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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..47986e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52988 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52988) diff --git a/old/52988-0.txt b/old/52988-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e9db656..0000000 --- a/old/52988-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3343 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The White Wampum, by E. Pauline Johnson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The White Wampum - -Author: E. Pauline Johnson - -Release Date: September 5, 2016 [EBook #52988] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE WAMPUM *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - THE WHITE WAMPUM - - [Illustration: - - THE WHITE WAMPVM - BY - E·PAVLINE JOHNSON - - _Tekahionwake_ - - LONDON: _John Lane 1895_ - Toronto: _The Copp Clark Co:_ - Boston: _Lamson, Wolffe & Co._] - - - “And few to-day remain; - But copper-tinted face and smouldering fire - Of wilder life, were left me by my sire - To be my proudest claim.” - - -_As wampums to the Redman, so to the Poet are his songs; chiselled alike -from that which is the purest of his possessions, woven alike with -meaning into belt and book, fraught alike with the corresponding message -of peace, the breathing of tradition, the value of more than coin, and -the seal of fellowship with all men._ - -_So do I offer this belt of verse-wampum to those two who have taught me -most of its spirit--my Mother, whose encouragement has been my mainstay -in its weaving; my Father, whose feet have long since wandered to the -Happy Hunting Grounds._ - -_E. P. J._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - _Page_ - -Ojistoh 1 - -As Red Men Die 4 - -The Pilot of the Plains 7 - -The Cattle Thief 11 - -A Cry from an Indian Wife 16 - -Dawendine 19 - -Wolverine 24 - -The Vagabonds 30 - -The Song my Paddle Sings 32 - -The Camper 35 - -At Husking Time 36 - -Workworn 37 - -Easter 39 - -Erie Waters 41 - -The Flight of the Crows 43 - -Moonset 46 - -Marshlands 47 - -Joe 48 - -Shadow River 50 - -Rainfall 52 - -Under Canvas 53 - -The Birds’ Lullaby 55 - -Overlooked 57 - -Fasting 59 - -Christmastide 63 - -Close by 65 - -The Idlers 67 - -At Sunset 70 - -Penseroso 72 - -Re-Voyage 74 - -Brier 76 - -Wave-Won 77 - -The Happy Hunting Grounds 80 - -In the Shadows 82 - -Nocturne 85 - -My English Letter 87 - - - - - OJISTOH - - - I am Ojistoh, I am she, the wife - Of him whose name breathes bravery and life - And courage to the tribe that calls him chief. - I am Ojistoh, his white star, and he - Is land, and lake, and sky--and soul to me. - - Ah! but they hated him, those Huron braves, - Him who had flung their warriors into graves, - Him who had crushed them underneath his heel, - Whose arm was iron, and whose heart was steel - To all--save me, Ojistoh, chosen wife - Of my great Mohawk, white star of his life. - - Ah! but they hated him, and councilled long - With subtle witchcraft how to work him wrong; - How to avenge their dead, and strike him where - His pride was highest, and his fame most fair. - Their hearts grew weak as women at his name: - They dared no war-path since my Mohawk came - With ashen bow, and flinten arrow-head - To pierce their craven bodies; but their dead - Must be avenged. Avenged? They dared not walk - In day and meet his deadly tomahawk; - They dared not face his fearless scalping knife; - So--Niyoh![A]--then they thought of me, his wife. - - O! evil, evil face of them they sent - With evil Huron speech: “Would I consent - To take of wealth? be queen of all their tribe? - Have wampum ermine?” Back I flung the bribe - Into their teeth, and said, “While I have life - Know this--Ojistoh is the Mohawk’s wife.” - - Wah! how we struggled! But their arms were strong. - They flung me on their pony’s back, with thong - Round ankle, wrist, and shoulder. Then upleapt - The one I hated most: his eye he swept - Over my misery, and sneering said, - “Thus, fair Ojistoh, we avenge our dead.” - - And we two rode, rode as a sea wind-chased, - I, bound with buckskin to his hated waist, - He, sneering, laughing, jeering, while he lashed - The horse to foam, as on and on we dashed. - Plunging through creek and river, bush and trail, - On, on we galloped like a northern gale. - At last, his distant Huron fires aflame - We saw, and nearer, nearer still we came. - - I, bound behind him in the captive’s place, - Scarcely could see the outline of his face. - I smiled, and laid my cheek against his back: - “Loose thou my hands,” I said. “This pace let slack. - Forget we now that thou and I are foes. - I like thee well, and wish to clasp thee close; - I like the courage of thine eye and brow; - _I like thee better than my Mohawk now_.” - - He cut the cords; we ceased our maddened haste. - I wound my arms about his tawny waist; - My hand crept up the buckskin of his belt; - His knife hilt in my burning palm I felt; - One hand caressed his cheek, the other drew - The weapon softly--“I love you, love you,” - I whispered, “love you as my life.” - And--buried in his back his scalping knife. - - Ha! how I rode, rode as a sea wind-chased, - Mad with sudden freedom, mad with haste, - Back to my Mohawk and my home, I lashed - That horse to foam, as on and on I dashed. - Plunging thro’ creek and river, bush and trail, - On, on I galloped like a northern gale. - And then my distant Mohawk’s fires aflame - I saw, as nearer, nearer still I came, - My hands all wet, stained with a life’s red dye, - But pure my soul, pure as those stars on high-- - “My Mohawk’s pure white star, Ojistoh, still am I.” - - [A] God, in the Mohawk language. - - - - - AS RED MEN DIE - - - Captive! Is there a hell to him like this? - A taunt more galling than the Huron’s hiss? - He--proud and scornful, he--who laughed at law, - He--scion of the deadly Iroquois, - He--the bloodthirsty, he--the Mohawk chief, - He--who despises pain and sneers at grief, - Here in the hated Huron’s vicious clutch, - That even captive he disdains to touch! - - Captive! But _never_ conquered; Mohawk brave - Stoops not to be to _any_ man a slave; - Least, to the puny tribe his soul abhors, - The tribe whose wigwams sprinkle Simcoe’s shores. - With scowling brow he stands and courage high, - Watching with haughty and defiant eye - His captors, as they council o’er his fate, - Or strive his boldness to intimidate. - Then fling they unto him the choice; - - “Wilt thou - Walk o’er the bed of fire that waits thee now-- - Walk with uncovered feet upon the coals - Until thou reach the ghostly Land of Souls, - And, with thy Mohawk death-song please our ear? - _Or wilt thou with the women rest thee here?_” - His eyes flash like an eagle’s, and his hands - Clench at the insult. Like a god he stands. - “Prepare the fire!” he scornfully demands. - - He knoweth not that this same jeering band - Will bite the dust--will lick the Mohawk’s hand; - Will kneel and cower at the Mohawk’s feet; - Will shrink when Mohawk war-drums wildly beat. - - His death will be avenged with hideous hate - By Iroquois, swift to annihilate - His vile detested captors, that now flaunt - Their war clubs in his face with sneer and taunt, - Not thinking, soon that reeking, red, and raw, - Their scalps will deck the belts of Iroquois. - - The path of coals outstretches, white with heat, - A forest fir’s length--ready for his feet. - Unflinching as a rock he steps along - The burning mass, and sings his wild war song; - Sings, as he sang when once he used to roam - Throughout the forests of his southern home, - Where, down the Genesee, the water roars, - Where gentle Mohawk purls between its shores, - Songs, that of exploit and of prowess tell; - Songs of the Iroquois invincible. - - Up the long trail of fire he boasting goes, - Dancing a war dance to defy his foes. - His flesh is scorched, his muscles burn and shrink, - But still he dances to death’s awful brink. - The eagle plume that crests his haughty head - Will _never_ droop until his heart be dead. - Slower and slower yet his footstep swings, - Wilder and wilder still his death-song rings, - Fiercer and fiercer thro’ the forest bounds - His voice that leaps to Happier Hunting Grounds. - One savage yell-- - - Then loyal to his race, - He bends to death--but _never_ to disgrace. - - - - - THE PILOT OF THE PLAINS - - - “False,” they said, “thy Pale-face lover, from the land of waking morn; - Rise and wed thy Redskin wooer, nobler warrior ne’er was born; - Cease thy watching, cease thy dreaming, - Show the white thine Indian scorn.” - - Thus they taunted her, declaring, “He remembers naught of thee: - Likely some white maid he wooeth, far beyond the inland sea.” - But she answered ever kindly, - “He will come again to