty quickly fade,
And early death become her fate.

You have to grapple with that fiend
That oft has made poor children weep,
Bereft them too of every friend,
Who would unto their wants attend--
When they were sick afford relief.

You are engaged in mortal strife
With that huge serpent which ere now
Has poisoned all the joys of life,
Made many homes with discord rife,
And sunk poor human nature low.

With him that oft has torn away
The laurel from the Sons of Fame,
Caused them from Wisdom's paths to stray,
Has turned to darkness their bright day,
And covered them all o'er with shame.

Young as some are, all must have seen
His potent arm stretched forth to strike
As victims those who long had been
Striving on human aid to lean.
Mind friends you never do the like!

Oh, have you thought upon his power,
And learned how weak are mortal men
When brought into temptation's hour,
And "storms arise and tempests lower?"
The _strong_ may even falter then.

And feeling weak have you been led
To put your trust in God alone,
Who with his bounteous hand hath fed
You all your lives, and in the stead
Of guilty man did sin atone?

If you have not done this before
O flee, my dear young friends, away
To Jesus Christ, the friend who bore
Our sins, that he might us restore
To God and Bliss and Endless Day.

TO THE SAME.

NOVEMBER, 1854.

Christians, arouse you! Quick, up and be doing!
The monster Intemperance stalks through our land!
Unfurl wide your banners, and good still pursuing,
On "No Truce with Tyrants!" let each take his stand.
Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand!
The might of this evil but few can withstand!

Shrieks and groans from the dying are heard all around you,
And heartrending sights every day are displayed;
While blasphemous curses may well nigh astound you,
And dangers fast thicken; yet be not dismayed.
Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand!
If these things appal you your help they demand.

Thousands of widows and orphans call on you
Who lost their support from this tyrant's attacks,
And he with his legions may soon fall upon you,
If you now shrink from duty or show him your backs.
Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand!
Your own peace and safety your efforts demand.

Our Jails and Asylums are full to o'erflowing
With victimized wretches struck by this fiend's hand,
And many poor youths unsuspicious are going
To destruction, led on by his magical wand.
Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand!
The doom which hangs o'er them gives forth the command.

Then muster your forces and stand forth unyielding,
In the name of Humanity heed not his rage.
Mind not his blandishments--evil still gilding--
But ever determine to war with him wage.
Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand!
In this monster's overthrow firmly now stand.

Christians, arouse you! Quick, up and be doing!
For help look to God's own Omnipotent Arm!
Let no Tempter charm with the soft voice of wooing,
Or frighten your hearts by the sounds of alarm.
Lend, lend a hand! Lend, lend a hand!
'Midst trials and dangers like true heroes stand.

VERSES WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER READING HORACE SMITH'S
"BACHELOR'S FARE."

1854.

He who wrote these lively verses
Hath his talents misemployed,
While he marriage ills rehearses--
The conjugal life asperses
Which so many have enjoyed.

And each brown or blue eyed charmer,
Let her rank be high or low,
Must have felt such verses harm her--
Must have felt her cheek grow warmer
With just indignation's glow.

Were he then as bachelor living
He might speak of bachelor life.
But such men need not be giving
Crabbed views of man and wife.

If he were to fair one married
Greater still would be the shame;
It would prove love had miscarried,
He alone perhaps to blame.

Were it shown that he was jesting,
Jests like this with ills are rife;
Poets should be still attesting
This plain truth--Mankind are blest in
Chaste and sweet Conjugal Life.

Marriage is of God's ordaining,
Serving purpose wise and good.
Those who are from it abstaining,
Should be found always refraining
From treating it in jesting mood.

From experience I am speaking,
In protesting I prefer
A wedded life. If you are seeking
To have pockets with no leak in,
From it let naught you deter.

But this thing make up your mind in,
Choice should fall on one of worth.
Love of wealth some men are blind in;
For a wife may be worth finding,
Though she be of humble birth.

If you are a true wife blest in,
Mind you well fulfill your part,
That you may, all cares distressed in,
Prove the warmth of woman's heart.

