Part 1

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_

FLEURS DE LYS, AND OTHER POEMS 1887, E. M. RENOUF, MONTREAL

THE ROMANCE OF SIR RICHARD, SONNETS, AND OTHER POEMS 1890, W. DRYSDALE & CO., MONTREAL

THE SNOWFLAKE

AND

OTHER POEMS

BY

ARTHUR WEIR

MONTREAL: JOHN LOVELL & SON 1897

Copyrighted, 1896, by Arthur Weir, Montreal.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

THE SNOWFLAKE 1

THE MASQUE OF THE YEAR 11

THE MUSE AND THE PEN 21

THE BEAVER MEADOW 27

VOYAGEUR SONG 31

DEDICATORY ODE 34

ENTERING PORT 36

WILD FLOWERS 38

DEDICATORY BALLAD 41

TIMOR MORTIS CONTURBAT ME 44

ON NEW YEAR’S EVE 46

IN THE CLOSING HOURS 50

WHERE HEAVEN IS 51

NEW YEAR’S EVE 53

PEGASUS 55

IT WOULD BE EASY TO BE GOOD 57

THE LITTLE TROOPER 59

CUPID’S DISGUISES 61

MUSIC 63

BABY’S STOCKING 65

MY DIVINITY 66

THE SLEEPING SOUL 69

THE MOTHER 71

PLUCK FLOWERS IN YOUTH 73

O FOOLISH HEART 74

MY HEART’S A MERRY ROVER 75

THE CIGARETTE SMOKER 77

TAKE ME AS YOU FIND ME 78

AT THE TRYST 79

SONNETS IN CALIFORNIA 80

THE POOL OF SANT’ OLINE 83

WINTER IN THE SOUTH 85

THE KINDERGARTEN 87

THE POET 89

GOLD TRESSES 91

EN ROUTE 93

AT DAWN 95

MY STAR 97

TO A PICTURE 99

THE POET AND HIS RHYMES 101

TO AN INFANT 103

TO SCOTLAND 105

ROSINA VOKES 106

A LITTLE MAID 107

SAMSON AND DELILAH 109

MY LADY’S BONNET 110

FLOWERS AND FEARS 111

THE ROSEBUD 112

NIL DESPERANDUM 113

FLESH AND SPIRIT 114

IN CHURCH 115

SUCCOR THE CHILDREN 116

THE SUNSET LESSON 117

AS FROM THE NECTAR-LADEN LILY 118

MUMMY THOUGHTS 119

TO CERTAIN NATURE POETS 120

THE PATRIARCH’S DEATH 121

OH, WERE IT NOT 122

FAREWELL 123

THE TIDE 124

MY COMRADE 125

MY GIFT 127

HAMLIN’S MILL 128

A BALLADE OF JOY 130

REMEMBRANCE 132

THE GLOVE 133

THE MAGIC BOW 135

AT THE SEASIDE 137

THE ORPHANS 138

ALADDIN’S LAMP 139

SONG 142

QUATRAINS 143

TO

HUGH GRAHAM, ESQ.,

TO WHOSE

ENCOURAGEMENT, TASTE AND ENTERPRISE

THE AUTHOR

IS LARGELY INDEBTED

FOR

WHATEVER OF PUBLIC FAVOR HE ENJOYS,

THIS VOLUME

IS

Gratefully Dedicated.

ERRATA (corrected in this etext)

Page 23, Second verse, first line, for “And” read “As.”

Page 24, Second verse, last line, for “Thinkest” read “think’st.”

Page 27, Third verse, third line, last word, read “athirst.”

Page 86, Second verse, second line, for “a many” read “many a.”

Page 44, for Conterbat, read “Conturbat” throughout.

THE SNOWFLAKE

AND OTHER POEMS.

THE SNOWFLAKE.