me,” - - Till the dusk of Indian summer crept athwart the western skies; - But a deeper dusk was burning in her dark and dreaming eyes, - As she scanned the rolling prairie, - Where the foothills fall, and rise. - - Till the autumn came and vanished, till the season of the rains, - Till the western world lay fettered in midwinter’s crystal chains, - Still she listened for his coming, - Still she watched the distant plains. - - Then a night with nor’land tempest, nor’land snows a-swirling fast, - Out upon the pathless prairie came the Pale-face through the blast, - Calling, calling, “Yakonwita, - I am coming, love, at last.” - - Hovered night above, about him, dark its wings and cold and dread; - Never unto trail or tepee were his straying footsteps led; - Till benumbed, he sank, and pillowed - On the drifting snows his head, - - Saying, “O! my Yakonwita call me, call me, be my guide - To the lodge beyond the prairie--for I vowed ere winter died - I would come again, belovéd; - I would claim my Indian bride.” - - “Yakonwita, Yakonwita!” Oh, the dreariness that strains - Through the voice that calling, quivers, till a whisper but remains, - “Yakonwita, Yakonwita, - I am lost upon the plains.” - - But the Silent Spirit hushed him, lulled him as he cried anew, - “Save me, save me! O! beloved, I am Pale but I am true. - Yakonwita, Yakonwita, - I am dying, love, for you.” - - Leagues afar, across the prairie, she had risen from her bed, - Roused her kinsmen from their slumber: “He has come to-night,” she said. - “I can hear him calling, calling; - But his voice is as the dead. - - “Listen!” and they sate all silent, while the tempest louder grew, - And a spirit-voice called faintly, “I am dying, love, for you.” - Then they wailed, “O! Yakonwita. - He was Pale, but he was true.” - - Wrapped she then her ermine round her, stepped without the tepee door, - Saying, “I must follow, follow, though he call for evermore, - Yakonwita, Yakonwita;” - And they never saw her more. - - Late at night, say Indian hunters, when the starlight clouds or wanes, - Far away they see a maiden, misty as the autumn rains, - Guiding with her lamp of moonlight - Hunters lost upon the plains. - - - - - THE CATTLE THIEF - - - They were coming across the prairie, they were galloping hard and fast; - For the eyes of those desperate riders had sighted their man at last-- - Sighted him off to Eastward, where the Cree encampment lay, - Where the cotton woods fringed the river, miles and miles away. - Mistake him? Never, Mistake him? the famous Eagle Chief! - That terror to all the settlers, that desperate Cattle Thief-- - That monstrous, fearless Indian, who lorded it over the plain, - Who thieved and raided, and scouted, who rode like a hurricane! - But they’ve tracked him across the prairie; they’ve followed him - hard and fast; - For those desperate English settlers have sighted their man at last. - Up they wheeled to the tepees, all their British blood aflame, - Bent on bullets and bloodshed, bent on bringing down their game; - But they searched in vain for the Cattle Thief: that lion had - left his lair, - And they cursed like a troop of demons--for the women alone were there. - “The sneaking Indian coward,” they hissed; “he hides while yet he can; - He’ll come in the night for cattle, but he’s scared to face a _man_.” - “Never!” and up from the cotton woods, rang the voice of Eagle Chief; - And right out into the open stepped, unarmed, the Cattle Thief. - Was that the game they had coveted? Scarce fifty years had rolled - Over that fleshless, hungry frame, starved to the bone and old; - Over that wrinkled, tawny skin, unfed by the warmth of blood, - Over those hungry, hollow eyes that glared for the sight of food. - - He turned, like a hunted lion: “I know not fear,” said he; - And the words outleapt from his shrunken lips in the language of the Cree. - “I’ll fight you, white-skins, one by one, till I kill you _all_,” he said; - But the threat was scarcely uttered, ere a dozen balls of lead - Whizzed through the air about him like a shower of metal rain, - And the gaunt old Indian Cattle Thief, dropped dead on the open plain. - And that band of cursing settlers, gave one triumphant yell, - And rushed like a pack of demons on the body that writhed and fell. - “Cut the fiend up into inches, throw his carcass on the plain; - Let the wolves eat the cursed Indian, he’d have treated us the same.” - A dozen hands responded, a dozen knives gleamed high, - But the first stroke was arrested by a woman’s strange, wild cry. - And out into the open, with a courage past belief, - She dashed, and spread her blanket o’er the corpse of the Cattle Thief; - And the words outleapt from her shrunken lips in the language of the Cree, - “If you mean to touch that body, you must cut your way through _me_.” - And that band of cursing settlers dropped backward one by one, - For they knew that an Indian woman roused, was a woman to let alone. - And then she raved in a frenzy that they scarcely understood, - Raved of the wrongs she had suffered since her earliest babyhood: - “Stand back, stand back, you white-skins, touch that dead man to - your shame; - You have stolen my father’s spirit, but his body I only claim. - You have killed him, but you shall not dare to touch him now he’s dead. - You have cursed, and called him a Cattle Thief, though you robbed him - first of bread-- - Robbed him and robbed my people--look there, at that shrunken face, - Starved with a hollow hunger, we owe to you and your race. - What have you left to us of land, what have you left of game, - What have you brought but evil, and curses since you came? - How have you paid us for our game? how paid us for our land? - By a _book_, to save our souls from the sins _you_ brought in - your other hand. - Go back with your new religion, we never have understood - Your robbing an Indian’s _body_, and mocking his _soul_ with food. - Go back with your new religion, and find--if find you can-- - The _honest_ man you have ever made from out a _starving_ man. - You say your cattle are not ours, your meat is not our meat; - When _you_ pay for the land you live in, _we’ll_ pay for the meat we eat. - Give back our land and our country, give back our herds of game; - Give back the furs and the forests that were ours before you came; - Give back the peace and the plenty. Then come with your new belief, - And blame if you dare, the hunger that _drove_ him to be a thief.” - - - - - A CRY FROM AN INDIAN WIFE - - - My Forest Brave, my Red-skin love, farewell; - We may not meet to-morrow; who can tell - What mighty ills befall our little band, - Or what you’ll suffer from the white man’s hand? - Here is your knife! I thought ’twas sheathed for aye. - No roaming bison calls for it to-day; - No hide of prairie cattle will it maim; - The plains are bare, it seeks a nobler game: - ’Twill drink the life-blood of a soldier host. - Go; rise and strike, no matter what the cost. - Yet stay. Revolt not at the Union Jack, - Nor raise Thy hand against this stripling pack - Of white-faced warriors, marching West to quell - Our fallen tribe that rises to rebel. - They all are young and beautiful and good; - Curse to the war that drinks their harmless blood. - Curse to the fate that brought them from the East - To be our chiefs--to make our nation least - That breathes the air of this vast continent. - Still their new rule and council is well meant. - They but forget we Indians owned the land - From ocean unto ocean; that they stand - Upon a soil that centuries agone - Was our sole kingdom and our right alone. - They never think how they would feel to-day, - If some great nation came from far away, - Wresting their country from their hapless braves, - Giving what they gave us--but wars and graves. - Then go and strike for liberty and life, - And bring back honour to your Indian wife. - Your wife? Ah, what of that, who cares for me? - Who pities my poor love and agony? - What white-robed priest prays for your safety here, - As prayer is said for every volunteer - That swells the ranks that Canada sends out? - Who prays for vict’ry for the Indian scout? - Who prays for our poor nation lying low? - None--therefore take your tomahawk and go. - My heart may break and burn into its core, - But I am strong to bid you go to war. - Yet stay, my heart is not the only one - That grieves the loss of husband and of son; - Think of the mothers o’er the inland seas; - Think of the pale-faced maiden on her knees; - One pleads her God to guard some sweet-faced child - That marches on toward the North-West wild. - The other prays to shield her love from harm, - To strengthen his young, proud uplifted arm. - Ah, how her white face quivers thus to think, - _Your_ tomahawk his life’s best blood will drink. - She never