I have proved it in rich measure,
And with honest brow declare,
Married life for sweetest pleasure
Can with any life compare!

STANZAS ON THE PEACEFUL STRUGGLE IN EUROPE.

APRIL, 1854.

England's real strength is in the Lord of Hosts

Slumbereth now the British Lion,
In his sweet green Island lair?
No! He rushes forth to die on
Europe's plains, or crush the Bear.

Now he may well hope for glory,
Warring in defense of Right.
Will he soon be faint and gory
From the Czar's most lawless fight?

Oh, forbid it, God of Battles--
In whom we would place our trust!
Ere is heard his cannon's rattles
Quench the Bear's most savage lust!

Turn him back to his own regions,
Though a wild and bitter clime;
Wide disperse his barbarous legions
In Thy own good _way_ and _time_.

If in Wisdom thou ordainest
This dread war shall still proceed--
Let us feel thou ever reignest
Through the saddest hours of need;

That thou still as Sovereign rulest
O'er the Nations of this world;
That thou yet mad Despots schoolest,
Ere they to the dust are hurled.

O preserve our generous Lion,
And his partners in the War;
Bid their hosts thy arm rely on;
Guard each soldier, shield each tar.

Let we see them soon returning
To their now deserted domes;
Let pure joy instead of mourning
Fill their fondly cherished homes.

May we profit by the lesson
Which events like this should teach--
Seek to put away transgression,
Act as healers of each breach.

Then we long may share God's favor--
From the Queen upon her throne
To the lowly son of labor
Toiling his poor crust to own.

LINES WRITTEN ON THE MORNING OF THE DREADFUL FIRE WHICH
CONSUMED THE B. B. & G. R. R. DEPOT BUILDINGS.

Oh! there has come on us a dreadful calamity,
Our fine Depot Buildings in ruin lie low.
And works which for months were in earnest activity,
To Fire's fearful ravage have been made to bow.

If the watchmen were both in the right path of duty,
How came it we every one heard with amaze,
That they saw not the fire till it fiercely was bursting
Right through the gable in one perfect blaze.

I would not indulge in ungrounded suspicion,
But truly the matter looks dark to my mind.
And I trust before long a most strict inquisition
Will be instituted, the faulty to find.

But should this be done would it rear up the buildings
That now form a rubbish heap blackened and hot?
Ah, no! and the Muse peering into the Future
Fears never such structures shall rise on that spot!

Then mourn, Brantford, mourn! for thy sad, sad misfortune
May well make thy sons to remember this day;
And all may well sigh and feel strongest emotion,
For troubles now thicken in blackest array.

And oh, it would tend to thy weal in the future,
If thou such events as a warning would take
To cleanse from thy dwellings Sin's dreadful pollution,
Lest God's greater judgments against thee awake.

TO THE REV. J. W AND HIS BRIDE

A MARRIAGE DAY

October 4, 1853

An humble poet--save the mark!
Wishes to give to you a lay
In honor of your wedding day,
But somehow labors in the dark,
And fears from etiquette to stray.

And why? No invitation came
To bid me tune my simple lyre--
To fan my low poetic fire,
Nor yet a hope of deathless fame
Which might for risk, serve me for hire.

I'll run the risk and fearless strike
A lyre too apt to slumber long,
And pour my thoughts in artless song.
Many there are who do the like,
And yet in this may do no wrong.

Now, I would hope sweet blessings may
Flow to you from our Father kind:
The rich gift of a happy mind,
In Wisdom's paths content to stay,
And purest peace in that to find.

I trust you will be filled with love,
Such love as God alone can give;
That you may still before Him live.
Placing your hopes always above,
May you his Spirit never grieve.

O, may you still, as man and wife,
Mutual confidence possess;
For this will free from much distress
Your family in after life,
And make your care and sorrow less.

May both such lovely patterns be
Of what your character requires,
That if brought through Affliction's fires
Mankind your purity may see;
And which to see God most desires.

And may you ever useful prove
In making known Christ's saving Name;
Your minds not swayed by worldly fame--
In urging souls to taste that Love
Which cheers our hearts through scorn and shame.