Fierce Neptune’s daughter, beneath the water, In grottoes cool dwelt I, And, laughing, hid in the seashell’s lid, As fishes arrowed by. My feet were free to the undersea; I played amidst its gloom, And in the deep where the mermaids weep Above the hero’s tomb, Where the sea snake strips dainty maiden lips Of kisses once so warm, And the lifeless child, by the eddies wild, Is torn from the mother’s arm. The foam-browed billow my head would pillow Upon its bosom fair, While the restless sweep of the moon-led deep Would drift us here and there. I oft would float in the dainty boat The Nautilus oared for me, Out, far, far out, where a noisy rout Of breakers leapt in glee; Or further urge to the world’s dim verge, Where heaven meets the wave, And the seagull’s wing was the only thing To follow us was brave. Then called by the blast, as it glided past, I would turn and clap my hands, As the waves were tossed on the tropic coast, And furrowed the silver sands.

Where, with weedy locks, the bare limbed rocks Bend over the foaming sea, I oft resorted, and, as I sported, The sunbeams played with me. We would dance all day in the prismed spray, Or in the blossoms hide, That, trembling, clung to the crags and hung Above the boiling tide. Oftimes the cool, green depths of a pool Would lure me down to rest, Till the sunbeams came in a path of flame And found me in my nest. With colors gaily they decked me daily, And tempted me to fly Afar from the foam of my ocean home Aloft in the cloudless sky. But I said them nay, for the leaping spray, And cool, green depths of sea, Than the flight of birds and the sunbeams’ words Were dearer far to me. “I had seen,” I said, “to the sky o’erhead My sisters, laughing, soar For a merry flight through the azure bright, And never saw them more. I love my home in the ocean foam, I love the moonlit sands, And I would sigh in the depths of sky And die in distant lands.”

But who can prove to the plea of love, Unyielding and unkind? At love’s low call we hasten all, Like leaves at the voice of wind. And ere the moon at the night’s high noon Had twelve times orbed grown, My heart was stirred at a whispered word, My soul was not mine own. My lover was fair as the balmy air That follows after storm, When the careless sea, with a song of glee, Trips over the shallows warm. He was the first through the gloom that burst To bring the dawn to me, And he was the last from my sight that passed When darkness walked the sea. One shimmering day, as asleep I lay Upon the tide-worn sand, He stole apart, with an eager heart, From all the sunny band. He came to me, as I lay thought free, And bent my couch above, And while I slumbered, with words unnumbered, He pleaded for my love; Then as I woke at the words he spoke, And rising turned to flee, I was closely pressed to his ardent breast, And kisses were rained on me.

“My heart’s own dearest,” he cried, “why fearest Thou to take flight with me? Is there aught more fair than the realms of air In yonder sullen sea? Is the sea-gull’s scream or the under gleam Of billows rushing by More sweet to thee than the melody Of larks in the azure sky? Oh, be thou my bride, and side by side We’ll float upon the breeze O’er river and town, o’er forest and down, Wherever we twain shall please. We’ll swim in the wine of the luscious vine Which brims the crystal high, And when of her lover the fond words move her, We’ll dance in the maiden’s eye. We’ll scale vast mountains and o’er gay fountains Hover in noon’s warm glare, And when night lowers, shall sleep in flowers That sway in the dewy air. And shouldst thou tire, nor more desire The airy plains to roam, But pine again for the leaping main And the drench of flying foam, We need but glide on the leaf-sown tide Of some swift coursing stream To our home at last, and the happy past Shall be but a varied dream.”

I could but yield as he thus appealed, And clasping hand in hand, With a parting glance at the sea’s expanse, Dun rocks and silver strand, We mounted high in the glowing sky, And, leaving home behind, Fared swiftly forth to the distant north Upon the balmy wind. O’er tangled brakes where the twilight makes For evermore its home, And the tiger sleeps and the cobra creeps, And prowling jackals roam, We floated fast, till the hills, at last, To bar our path appeared, And many a peak its forehead bleak And tawny flanks upreared. O’er many a cleft in the rocks bereft Of life and the sunlight’s sheen, Wild torrents were hurled to the under world, And wheeled the eagles keen. In faltering lines, the famished pines Pressed up the mountain sides, And sang to the blast, as it hurried past, The song of the ocean tides, Till I yearned once more for the tropic shore Beside the emerald waves, And my sisters gay and the dashing spray And ocean’s weedy caves.