thinks of my wild aching breast, - Nor prays for your dark face and eagle crest - Endangered by a thousand rifle balls, - My heart the target if my warrior falls. - O! coward self I hesitate no more; - Go forth, and win the glories of the war. - Go forth, nor bend to greed of white man’s hands, - By right, by birth we Indians own these lands, - Though starved, crushed, plundered, lies our nation low.... - Perhaps the white man’s God has willed it so. - - - - - DAWENDINE - - - There’s a spirit on the river, there’s a ghost upon the shore, - They are chanting, they are singing through the starlight evermore, - As they steal amid the silence, - And the shadows of the shore. - - You can hear them when the Northern candles light the Northern sky, - Those pale, uncertain candle flames, that shiver, dart and die, - Those dead men’s icy finger tips, - Athwart the Northern sky. - - You can hear the ringing war cry of a long forgotten brave - Echo through the midnight forest, echo o’er the midnight wave, - And the Northern lanterns tremble - At the war cry of that brave. - - And you hear a voice responding, but in soft and tender song; - It is Dawendine’s spirit singing, singing all night long; - And the whisper of the night wind - Bears afar her Spirit song. - - And the wailing pine trees murmur with their voice attuned to hers, - Murmur when they ’rouse from slumber as the night wind through them stirs; - And you listen to their legend, - And their voices blend with hers. - - There was feud and there was bloodshed near the river by the hill; - And Dawendine listened, while her very heart stood still: - Would her kinsman or her lover - Be the victim by the hill? - - Who would be the great unconquered? who come boasting how he dealt - Death? and show his rival’s scalplock fresh and bleeding at his belt. - Who would say, “O Dawendine! - Look upon the death I dealt?” - - And she listens, listens, listens--till a war-cry rends the night, - Cry of her victorious lover, monarch he of all the height; - And his triumph wakes the horrors, - Kills the silence of the night. - - Heart of her! it throbs so madly, then lies freezing in her breast, - For the icy hand of death has chilled the brother she loved best; - And her lover dealt the deathblow; - And her heart dies in her breast. - - And she hears her mother saying, “Take thy belt of wampum white; - Go unto yon evil savage while he glories on the height; - Sing and sue for peace between us: - At his feet lay wampum white, - - “Lest thy kinsmen all may perish, all thy brothers and thy sire - Fall before his mighty hatred as the forest falls to fire; - Take thy wampum pale and peaceful, - Save thy brothers, save thy sire.” - - And the girl arises softly, softly slips toward the shore; - Loves she well the murdered brother, loves his hated foeman more, - Loves, and longs to give the wampum; - And she meets him on the shore. - - “Peace,” she sings, “O mighty victor, Peace! I bring thee wampum white. - Sheathe thy knife whose blade has tasted my young kinsman’s blood to-night - Ere it drink to slake its thirsting, - I have brought thee wampum white.” - - Answers he, “O Dawendine! I will let thy kinsmen be, - I accept thy belt of wampum; but my hate demands for me - That they give their fairest treasure, - Ere I let thy kinsmen be. - - “Dawendine, for thy singing, for thy suing, war shall cease; - For thy name, which speaks of dawning, _Thou_ shalt be the dawn of peace; - For thine eyes whose purple shadows tell of dawn, - My hate shall cease. - - “Dawendine, Child of Dawning, hateful are thy kin to me; - Red my fingers with their heart blood, but my heart is red for thee: - Dawendine, Child of Dawning, - Wilt thou fail or follow me?” - - And her kinsmen still are waiting her returning from the night, - Waiting, waiting for her coming with her belt of wampum white; - But forgetting all, she follows, - Where he leads through day or night. - - There’s a spirit on the river, there’s a ghost upon the shore, - And they sing of love and loving through the starlight evermore, - As they steal amid the silence, - And the shadows of the shore. - - - - - WOLVERINE - - - “Yes, sir, it’s quite a story, though you won’t believe it’s true, - But such things happened often when I lived beyond the Soo.” - And the trapper tilted back his chair and filled his pipe anew. - - “I ain’t thought of it neither fer this many ’n’ many a day, - Although, it used to haunt me in the years that’s slid away; - The years I spent a-trappin’ for the good old Hudson’s Bay. - - “Wild? You bet, ’twas wild then, an’ few an’ far between - The squatters’ shacks, for whites was scarce as furs when things is green, - An’ only reds an’ ‘Hudson’s’ men was all the folk I seen. - - “No. Them old Indyans ain’t so bad, not if you treat ’em square. - Why, I lived in amongst ’em all the winters I was there, - An’ I never lost a copper, an’ I never lost a hair. - - “But I’d have lost my life the time that you’ve heard tell about; - I don’t think I’d be settin’ here, but dead beyond a doubt, - If that there Indyan ‘Wolverine’ jest hadn’t helped me out. - - “’Twas freshet time, ’way back, as long as sixty-six or eight, - An’ I was comin’ to the Post that year a kind of late, - For beaver had been plentiful, and trappin’ had been great. - - “One day I had been settin’ traps along a bit of wood, - An’ night was catchin’ up to me jest faster ’an it should, - When all at once I heard a sound that curdled up my blood, - - “It was the howl of famished wolves--I didn’t stop to think - But jest lit out across for home as quick as you could wink, - But when I reached the river’s edge I brought up at the brink. - - “That mornin’ I had crossed the stream straight on a sheet of ice - An’ now, God help me! There it was, churned up an’ cracked to dice, - The flood went boiling past--I stood like one shut in a vice. - - “No way ahead, no path aback, trapped like a rat ashore, - With naught but death to follow, and with naught but death afore; - The howl of hungry wolves aback--ahead, the torrents roar. - - “An’ then--a voice, an Indyan voice, that called out clear and clean, - ‘Take Indyan’s horse, I run like deer, wolf can’t catch Wolverine.’ - I says, ‘Thank Heaven.’ There stood the chief I’d nicknamed Wolverine. - - “I leapt on that there horse, an’ then jest like coward fled, - An’ left that Indyan standin’ there alone, as good as dead, - With the wolves a-howlin’ at his back, the swollen stream ahead. - - “I don’t know how them Indyans dodge from death the way they do, - You won’t believe it, sir, but what I’m tellin’ you is true, - But that there chap was round next day as sound as me or you. - - “He came to get his horse, but not a cent he’d take from me. - Yes, sir, you’re right, the Indyans now ain’t like they used to be; - We’ve got em sharpened up a bit an’ now they’ll take a fee. - - “No, sir, you’re wrong, they ain’t no ‘dogs.’ I’m not through tellin’ yet; - You’ll take that name right back again, or else jest out you get! - You’ll take that name right back when you hear all this yarn, I bet. - - “It happened that same autumn, when some Whites was cornin’ in, - I heard the old Red River carts a-kickin’ up a din, - So I went over to their camp to see an English skin. - - “They said, ‘They’d had an awful scare from Injuns,’ an’ they swore - That savages had come around the very night before - A-brandishing their tomahawks an’ painted up for war. - - “‘But when their plucky Englishmen had put a bit of lead - Right through the heart of one of them, an’ rolled him over, dead, - The other cowards said that they had come on peace instead. - - “‘That they (the Whites) had lost some stores, from off their little pack, - An’ that the Red they peppered dead had followed up their track, - Because he’d found the packages an’ came _to give them back_.’ - - “‘Oh!’ they said, ‘they were quite sorry, but it wasn’t like as if - They had killed a decent Whiteman by mistake or in a tiff, - It was only some old Injun dog that lay there stark an’ stiff.’ - - “I said, ‘You are the meanest dogs that ever yet I seen,’ - Then I rolled the body over as it lay out on the green; - I peered into the face--My God! twas poor old Wolverine.” - - - - - THE VAGABONDS - - - What saw you in your flight to-day, - Crows, awinging your homeward way? - - Went you far in carrion quest, - Crows, that worry the sunless west? - - Thieves and villains, you shameless things! - Black your record as black your wings. - - Tell me, birds of the inky hue, - Plunderous rogues--to-day have you - - Seen with mischievous, prying eyes - Lands where earlier suns arise? - - Saw you a lazy beck between - Trees that shadow its breast in green, - - Teased by obstinate stones that lie - Crossing the current tauntingly. - - Fields abloom on the farther side - With purpling clover lying wide-- - - Saw you there as you circled by, - Vale-environed a cottage lie, - - Girt about with emerald bands, - Nestling down in its meadow lands? - - Saw you this on your thieving raids? - Speak--you rascally renegades! - - Thieved you also away from me - Olden scenes that I long to see? - - If, O! crows, you have flown since morn - Over the place where I was born, - - Forget will I, how black you were - Since dawn, in feather and character; - - Absolve will I, your vagrant band - Ere you enter your slumberland. - - - - - THE SONG MY PADDLE SINGS - - - West wind blow from your prairie nest? - Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. - The sail is idle, the sailor too; - O! wind of the west, we wait for you. - Blow, blow! - I have wooed you so, - But never a favour you bestow. - You rock your cradle the hills between, - But scorn to notice my white lateen. - - I stow the sail, unship the mast: - I wooed you long but my wooing’s past; - My paddle will lull you into rest. - O! drowsy wind of the drowsy west, - Sleep, sleep, - By your mountain steep, - Or down where the prairie grasses sweep! - Now fold in slumber your laggard wings, - For soft is the song my paddle sings. - - August is laughing across the sky, - Laughing while paddle, canoe and I, - Drift, drift, - Where the hills uplift - On either side of the current swift. - - The river rolls in its rocky bed; - My paddle is plying its way ahead; - Dip, dip, - While the waters flip - In foam as over their breast we slip. - - And oh, the river runs swifter now; - The eddies circle about my bow. - Swirl, swirl! - How the ripples curl - In many a dangerous pool awhirl! - - And forward far the rapids roar, - Fretting their margin for evermore. - Dash, dash, - With a mighty crash, - They seethe, and boil, and bound, and splash. - - Be strong, O paddle! be brave, canoe! - The reckless waves you must plunge into. - Reel, reel, - On your trembling keel, - But never a fear my craft will feel. - - We’ve raced the rapid, we’re far ahead! - The river slips through its silent bed. - Sway, sway, - As the bubbles spray - And fall in tinkling tunes away. - - And up on the hills against the sky, - A fir tree rocking its lullaby, - Swings, swings, - Its emerald wings, - Swelling the song that my paddle sings. - - - - - THE CAMPER - - - Night neath the northern skies, lone, black, and grim: - Nought but the starlight lies twixt heaven, and him. - - Of man no need has he, of God, no prayer; - He and his Deity are brothers there. - - Above his bivouac the firs fling down - Through branches gaunt and black, their needles brown. - - Afar some mountain streams, rockbound and fleet, - Sing themselves through his dreams in cadence sweet, - - The pine trees whispering, the heron’s cry. - The plover’s passing wing, his lullaby. - - And blinking overhead the white stars keep - Watch o’er his hemlock bed--his sinless sleep. - - - - - AT HUSKING TIME - - - At husking time the tassel fades - To brown above the yellow blades, - Whose rustling sheath enswathes the corn - That bursts its chrysalis in scorn - Longer to lie in prison shades. - - Among the merry lads and maids - The creaking ox-cart slowly wades - Twixt stalks and stubble, sacked and torn - At husking time. - - The prying pilot crow persuades - The flock to join in thieving raids; - The sly racoon with craft inborn - His portion steals; from plenty’s horn - His pouch the saucy chipmunk lades - At husking time. - - - - - WORKWORN - - - Across the street, an humble woman lives; - To her ’tis little fortune ever gives; - Denied the wines of life, it puzzles me - To know how she can laugh so cheerily. - This morn I listened to her softly sing, - And, marvelling what this effect could bring - I looked: twas but the presence of a child - Who passed her gate, and looking in, had smiled. - But self-encrusted, I had failed to see - The child had also looked and laughed to me. - My lowly neighbour thought the smile God-sent, - And singing, through the toilsome hours she went. - O! weary singer, I have learned the wrong - Of taking gifts, and giving nought of song; - I thought my blessings scant, my mercies few, - Till I contrasted them with yours, and you; - To-day I counted much, yet wished it more-- - While but a child’s bright smile was all your store, - - If I had thought of all the stormy days, - That fill some lives that tread less favoured ways, - How little sunshine through their shadows gleamed, - My own dull life had much the brighter seemed; - If I had thought of all the eyes that weep - Through desolation, and still smiling keep, - That see so little pleasure, so much woe, - My own had laughed more often long ago; - If I had thought how leaden was the weight - Adversity lays at my kinsman’s gate, - Of that great cross my next door neighbour bears, - My thanks had been more frequent in my prayers; - If I had watched the woman o’er the way - Work worn and old, who labours day by day, - Who has no rest, no joy to call her own, - My tasks, my heart, had much the lighter grown. - - - - - EASTER - - APRIL 1, 1888 - - - Lent gathers up her cloak of sombre shading - In her reluctant hands. - Her beauty heightens, fairest in its fading, - As pensively she stands - Awaiting Easter’s benediction falling, - Like silver stars at night, - Before she can obey the summons calling - Her to her upward flight, - Awaiting Easter’s wings that she must borrow - Ere she can hope to fly-- - Those glorious wings that we shall see to-morrow - Against the far, blue sky. - Has not the purple of her vesture’s lining - Brought calm and rest to all? - Has her dark robe had naught of golden shining - Been naught but pleasure’s pall? - Who knows? Perhaps when to the world returning - In youth’s light joyousness, - We’ll wear some rarer jewels we found burning - In Lent’s black-bordered dress. - So hand in hand with fitful March she lingers - To beg the crowning grace - Of lifting with her pure and holy fingers - The veil from April’s face. - Sweet, rosy April--laughing, sighing, waiting - Until the gateway swings, - And she and Lent can kiss between the grating - Of Easter’s tissue wings. - Too brief the bliss--the parting comes with sorrow. - Goodbye dear Lent, goodbye! - We’ll watch your fading wings outlined to-morrow - Against the far blue sky. - - - - - ERIE WATERS - - - A dash of yellow sand, - Wind-scattered and sun-tanned; - Some waves that curl and cream along the margin of the strand; - And, creeping close to these - Long shores that lounge at ease, - Old Erie rocks and ripples to a fresh sou’-western breeze. - - A sky of blue and gray; - Some stormy clouds that play - At scurrying up with ragged edge, then laughing blow away, - Just leaving in their trail - Some snatches of a gale: - To whistling summer winds we lift a single daring sail. - - O! wind so sweet and swift, - O! danger-freighted gift - Bestowed on Erie with her waves that foam and fall and lift, - We laugh in your wild face, - And break into a race - With flying clouds and tossing gulls that weave and interlace. - - - - - THE FLIGHT OF THE CROWS - - - The autumn afternoon is dying o’er - The quiet western valley where I lie - Beneath the maples on the river shore, - Where tinted leaves, blue waters and fair sky - Environ all; and far above some birds are flying by - - To seek their evening haven in the breast - And calm embrace of silence, while they sing - Te Deums to the night, invoking rest - For busy chirping voice and tired wing-- - And in the hush of sleeping trees their sleeping cradles swing. - - In forest arms the night will soonest creep, - Where sombre pines a lullaby intone, - Where Nature’s children curl themselves to sleep, - And all is still at last, save where alone - A band of black, belated crows arrive from lands unknown. - - Strange sojourn has been theirs since waking day, - Strange sights and cities in their wanderings blend - With fields of yellow maize, and leagues away - With rivers where their sweeping waters wend - Past velvet banks to rocky shores, in cañons bold to end. - - O’er what vast lakes that stretch superbly dead, - Till lashed to life by storm clouds, have they flown? - In what wild lands, in laggard flight have led - Their aërial career unseen, unknown, - Till now with twilight come their cries in lonely monotone? - - The flapping of their pinions in the air - Dies in the hush of distance, while they light - Within the fir tops, weirdly black and bare, - That stand with giant strength and peerless height, - To shelter fairy, bird and beast throughout the closing night. - - Strange black and princely pirates of the skies, - Would that your wind-tossed travels I could know! - Would that my soul could see, and, seeing, rise - To unrestricted life where ebb and flow - Of Nature’s