And should you by His Grace become
A numerous, holy, happy band,
Still he'll uphold you by His Hand,
Till all at last come safely home
Unto that glorious Spirit Land.

STANZAS ON HEARING AN AUCTIONEER QUOTE THE FOLLOWING PASSAGE OF
SCRIPTURE: "THERE WAS SILENCE IN HEAVEN ABOUT THE SPACE OF HALF AN
HOUR."--

REV. VIII, I.

Yes, vain Scoffer! so the Scriptures tell us,
But awful was the silence at that time;
A prelude of the wrath of God most jealous,
Expressed in dreadful thunderbolts sublime.

Oh! hast thou ever marked the scene that follows,
When the first Angel did his trumpet take
And blow a blast heard through all Earth's vast hollows,
Which did the mountains to their bases shake?

Or realize "the hail and fire commingling
With blood, and all cast down upon the Earth?"
To mention this should set thine ears a-tingling,
And check at times thy loud uproarious mirth.

But read thou on with most profound attention:
Dire woes stand forth in gloomy vividness!
Ah! would'st thou shrink from some vague apprehension
That the perusal might cause thee distress?

Know thou, what follows is but the beginning
Of plagues more fearful than we can conceive.
This thou must see, and yet thou keep'st on sinning,
As if such madness Conscience could relieve.

Stop, then, at once, lest in Eternal ruin
Thy soul engulfed shall see her folly great.
Flee now to Christ; become a suppliant suing
For pardon from Him ere it be too late.

WINTER'S RAVAGES,
AN APPEAL TO THE RICH ON BEHALF OF THE POOR.

NOVEMBER, 1857.

Stern Winter on foul mischief bent
Left his cold region of the North;
As his Advance-guard early sent
Loud howling blasts and snow storms forth.

These warriors hastened to obey
The mandate of their frost-robed King,
And as they came the Orb of Day
Withdrew his rays which gladness bring.

They, gathering strength as nigh the drew
Unto our homes, spread ruin round,
And thus transformed each beauteous view,
And in white mantle clad the ground.

Before their track lay pastures green,
While root crops in abundance told
How fruitful had the Summer been
Ere she away from us had rolled.

Behind them was a widespread waste
Of leafless trees and drifting snows,
And still with most malicious haste
They dealt around their chilling blows.

Anon their King in ice-car rode
With furious speed, and placed his seal
Upon the devastation broad,--
Exulting in his savage zeal.

This done, fair Nature at his feet
Lay prostrate in the arms of death!
And now the poor lack food and heat,
Benumbed by his dread icy breath.

For in our great Commercial World
Loud storms have rung their changes round,
While some are from high station hurled
And in chill Penury are found.

Our Workshops, erst with men well filled,
The scenes of Trade's most busy strife,
Are almost silent now, and skilled
Mechanics want the means of life.

And shall it e'er be said of those
Who have of means a full supply,
That avarice has their heart's blood froze,--
That they can see their brethren die?

Forbid it, O Thou gracious One,
From whom we every good obtain;
O, melt the hardest heart of stone,
And quell its cruel thirst for gain!

That those who have may freely give
Of food and clothes a plenteous store
To help the needy now to live:
"Those tend to God who help the poor."

A CANADIAN NATIONAL SONG.

Tune, "Auld Lang Syne."

O, no; I'm not an Englishman,
Though it is something great
To have for birthplace English soil,
And live in such a State;
Yet I'm not _now_ an Englishman,
For why? I crossed the sea
And live in dear Canadian clime,
The Land of Liberty

I am not _now_ a leal Scotchman,
Though born 'midst Scotia's hills,
And recollections of her scenes
My bosom ever thrills,
For I have sailed o'er ocean vast,
And to this land have come,
Where Freedom waves her banner o'er
My new, adopted home.

O, no, I'm not an Irishman,
Though sprung from Erin's bowers,
And Memory often takes me back
To those most happy hours
When, roaming o'er her fair green Isle,
With warmth I pressed her sod,
And felt my own, my native Land,
The best that foot e'er trod.