On, on we went, till the distance lent The hills an azure hue, And the earth beneath was a naked heath Where winds in anger blew. We saw the smoke like a wave that broke Above the homes of men, And in the bowers of the meadow flowers Took rest for flight again. A myriad sights were a thousand delights As on through space we sped, But the happy day soon faded away And the sun in the west lay dead. Then the shadows of death with their icy breath Drew ever more surely nigh, And in frightened crowds the murky clouds Swept under the ebon sky. Afar in the north a fire flamed forth And flickered with ghastly light, Like a lamp that burns when a soul returns To God in the dead of night. Gloom blotted the hills and the tinkling rills Were bound in frosty chains, And the flowers once gay all lifeless lay Upon the dreary plains. There was no sound in the air around, No voice upon earth below, Save the angry beat of the wild winds’ feet, That wandered to and fro.

In a frenzy of fear, with many a tear, I clung to my darling’s breast, For the wintry night with its baleful light My timorous soul distressed. “Beloved,” he cried, “sweet sea-nurtured bride, My love brings sorrow to thee, For I feel at my heart the pitiless dart That Death has made keen for me.” I cried, “There are caves in the amethyst waves Wherein love may make life sweet, Oh! haste and return, ere the elements stern Have beaten us under their feet.” There was no reply to my passionate cry, No answering kiss to mine, And I felt in the storm from my trembling form My lover’s arms untwine. All heavy he grew, like a wounded sea mew That dies in the midmost air, And fell without sound to the frosty ground, And lay like a dead bird there. The tresses of gold on his forehead cold I parted, and kissed his brow, But his lips nor smiled at my fondling wild, His eyes nor knew me now. And the icy blast, as it thundered past The hollow wherein he lay, Tore him apart from my anguished heart, And carried him away.

I heard the trees moan in an undertone As the storm king struck them low, And the river flood grew still as he stood And bade it cease to flow. There was no flower in that sad hour Had strength to lift its head, And I was alone in a land unknown And mourned my love for dead. Then in countless hosts, like white-robed ghosts, My sisters lost drew near, And hemmed me round, but they made no sound My breaking heart to cheer. Each wore a star that glittered afar, Amid her flowing hair, And they went and came like the lightless flame That pierced the northern air. They floated high to the pitiless sky And gathered on the heath, Till their myriad feet did mingle and meet, And hide the earth beneath. And was it a dream that I should seem A snowy robe to don, And tread without pleasure their swift, weird measure, As the wintry wind piped on. Methought we flowed through that drear abode In sheets of spray and foam, As erst with hope and mirth on the slope Of waves in our ocean home.

Then many a day in a trance I lay Upon the dreary plain, Till, at last, I heard the pipe of a bird, And my heart grew warm again. At the bird’s sweet call through night’s thick pall The faint sun peered and shone, As of yore at home through the flying foam He looked from the gates of dawn. He looked and smiled, and the air, beguiled, Grew warm and bright again, And my sisters all each to each did call, As erst in the joyous main. Like the leaping rills from the sunny hills That tinkle to the sea, They sang as they glanced in the sun and danced On the rivers rushing free. The flowers awoke from their sleep, and broke With many an emerald spear And banner bright to the warm sunlight Through the leaves of the bygone year. And one with a crown of gold bent down And took me to its heart, “Poor waif of the storm,” it said, “grow warm And share of my joy a part. In the sky above there are many will love A heart as pure as thine; Leave grief with the past, like the shadow we cast As we hasten where sunbeams shine.”

I dwelt in the bower of the generous flower For many a quiet day, Till, on soft winds blown, the seeds were sown; And then I wandered away. For sake of my love, the sun above Upraised me to the sky, And east and west I went on my quest, But my dear one found not I. Oft I heard from brooks in shadowy nooks My sisters call to me To join their throng as they drifted along, Seeking the distant sea. And hearing their lays in the woodland ways Through autumn’s golden air, A yearning came that I could not name, Stronger than my despair. “If I must live on when my love is gone,” I murmured to my soul, “Oh, let it be by the throbbing sea My sisters make their goal. There let me rest like a child on the breast, Close to its great warm heart, Till my sorrows cease and I am at peace, O lover, where thou art.” So I sought the brook, and the sky forsook, And reached the sea at last, In whose briny waves and weedy caves I brood upon the past.