pulse would constitute a wider life below! - - Could I but live just here in Freedom’s arms, - A kingly life without a sovereign’s care! - Vain dreams! Day hides with closing wings her charms, - And all is cradled in repose, save where - Yon band of black, belated crows still frets the evening air. - - - - - MOONSET - - - Idles the night wind through the dreaming firs, - That waking murmur low, - As some lost melody returning stirs - The love of long ago; - And through the far, cool distance, zephyr fanned, - The moon is sinking into shadow land. - - The troubled night-bird, calling plaintively, - Wanders on restless wing; - The cedars, chanting vespers to the sea, - Await its answering, - That comes in wash of waves along the strand, - The while the moon slips into shadow-land, - - O! soft responsive voices of the night - I join your minstrelsy, - And call across the fading silver light - As something calls to me; - I may not all your meaning understand, - But I have touched your soul in shadow-land. - - - - - MARSHLANDS - - - A thin wet sky, that yellows at the rim, - And meets with sun-lost lip the marsh’s brim. - - The pools low lying, dank with moss and mould, - Glint through their mildews like large cups of gold - - Among the wild rice in the still lagoon, - In monotone the lizard shrills his tune. - - The wild goose, homing, seeks a sheltering, - Where rushes grow, and oozing lichens cling. - - Late cranes with heavy wing, and lazy flight, - Sail up the silence with the nearing night. - - And like a spirit, swathed in some soft veil, - Steals twilight and its shadows o’er the swale. - - Hushed lie the sedges, and the vapours creep, - Thick, grey and humid, while the marshes sleep. - - - - - JOE - - AN ETCHING - - - A Meadow brown; across the yonder edge - A zigzag fence is ambling; here a wedge - Of underbush has cleft its course in twain, - Till where beyond it staggers up again; - The long, grey rails stretch in a broken line - Their ragged length of rough, split forest pine, - And in their zigzag tottering have reeled - In drunken efforts to enclose the field, - Which carries on its breast, September born, - A patch of rustling, yellow, Indian corn. - Beyond its shrivelled tassels, perched upon - The topmost rail, sits Joe, the settler’s son, - A little semi-savage boy of nine. - Now dozing in the warmth of Nature’s wine, - His face the sun has tampered with, and wrought, - By heated kisses, mischief, and has brought - Some vagrant freckles, while from here and there - A few wild locks of vagabond brown hair - Escape the old straw hat the sun looks through, - And blinks to meet his Irish eyes of blue. - Barefooted, innocent of coat or vest, - His grey checked shirt unbuttoned at his chest, - Both hardy hands within their usual nest-- - His breeches pockets--so, he waits to rest - His little fingers, somewhat tired and worn, - That all day long were husking Indian corn. - His drowsy lids snap at some trivial sound, - With lazy yawns he slips towards the ground, - Then with an idle whistle lifts his load - And shambles home along the country road - That stretches on fringed out with stumps and weeds, - And finally unto the backwoods leads, - Where forests wait with giant trunk and bough - The axe of pioneer, the settler’s plough. - - - - - SHADOW RIVER - - MUSKOKA - - - A stream of tender gladness, - Of filmy sun, and opal tinted skies; - Of warm midsummer air that lightly lies - In mystic rings, - Where softly swings - The music of a thousand wings - That almost tone to sadness. - - Midway twixt earth and heaven, - A bubble in the pearly air, I seem - To float upon the sapphire floor, a dream - Of clouds of snow, - Above, below, - Drift with my drifting, dim and slow, - As twilight drifts to even. - - The little fern-leaf, bending - Upon the brink, its green reflection greets, - And kisses soft the shadow that it meets - With touch so fine, - The border line - The keenest vision can’t define; - So perfect is the blending. - - The far, fir trees that cover - The brownish hills with needles green and gold, - The arching elms o’erhead, vinegrown and old, - Repictured are - Beneath me far, - Where not a ripple moves to mar - Shades underneath, or over. - - Mine is the undertone; - The beauty, strength, and power of the land - Will never stir or bend at my command; - But all the shade - Is marred or made, - If I but dip my paddle blade; - And it is mine alone. - - O! pathless world of seeming! - O! pathless life of mine whose deep ideal - Is more my own than ever was the real. - For others Fame - And Love’s red flame, - And yellow gold: I only claim - The shadows and the dreaming. - - - - - RAINFALL - - - From out the west, where darkling storm-clouds float, - The waking wind pipes soft its rising note. - - From out the west, o’er hung with fringes grey, - The wind preludes with sighs its roundelay. - - Then blowing, singing, piping, laughing loud, - It scurries on before the grey storm-cloud; - - Across the hollow and along the hill - It whips and whirls among the maples, till - - With boughs upbent, and green of leaves blown wide, - The silver shines upon their underside. - - A gusty freshening of humid air, - With showers laden, and with fragrance rare; - - And now a little sprinkle, with a dash - Of great cool drops that fall with sudden splash; - - Then over field and hollow, grass and grain, - The loud, crisp whiteness of the nearing rain. - - - - - UNDER CANVAS - - IN MUSKOKA - - - Lichens of green and grey on every side; - And green and grey the rocks beneath our feet; - Above our heads the canvas stretching wide; - And over all, enchantment rare and sweet. - - Fair Rosseau slumbers in an atmosphere - That kisses her to passionless soft dreams. - O! joy of living we have found thee here, - And life lacks nothing, so complete it seems. - - The velvet air, stirred by some elfin wings, - Comes swinging up the waters and then stills - Its voice so low that floating by it sings - Like distant harps among the distant hills. - - Across the lake the rugged islands lie, - Fir-crowned and grim; and further in the view - Some shadows seeming swung twixt cloud and sky, - Are countless shores, a symphony of blue. - - Some Northern sorceress, when day is done, - Hovers where cliffs uplift their gaunt grey steeps, - Bewitching to vermilion Rosseau’s sun, - That in a liquid mass of rubies sleeps. - - The scent of burning leaves, the camp-fire’s blaze, - The great logs cracking in the brilliant flame, - The groups grotesque, on which the fire-light plays, - Are pictures which Muskoka twilights frame. - - And Night, star-crested, wanders up the mere - With opiates for idleness to quaff, - And while she ministers, far off I hear - The owl’s uncanny cry, the wild loon’s laugh. - - - - - THE BIRDS’ LULLABY - - - I - - Sing to us, cedars; the twilight is creeping - With shadowy garments, the wilderness through; - All day we have carolled, and now would be sleeping, - So echo the anthems we warbled to you; - While we swing, swing, - And your branches sing, - And we drowse to your dreamy whispering. - - - II - - Sing to us, cedars; the night-wind is sighing, - Is wooing, is pleading, to hear you reply; - And here in your arms we are restfully lying, - And longing to dream to your soft lullaby; - While we swing, swing, - And your branches sing, - And we drowse to your dreamy whispering. - - - III - - Sing to us, cedars; your voice is so lowly, - Your breathing so fragrant, your branches so strong; - Our little nest-cradles are swaying so slowly, - While zephyrs are breathing their slumberous song. - And we swing, swing, - While your branches sing, - And we drowse to your dreamy whispering. - - - - - OVERLOOKED - - - Sleep, with her tender balm, her touch so kind, - Has passed me by; - Afar I see her vesture, velvet-lined, - Float silently; - O! Sleep, my tired eyes had need of thee! - Is thy sweet kiss not meant to-night for me? - - Peace, with the blessings that I longed for so, - Has passed me by; - Where ere she folds her holy wings I know - All tempests die; - O! Peace, my tired soul had need of thee! - Is thy sweet kiss denied alone to me? - - Love, with her heated touches, passion-stirred, - Has passed me by. - I called, “O stay thy flight,” but all unheard - My lonely cry: - O! Love, my tired heart had need of thee! - Is thy sweet kiss withheld alone from me? - - Sleep, sister-twin of Peace, my waking eyes - So weary grow! - O! Love, thou wanderer from Paradise, - Dost thou not know - How oft my lonely heart has cried to thee? - But Thou, and Sleep, and Peace, come not to me. - - - - - FASTING - - - ’Tis morning now, yet silently I stand, - Uplift the curtain with a weary hand, - Look out while darkness overspreads the way, - And long for day. - - Calm peace is frighted with my