[Footnote: The writer's main object in writing this song was to do what
he could toward breaking down all remains of clannish feeling in this
highly important country. Should a company, consisting of one or more
persons from each of the countries mentioned, desire to sing it, each
one might take the part applicable to him, and when the several
sections have been gone through all join as full chorus in the last
stanza, or slight verbal alterations may be so made that any single
individual may sing it.]

For I have come to Canada
To settle on her land,
And to all her inhabitants
Give Friendship's honored hand.

I am no longer German now
Though "Fatherland" I loved,
And vowed remembrance to take
Of her, where'er I roved.
For here on this prolific soil
I own a splendid farm,
And lovely children growing up
Call forth my feelings warm.

I would not be a Frenchman deemed,
Though sprung of Gaulish race,
And their pure blood I freely can
In my forefathers trace.
For I would feel as much at home
As ever man can be
Back in our woods or in our towns,
Whilst I have liberty.

O, yes; we are Canadians now,
Wherever we were born;
And we will strive in time to come
To heal a land so torn
By party strife, by clannish fire,
And aim to live in peace.
Then put united efforts forth,
Till life itself shall cease,
To make her what she ought to be--
Acknowledged on each hand
A noble, free, and powerful State,
A great and glorious Land!

A CALL TO THE SOIREE* OF THE MECHANIC'S INSTITUTE, DECEMBER 23,
1857.

"Endeavor always to combine real good with pleasurable enjoyment."

Come, friends, to the Soiree; O why will you tarry
When good things are waiting you there?
For, after the eating, our friends, for this, meeting
Have speeches prepared with due care.

Let all upper classes give ladies cash passes,
'Twill cost but a very small price;
And what they may spend in a way that will end in
Real good, is a blow unto vice.

Come, merchants and doctors; come lawyers and proctors,
And treat all your clerks to the feast.
Fear not that your kindness will make them more mindless
Of what is your interest, the least.

Come, all ye mechanics, for no dreadful panics
Will meet you with grim spectre-faces.
Bring also your spouses, nor leave in your houses
Those charmers who wear childhood's graces.

Come, each son of labor, and do us the favor
Of tasting the good things provided.
A truce to your moiling! for hard daily toiling
Gives Rank that must ne'er be derided.

Haste all to the Soiree; none need to be sorry
For giving our Institute aid.
The good you may do us'll diffuse itself through us
To the townsfolks of every grade.

* Pronounced as nearly as possible, _swarry_.

AN ADDRESS BY THE MEMBERS OF THE "INSTITUTE" TO THEIR FRIENDS
AT THE SOIREE.

Dear friends, to this our social feast,
We bid you welcome gladly,
And trust you will not in the least
Spend moments with us sadly.

For though we've no great Bardling's strain
Joined to rich organ's pealing,
Yet none the less may Pleasure's train
Be softly near us stealing.

And should she deign to show her face,
To smile on us benignly,
Let's give to her a chaste embrace,
By no means most supinely.

What though we lack exciting cause
For loud, uproarious laughter?
Our temperate fare will not dispose
To heart-upbraidings after.

Yet we may well of mirth-enjoy
A reasonable measure;
And even skill and time employ
To gain so bright a treasure.

Avoiding still too great extremes,
Enjoy in moderation
The blessings which our Father deems
Best for us in each station.

Then we need have no vain regrets,
No consciences unruly,--
For sense of doing right begets
A sense of peace most truly.

ALCOHOL'S ARRAIGNMENT AND DOOM.

Alcohol! Alcohol! who are thy victims?
Come, answer me quickly; stand forth to the bar!
That frown most defiant
Will not make me pliant,
I've pledged myself firmly to wage with thee war.
For years thy dread shock
I have borne like a rock,
Still leaning for help on God's mighty aim.

Say, Alcohol, truly, who are thy victims?
"Of the rich and the poor, the good and the fair,
Mankind of each standing,
Know well I've a hand in
The havoc and ruin they see everywhere!
Daily with fury
From Still and from Brewery
I'm dealing out death without much alarm.

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