THE MASQUE OF THE YEAR.

(_Time is discovered seated in the midst of a bevy of maidens, each of whom represents a month._)

TIME.

Behold me, Time, inexorable Time, Twin brother of Death. Like him all hearts I tame. As babes with baubles play, so I with fame. I weigh all deeds, judge every poet’s rhyme, Sift heroes, smile at life’s quaint pantomime, Put down the present great, and oft reclaim From sad oblivion some forgotten name, Uplifting it to heights that are sublime. I sit, amid the months, upon my throne, Waiting to greet the New Year drawing nigh, And though it brings a destiny unknown, Naught need ye fear, since God is in the sky. Fate is God’s choice; be therefore of good cheer. Let mirth and song welcome each new crowned year.

JANUARY.

Far have I come, out of darkness, from chaos, The land of the future, dread realm unknown, Out of silence, alone. I have trodden the ice-fields of drear Baccalaos, Heard the grinding of bergs in the seas of the north As the gale urged them forth, And at midday have looked on the sun’s feeble glory With a smile of disdain, for the warmth that he felt Ne’er my bosom could melt. Death and stillness are mine, and, save wolves on a foray, All is still, all is shrouded, all Nature’s asleep, Under snow hidden deep. I am the ruler of uncreate chaos, Queen of absolute void, which life comes not anear-- First month of the year.

FEBRUARY.

I am the month of beginnings. I bear In my bosom the seed of all changes to come. As yet I am dumb, But Hope has been born in the breast of Despair. The pine boughs stir under their burden of snow, As though promise they know, Yet the sun shines no stronger, there’s naught that foretells The coming of summer. No song of a bird In the woodland is heard, Not a sound, save the stroke of the axe, as it fells Some wood king, whose form sinks beneath the keen blade, With a crash, through the glade; Yet the spirit of Nature’s awake, and the air Thrills with love. I soothe grief with my wonderful balm, Second month that I am.

MARCH.

I am the month of unrest and of yearning, Of wild and untamable hatred and love. I glide through the grove, Calling on Summer, so slow in returning. I seek for the fruit, bud, leaf, blossom and all. When they heed not my call, The winds I unleash, which, like hounds on the scent, Give voice round the farmsteads, and course o’er the moors, With a hundred detours, Till they leap on the forests, whose branches are rent. I heap up the snowdrifts, bind firmer the streams, And defy the sun’s beams. My heart throbs with hate, and all tenderness spurning, With winter again I span heaven’s blue arch. I am passionate March.

APRIL.

I am the month of transition. My breast Heaves with sweet, delicate hope, that beguiles Dreamy Earth into smiles. Through woodlands deserted I go on my quest, And summon the blood-root and shad-bush to flower Though they fade in an hour. I drop gentle rain on the faded, brown grasses, And loosen the soil for all tender, green shoots, To push up from their roots. I summon the birds, and where’er my foot passes, Sleeping Nature arouses itself at my call. I am helpful to all. While no ecstacy’s mine, I am never distressed, But tranquilly wander, to fate reconciled. I am April, the mild.

MAY.

I am the month of gay Summer’s beginning, When earth with its verdure smiles up at the sky, And the mayflowers shy, And sun-loving blossoms, their way to light winning Through strewn leaves of autumn, mute emblems of death, Perfume with their breath, The zephyrs released from their fetters of frost. The streams murmur cheerily under their banks Their melodious thanks For sweet freedom regained, as they flow and are lost In the broad, sunny river, that rushes along To the sea, with a song. Chill Winter’s forgot, with its woe and its sinning. Youth leaps in my veins--I am young, I am gay-- I am love-kindling May.

JUNE.

I am the month of sweet, virginal joy, When Earth, as the sun its first passion discloses, Blushes with roses, When all things are new, and nothing can cloy. The birds, in a cloudland of leafage concealed, By their songs are revealed. All is young, all is love. In the shadowy vales, In woodland and meadow, all Nature’s awake. At the wind’s kiss, the lake Breaks forth into smiles; but as yet passion fails To weary itself. Soul is searching for soul, And has not reached its goal. Life leaping to life doth each moment employ, And love doth all Nature’s grand chorus attune. I am virginal June.

JULY.