mood to-night, - Nor visits my dull chamber with her light, - To guide my senses into her sweet rest - And leave me blest. - - Long hours since the city rocked and sung - Itself to slumber: only the stars swung - Aloft their torches in the midnight skies - With watchful eyes. - - No sound awakes; I, even, breathe no sigh, - Nor hear a single footstep passing by; - Yet I am not alone, for now I feel - A presence steal. - - Within my chamber walls; I turn to see - The sweetest guest that courts humanity; - With subtle, slow enchantment draws she near, - And Sleep is here. - - What care I for the olive branch of Peace? - Kind Sleep will bring a thrice-distilled release, - Nepenthes, that alone her mystic hand - Can understand. - - And so she bends, this welcome sorceress, - To crown my fasting with her light caress. - Ah, sure my pain will vanish at the bliss - Of her warm kiss. - - But still my duty lies in self-denial; - I must refuse sweet Sleep, although the trial - Will reawaken all my depth of pain. - So once again - - I lift the curtain with a weary hand, - With more than sorrow, silently I stand, - Look out while darkness overspreads the way, - And long for day. - - “Go, Sleep,” I say, “before the darkness die, - To one who needs you even more than I, - For I can bear my part alone, but he - Has need of thee. - - “His poor tired eyes in vain have sought relief, - His heart more tired still, with all its grief; - His pain is deep, while mine is vague and dim, - Go thou to him. - - “When thou hast fanned him with thy drowsy wings, - And laid thy lips upon the pulsing strings - That in his soul with fret and fever burn, - To me return.” - - She goes. The air within the quiet street - Reverberates to the passing of her feet; - I watch her take her passage through the gloom - To your dear home. - - Belovéd, would you knew how sweet to me - Is this denial, and how fervently - I pray that Sleep may lift you to her breast, - And give you rest-- - - A privilege that she alone can claim. - Would that my heart could comfort you the same, - But in the censer Sleep is swinging high, - All sorrows die. - - She comes not back, yet all my miseries - Wane at the thought of your calm sleeping eyes-- - Wane, as I hear the early matin bell - The dawn foretell. - - And so, dear heart, still silently I stand, - Uplift the curtain with a weary hand, - The long, long night has bitter been and lone, - But now ’tis gone. - - Dawn lights her candles in the East once more, - And darkness flees her chariot before; - The Lenten morning breaks with holy ray, - And it is day! - - - - - CHRISTMASTIDE - - - I may not go to-night to Bethlehem, - Nor follow star-directed ways, nor tread - The paths wherein the shepherds walked, that led - To Christ, and peace, and God’s good will to men. - - I may not hear the Herald Angels’ song - Peal through the oriental skies, nor see - The wonder of that Heavenly company - Announce the King the world had waited long. - - The manger throne I may not kneel before, - Or see how man to God is reconciled, - Through pure St. Mary’s purer, holier child; - The human Christ these eyes may not adore. - - I may not carry frankincense and myrrh - With adoration to the Holy One; - Nor gold have I to give the Perfect Son, - To be with those wise kings a worshipper. - - Not mine the joy that Heaven sent to them, - For ages since Time swung and locked his gates, - But I may kneel without--the star still waits, - To guide me on to holy Bethlehem. - - - - - CLOSE BY - - - So near at hand (our eyes o’erlooked its nearness - In search of distant things) - A dear dream lay--perchance to grow in dearness - Had we but felt its wings - Astir. The air our very breathing fanned - It was so near at hand. - - Once, many days ago, we almost held it, - The love we so desired; - But our shut eyes saw not, and fate dispelled it - Before our pulses fired - To flame, and errant fortune bade us stand - Hand almost touching hand. - - I sometimes think had we two been discerning, - The by-path hid away - From others’ eyes had then revealed its turning - To us, nor led astray - Our footsteps, guiding us into love’s land - That lay so near at hand. - - So near at hand, dear heart, could we have known it! - Throughout those dreamy hours, - Had either loved, or loving had we shown it, - Response had sure been ours, - We did not know that heart could heart command, - And love so near at hand! - - What then availed the red wine’s subtle glisten? - We passed it blindly by, - And now what profit that we wait and listen - Each for the other’s heart beat? Ah! the cry - Of love o’erlooked still lingers, you and I - Sought heaven afar, we did not understand - Twas--once so near at hand. - - - - - THE IDLERS - - - The sun’s red pulses beat, - Full prodigal of heat, - Full lavish of its lustre unrepressed; - But we have drifted far - From where his kisses are, - And in this landward-lying shade we let our paddles rest. - - The river, deep and still, - The maple-mantled hill, - The little yellow beach whereon we lie, - The puffs of heated breeze, - All sweetly whisper--These - Are days that only come in a Canadian July. - - So, silently we two - Lounge in our still canoe, - Nor fate, nor fortune matters to us now: - So long as we alone - May call this dream our own, - The breeze may die, the sail may droop, we care not when or how. - - Against the thwart, near by, - Inactively you lie, - And all too near my arm your temple bends. - Your indolently crude, - Abandoned attitude, - Is one of ease and art, in which a perfect languor blends. - - Your costume, loose and light, - Leaves unconcealed your might - Of muscle, half suspected, half defined; - And falling well aside, - Your vesture opens wide, - Above your splendid sunburnt throat that pulses unconfined. - - With easy unreserve, - Across the gunwale’s curve, - Your arm superb is lying, brown and bare; - Your hand just touches mine - With import firm and fine, - (I kiss the very wind that blows about your tumbled hair). - - Ah! Dear, I am unwise - In echoing your eyes - Whene’er they leave their far off gaze, and turn - To melt and blur my sight; - For every other light - Is servile to your cloud-grey eyes, wherein cloud shadows burn. - - But once the silence breaks, - But once your ardour wakes - To words that humanize this lotus-land; - So perfect and complete - Those burning words and sweet, - So perfect is the single kiss your lips lay on my hand. - - The paddles lie disused, - The fitful breeze abused, - Has dropped to slumber, with no after-blow; - And hearts will pay the cost, - For you and I have lost, - More than the homeward blowing wind that died an hour ago. - - - - - AT SUNSET - - - To-night the west o’er-brims with warmest dyes; - Its chalice overflows - With pools of purple colouring the skies, - Aflood with gold and rose; - And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine, - As sinks the sun within that world of wine. - - I seem to hear a bar of music float - And swoon into the west; - My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note, - But something in my breast - Blends with that strain, till both accord in one, - As cloud and colour blend at set of sun. - - And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes, - As ashes follow flame. - But O! I heard a voice from those rich skies - Call tenderly my name; - It was as if some priestly fingers stole - In benedictions o’er my lonely soul. - - I know not why, but all my being longed - And leapt at that sweet call; - My heart outreached its arms, all passion thronged - And beat against Fate’s wall, - Crying in utter homesickness to be - Near to a heart that loves and leans to me. - - - - - PENSEROSO - - - Soulless is all humanity to me - To-night. My keenest longing is to be - Alone, alone with God’s grey earth that seems - Pulse of my pulse and consort of my dreams. - - To-night my soul desires no fellowship, - Or fellow-being; crave I but to slip - Thro’ space on space, till flesh no more can bind, - And I may quit for aye my fellow kind. - - Let me but feel athwart my cheek the lash - Of whipping wind, but hear the torrent dash - Adown the mountain steep, twere more my choice - Than touch of human hand, than human voice. - - Let me but wander on the shore night-stilled, - Drinking its darkness till my soul is filled; - The breathing of the salt sea on my hair, - My outstretched hands but grasping empty air. - - Let me but feel the pulse of Nature’s soul - Athrob on mine, let seas and thunders roll - O’er night and me; sands whirl; winds, waters beat; - For God’s grey earth has no cheap counterfeit. - - - - - RE-VOYAGE - - - What of the days when we two dreamed together? - Days marvellously fair, - As lightsome as a skyward-floating feather - Sailing on summer