Chapter 2

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!

I had seen Duty--soldier of his God-- Of Virtue and of Order sentinel-- Grand his firm countenance 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!' And 'If 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; 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."

TO A FELLOW-STUDENT OF KANT.

The 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.

TO THE SOUL.

AN ODE OF EVOLUTION

O 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!"

THE PALMER.

O 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 spurned 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 born! We are thy substance--spirit of thy degree-- Mist of thy bliss--fire, love, infinity! And only by some mischance from thee torn.

THE ARTIST'S PRAYER.

I 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.

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!

O Ether, proud, and vast, and great, Above the legions of the stars! To this thou art not adequate;-- Nor rainbow's glorious scimitars.

I 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.

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."

THE WIND-CHANT.

The Soul, the inner, immortal Ruler.--_Hindu Upanishad._

"Witch-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?

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 Æol 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.

"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!"

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 _I_ 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. 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 burns 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. Brother-man, I pray you stand, Hear a minstrel; but the song If you do not understand, Pass and do not do it wrong.

TO CYBEL DEAR.

LOVE-SONG.

Though 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.

THE STILL TRYST.

How love transcends our mortal sphere, And sees again the spirit-world, Forgot so daily. Thou art here;-- I know thee, sweet--though fair impearled Thy face in a far atmosphere To others,--hearing in the sea My love a-crying up to thee.

Thou by the surf, I on the lake:-- Yet in the _real_ world we meet; And O, for thy endearéd sake, Love, all I am is at thy feet. With thy life let me breathing take, And through all nature do thou see My love a-crying up to thee.

And with thine eyes shall I pursue Yon shower-veils from the sunset flying, Blown mid clouds white and lurid-blue That crowd the rainbow's arch, defying Him who in red death shoots them through. Look with me; in this pageant see My love all glowing up to thee.

See what I see, hear what I hear, I too am with thee by the wave-- One all the day, the hour, the year: Our trust of love shall be so brave, We shall deny that death is here Or any power in the grave. I know thee; thou canst love like this; Be ours the endless spirit-kiss.

Dusk falls. How purely shines that star, Concealed while day was in the sky; Life, love and thou not mortal are, Though atheist noon your world deny. Dusk falls:--though in the west a bar Of bloom on evening's pure cheek be; In beauty thy love cries to me.

THE CHICKIEBIDS.

The chickiebids are in their nest Overhead,-- Dimpled shapes of rosy rest Curled a-bed. Night has sung her spell, and thrown Her dark net round Their heads; their pearly ears have grown Deaf to all other sound.

O of me how you are part, Babies mine! Your hearts are children of my heart. The inner sign Of my eyes lurks in your eyes, And your soul, That so brims with Paradise, Stirs what wonders roll Unsuspected in myself, Who had thought Life half death, till childhood's elf-- Sign of angels men shall be-- Came and taught A youth eterne within futurity.

THE CAUGHNAWAGA BEADWORK SELLER.

Kanawâki--"By the Rapid,"-- Low the sunset midst thee lies; And from the wild Reservation Evening's breeze begins to rise. Faint the Kônoronkwa chorus Drifts across the current strong; Spirit-like the parish steeple Stands thy ancient walls among.

Kanawâki--"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. 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 Kanawâki! Let the rapids dash between Indian homes and white men's manners-- Kanawâki 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 Kônoronkwa chorus Floats across the current strong; Clear behold the parish steeple Rise the ancient walls among. Speed us deftly, noiseless paddle: In my shawl my bosom burns! Kanawâki--"By the Rapid,"-- Thine own child to thee returns.

MONTREAL.

Reign 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!

ALL HAIL TO A NIGHT.

All 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.

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.

THE PIONEERS.

All 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. 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! 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!

CANADIAN FAITH.

I.

In 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; Or who lived us calmer service;-- Many is the roll, and sacred;-- In their names 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.

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.

II.

"Is there a place, a work, a rank Our Canada is called to fill:-- She has but struggled till she sank Hers is it but to toil and till: No seat among the peoples ours."-- So speaks the Tempter in our bowers. So soft he presses on his bonds:-- But hark! a softer voice responds:

"Behold, Canadians, this your place, Your task, your rank, in earth _and heaven_ To make you an especial race To God and human progress given." Too holy is the task for jeers, Too lofty to permit of fears.

Ignoble is the fear of loss; The call of honour _all_ demands! What thought those generous hearts of dross Who sowed our races in these lands? Who blames the Loyalist of pelf? Champlain, what cared he for himself?

Ignoble is the dread of harm:-- Expurge it for a nobler creed! Until we smile at all alarm Poor will be our Canadian breed. He may not count on victories Who will not die as patriot dies.

Ignoble the consent to take The light opinions of our worth That strangers condescending make Who own not better brains nor birth:-- Children of men who toiled and fought, Build your own fate; respect your lot.

Arise! Live out a larger dream-- Your nation's that ye may be man's: Advance; invent; improve; the gleam Of dawn for all illume your plans! Greece lived! the world requires again The lives of nations and of men!

THE KEERLESS PARD.

No, I'm a disappointed man, Though I've acted fer the best; But I tell ye, stranger, what it is-- The Occident's not the West.

Have I got the hang of the dialeck? Ye're nearer New York ner I An' ye've seen th' latest litteracher This lingo's laid-down by.

What is Bret Harte now givin' us? How's the Colorado tongue? Bret wuz the pard that run the West When I wuz East--and young;--

That is to say, three months ago. But now I must be grey, Fer I've been out here so long I've lost The hang o' the Western way.

Way down thar in the State o' Maine, In mild Skowhegan town, I pastured as a tenderfoot An' the clerk o' Storeclothes Brown.

Till I got to readin' _Roarin Camp_ An' about that Truthful James, Buffalo Bill an' Bloody Gulch, An' pistol-an'-poker games,

An' the pleasure o' shootin' justices An' sheriffs deeputies An' the oncomplainin' public An' the gineral mob likewise.

Then I--wich my name is Dangerous Jake-- (Leastwise when took that way) Sloped unappreciative Brown An' follered the wake o' day.

An' here am I in Bismarck Jug! Fer an inoffensive spree-- Puttin' some buckshot inter the leg Of a pagan-tail Chinee.

Wot is the good of our churches Ef the Mongol's goin' ter rule? An' how kin ye shoot the redskin When they're givin' him beef and school?

What are the Rockies comin' too? Well, _I've_ acted fer the best. But the only remark I've got to make, is-- The Occident's not the West

THE BATTLE OF LAPRAIRIE. (1691.)

A BALLAD.

I.

That 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 Netherlander true And Mohawks sworn, gave battle To the Bourbon's lilied blue.

II.

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 rumors vast That filled the wild wood's gloom, With all New England's flower of youth, Fierce for New France's doom.

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.

V.

And those were brave old orders The colonel gave to meet That forest force with trees entrenched Opposing the retreat: "DeCalliere's strength's behind us And in front your Richelieu; 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!"

WINTER'S DAWN IN LOWER CANADA.