air-- - Summer, summer, that came drifting through - Fate’s hand to me, to you. - - What of the days, my dear? I sometimes wonder - If you too wish this sky - Could be the blue we sailed so softly under, - In that sun-kissed July; - Sailed in the warm and yellow afternoon, - With hearts in touch and tune. - - Have you no longing to relive the dreaming, - Adrift in my canoe? - To watch my paddle blade all wet and gleaming - Cleaving the waters through? - To lie wind-blown and wave-caressed, until - Your restless pulse grows still? - - Do you not long to listen to the purling - Of foam athwart the keel? - To hear the nearing rapids softly swirling - Among their stones, to feel - The boat’s unsteady tremor as it braves - The wild and snarling waves? - - What need of question, what of your replying? - Oh! well I know that you - Would toss the world away to be but lying - Again in my canoe, - In listless indolence entranced and lost, - Wave-rocked, and passion-tossed. - - Ah me! my paddle failed me in the steering - Across love’s shoreless seas; - All reckless, I had ne’er a thought of fearing - Such dreary days as these, - When through the self-same rapids we dash by, - My lone canoe and I. - - - - - BRIER - -GOOD FRIDAY - - - Because, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm - Bends back the brier that edges life’s long way, - That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm, - I do not feel the thorns so much to-day. - - Because I never knew your care to tire, - Your hand to weary guiding me aright, - Because you walk before and crush the brier, - It does not pierce my feet so much to-night. - - Because so often you have hearkened to - My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now, - That these harsh hands of mine add not unto - The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow. - - - - - WAVE-WON - - - To-night I hunger so, - Belovéd one, to know - If you recall and crave again the dream - That haunted our canoe, - And wove its witchcraft through - Our hearts as neath the northern night we sailed the northern stream. - - Ah! dear, if only we - As yesternight could be - Afloat within that light and lonely shell, - To drift in silence till - Heart-hushed, and lulled and still - The moonlight through the melting air flung forth its fatal spell. - - The dusky summer night, - The path of gold and white - The moon had cast across the river’s breast, - The shores in shadows clad, - The far-away, half-sad - Sweet singing of the whip-poor-will, all soothed our souls to rest. - - You trusted I could feel, - My arm as strong as steel, - So still your upturned face, so calm your breath, - While circling eddies curled, - While laughing rapids whirled - From boulder unto boulder, till they dashed themselves to death. - - Your splendid eyes aflame - Put heaven’s stars to shame, - Your god-like head so near my lap was laid-- - My hand is burning where - It touched your wind-blown hair, - As sweeping to the rapids verge, I changed my paddle blade. - - The boat obeyed my hand, - Till wearied with its grand - Wild anger, all the river lay aswoon, - And as my paddle dipped, - Thro’ pools of pearl it slipped - And swept beneath a shore of shade, beneath a velvet moon. - - To-night, again dream you - Our spirit-winged canoe - Is listening to the rapids purling past? - Where, in delirium reeled - Our maddened hearts that kneeled - To idolize the perfect world, to taste of love at last. - - - - - THE HAPPY HUNTING GROUNDS - - - Into the rose gold westland, its yellow prairies roll, - World of the bison’s freedom, home of the Indian’s soul. - Roll out, O seas! in sunlight bathed, - Your plains wind-tossed, and grass enswathed. - - Farther than vision ranges, farther than eagles fly, - Stretches the land of beauty, arches the perfect sky, - Hemm’d through the purple mists afar - By peaks that gleam like star on star. - - Fringing the prairie billows, fretting horizon’s line, - Darkly green are slumb’ring wildernesses of pine, - Sleeping until the zephyrs throng - To kiss their silence into song. - - Whispers freighted with odour swinging into the air, - Russet needles as censers swing to an altar, where - The angels’ songs are less divine - Than duo sung twixt breeze and pine. - - Laughing into the forest, dimples a mountain stream, - Pure as the airs above it, soft as a summer dream, - O! Lethean spring thou’rt only found - In this ideal hunting ground. - - Surely the great Hereafter cannot be more than this, - Surely we’ll see that country after Time’s farewell kiss. - Who would his lovely faith condole? - Who envies not the Red-skin’s soul, - - Sailing into the cloud land, sailing into the sun, - Into the crimson portals ajar when life is done? - O! dear dead race, my spirit too - Would fain sail westward unto you. - - - - - IN THE SHADOWS - - - I am sailing to the leeward, - Where the current runs to seaward - Soft and slow. - Where the sleeping river grasses - Brush my paddle as it passes - To and fro. - - On the shore the heat is shaking - All the golden sands awaking - In the cove; - And the quaint sand-piper, winging - O’er the shallows, ceases singing - When I move. - - On the water’s idle pillow - Sleeps the overhanging willow, - Green and cool; - Where the rushes lift their burnished - Oval heads from out the tarnished - Emerald pool. - - Where the very silence slumbers, - Water lilies grow in numbers, - Pure and pale; - All the morning they have rested, - Amber crowned, and pearly crested, - Fair and frail. - - Here, impossible romances, - Indefinable sweet fancies, - Cluster round; - But they do not mar the sweetness - Of this still September fleetness - With a sound. - - I can scarce discern the meeting - Of the shore and stream retreating, - So remote; - For the laggard river, dozing, - Only wakes from its reposing - Where I float. - - Where the river mists are rising, - All the foliage baptizing - With their spray; - There the sun gleams far and faintly, - With a shadow soft and saintly, - In its ray. - - And the perfume of some burning - Far-off brushwood, ever turning - To exhale - All its smoky fragrance dying, - In the arms of evening lying, - Where I sail. - - My canoe is growing lazy, - In the atmosphere so hazy, - While I dream; - Half in slumber I am guiding, - Eastward indistinctly gliding - Down the stream. - - - - - NOCTURNE - - - Night of Mid-June, in heavy vapours dying, - Like priestly hands thy holy touch is lying - Upon the world’s wide brow; - God-like and grand all nature is commanding - The “peace that passes human understanding;” - I, also, feel it now. - - What matters it to-night, if one life treasure - I covet, is not mine! Am I to measure - The gifts of Heaven’s decree - By my desires? O! life for ever longing - For some far gift, where many gifts are thronging, - God wills, it may not be. - - Am I to learn that longing, lifted higher, - Perhaps will catch the gleam of sacred fire - That shows my cross is gold? - That underneath this cross--however lowly, - A jewel rests, white, beautiful and holy, - Whose worth can not be told. - - Like to a scene I watched one day in wonder:-- - city, great and powerful, lay under - A sky of grey and gold; - The sun outbreaking in his farewell hour, - Was scattering afar a yellow shower - Of light, that aureoled - - With brief hot touch, so marvellous and shining, - A hundred steeples on the sky out-lining, - Like network threads of fire; - Above them all, with halo far outspreading, - I saw a golden cross in glory heading - A consecrated spire: - - I only saw its gleaming form uplifting, - Against the clouds of grey to seaward drifting, - And yet I surely know - Beneath the seen, a great unseen is resting, - For while the cross that pinnacle is cresting, - An Altar lies below. - - * * * * * - - Night of mid-June, so slumberous and tender, - Night of mid-June, transcendent in thy splendour - Thy silent wings enfold - And hush my longing, as at thy desire - All colour fades from round that far off spire, - Except its cross of gold. - - - - - MY ENGLISH LETTER - - - When each white moon, her lantern idly swinging, - Comes out to join the star night-watching band, - Across the grey-green sea, a ship is bringing - For me a letter, from the Motherland. - - Naught would I care to live in quaint old Britain, - These wilder shores are dearer far to me, - Yet when I read the words that hand has written, - The parent sod more precious seems to be. - - Within that folded note I catch the savour - Of climes that make the Motherland so fair, - Although I never knew the blessed favour - That surely lies in breathing English air. - - Imagination’s brush before me fleeing, - Paints English pictures, though my longing eyes - Have never known the blessedness of seeing - The blue that lines the arch of English skies. - - And yet my letter brings the scenes I covet, - Framed in the salt sea winds, aye more in dreams - I almost see the face that bent above it, - I almost touch that hand, so near it seems. - - Near, for the very grey-green sea that dashes - Round these Canadian coasts, rolls out once more - To Eastward, and the same Atlantic splashes - Her wild white spray on England’s distant shore. - - Near, for the same young moon so idly swinging - Her threadlike crescent bends the self-same smile - On that old land from whence a ship is bringing - My message from the transatlantic Isle. - - Thus loves my heart that far old country better, - Because of those dear words that always come, - With love enfolded in each English letter - That drifts into my sun-kissed Western home. - - - _Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. - _London & Edinburgh_ - - * * * * * - - List of Books - - IN - - Belles Lettres - - [Illustration: colophon] - - All the Books in this Catalogue - - are Published at Net Prices - - _1895_ [Illustration: symbol] - - _Telegraphic Address_ - _Bodleian, London_ - - * * * * * - -_1895._ - - - - List of Books - - IN - - _BELLES LETTRES_ - - (_Including some Transfers_) - - Published by John Lane - - The Bodley Head - - Vigo Street, London, W. - - -_N.B.--The Authors and Publisher reserve the right of reprinting any -book in this list if a new edition is called for, except in cases where -a stipulation has been made to the contrary, and of printing a separate -edition of any of the books for America irrespective of the numbers to -which the English editions are limited. The numbers mentioned do not -include copies sent to the public libraries, nor those sent for review._ - -_Most of the books are published simultaneously in England and America, -and in many instances the names of the American publishers are -appended._ - - -[Illustration] - - -_ADAMS (FRANCIS)._ - - ESSAYS IN MODERNITY. Cr. 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - -[_Shortly._ - - _Chicago: Stone & Kimball._ - - A CHILD OF THE AGE. (_See_ KEYNOTES SERIES.) - - -_ALLEN (GRANT)._ - - THE LOWER SLOPES: A Volume of Verse. With title-page and cover - design by J. ILLINGWORTH KAY. 600 copies, cr. 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - - _Chicago: Stone & Kimball._ - - THE WOMAN WHO DID. (_See_ KEYNOTES SERIES.) - - -_BEARDSLEY (AUBREY)._ - - THE STORY OF VENUS AND TANNHÄUSER, in which is set forth an exact - account of the Manner of State held by Madam Venus, Goddess and - Meretrix, under the famous Hörselberg, and containing the - adventures of Tannhäuser in that place, his repentance, his - journeying to Rome, and return to the loving mountain. By AUBREY - BEARDSLEY. With 20 full-page illustrations, numerous ornaments, and - a cover from the same hand. Sq. 16mo. 10_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -_In preparation._ - - - - -_BEDDOES (T. L.)._ - - _See_ GOSSE (EDMUND). - - -_BEECHING (Rev. H. C.)._ - - IN A GARDEN: Poems. With title-page and cover design by ROGER FRY. - Cr. 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - - _New York: Macmillan & Co._ - - -_BENSON (ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER)._ - - LYRICS. Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5_s._ _net_. - - _New York: Macmillan & Co._ - - -_BROTHERTON (MARY)._ - - ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE. With title-page and cover design by - WALTER WEST. Fcap. 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - -_CAMPBELL (GERALD)._ - - THE JONESES AND THE ASTERISKS. With six illustrations and - title-page by F. H. TOWNSEND. Fcap. 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - _New York: The Merriam Co._ - - -_CASTLE (Mrs. EGERTON)._ - - MY LITTLE LADY ANNE: A Romance. Sq. 16mo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - _Philadelphia: Henry Altemus._ - - -_CASTLE (EGERTON)._ - - _See_ STEVENSON (ROBERT LOUIS). - - -_CROSS (VICTORIA)._ - - CONSUMMATION: A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 4_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - -_DALMON (C. W.)._ - - SONG FAVOURS. With a specially designed title-page. Sq. 16mo. 3_s._ - 6_d._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - _Chicago: Way & Williams._ - - -_D’ARCY (ELLA)._ - - MONOCHROMES. (_See_ KEYNOTES SERIES.) - - -_DAVIDSON (JOHN)._ - - PLAYS: An Unhistorical Pastoral; A Romantic Farce; Bruce, a - Chronicle Play; Smith, a Tragic Farce; Scaramouch in Naxos, a - Pantomime. With a frontispiece and cover design by AUBREY - BEARDSLEY. Printed at the Ballantyne Press. 500 copies, sm. 4to. - 7_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - _Chicago: Stone & Kimball._ - - FLEET STREET ECLOGUES. Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5_s._ _net_. - -[_Out of print at present._ - - A RANDOM ITINERARY AND A BALLAD. With a frontispiece and title-page - by LAURENCE HOUSMAN. 600 copies. Fcap. 8vo, Irish Linen. 5_s._ - _net_. - - _Boston: Copeland & Day._ - - BALLADS AND SONGS. With title-page designed by WALTER WEST. Fourth - Edition. Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5_s._ _net_. - - _Boston: Copeland & Day._ - - -_DAWE (W. CARLTON)._ - - YELLOW AND WHITE. (_See_ KEYNOTES SERIES.) - - -_DE TABLEY (LORD)._ - - POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRICAL. By JOHN LEICESTER WARREN (Lord De - Tabley). Illustrations and cover design by C. S. RICKETTS. 2nd - edition, cr. 8vo. 7_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - _New York: Macmillan & Co._ - - -_DE TABLEY (LORD)._ - - POEMS, DRAMATIC AND LYRICAL. 2nd series, uniform in binding with - the former volume. Cr. 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - - _New York: Macmillan & Co._ - - -_DIX (GERTRUDE)._ - - THE GIRL FROM THE FARM. (_See_ KEYNOTES SERIES.) - - -_DOSTOIEVSKY (F.)._ - - (_See_ KEYNOTES SERIES, Vol. III.) - - -_ECHEGARAY (JOSÉ)._ - - _See_ LYNCH (HANNAH). - - -_EGERTON (GEORGE)._ - - KEYNOTES. (_See_ KEYNOTES SERIES.) - - DISCORDS. (_See_ KEYNOTES SERIES.) - - YOUNG OFEG’S DITTIES. A translation from the Swedish of OLA - HANSSON. Cr. 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - _Boston: Roberts Bros._ - - -_FARR (FLORENCE)._ - - THE DANCING FAUN. (_See_ KEYNOTES SERIES.) - - -_FLETCHER (J. S.)._ - - THE WONDERFUL WAPENTAKE. By “A SON OF THE SOIL.” With 18 full-page - illustrations by J. A. SYMINGTON. Cr. 8vo. 5_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - _Chicago: A. C. McClurg & Co._ - - -_GALE (NORMAN)._ - - ORCHARD SONGS. With title-page and cover design by J. ILLINGWORTH - KAY. Fcap. 8vo. Irish Linen. 5_s._ _net_. - - Also a special edition limited in number on hand-made paper bound - in English vellum. £1 1_s._ _net_. - - _New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons._ - - -_GARNETT_ (_RICHARD_). - - POEMS. With title-page by J. ILLINGWORTH KAY. 350 copies, cr. 8vo. - 5_s._ _net_. - - _Boston: Copeland & Day._ - - DANTE, PETRARCH, CAMOENS. CXXIV Sonnets rendered in English. Cr. - 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - - - -_GEARY (NEVILL)._ - - A LAWYER’S WIFE: A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 4_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - - - -_GOSSE (EDMUND)._ - - THE LETTERS OF THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES. Now first edited. Pott 8vo. - 5_s._ _net_. - - Also 25 copies large paper. 12_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - _New York: Macmillan & Co._ - - -_GRAHAME (KENNETH)._ - - PAGAN PAPERS: A VOLUME OF ESSAYS. With title-page by AUBREY - BEARDSLEY. Fcap. 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - - _Chicago: Stone & Kimball._ - - THE GOLDEN AGE. Cr. 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - _Chicago: Stone & Kimball._ - - -_GREENE (G. A.)._ - - ITALIAN LYRISTS OF TO-DAY. Translations in the original metres from - about 35 living Italian poets with bibliographical and biographical - notes. Cr. 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - - _New York: Macmillan & Co._ - - -_GREENWOOD (FREDERICK)._ - - IMAGINATION IN DREAMS. Crown 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - - _New York: Macmillan & Co._ - - -_HAKE (T. GORDON)._ - - A SELECTION FROM HIS POEMS. Edited by Mrs. MEYNELL. With a portrait - after D. G. ROSSETTI, and a cover design by GLEESON WHITE. Cr. 8vo. - 5_s._ _net_. - - _Chicago: Stone & Kimball._ - - -_HANSSON (LAURA MARHOLM)._ - - MODERN WOMEN: Six Psychological Sketches. [SOPHIA KOVALEVSKY, - GEORGE EGERTON, ELEONORA DUSE, AMALIE SKRAM, MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF, A. - EDGREN LEFFLER.] Translated from the German by HERMIONE RAMSDEN. - Cr. 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - - - -_HANSSON (OLA)._ - - _See_ EGERTON. - - -_HARLAND (HENRY)._ - - GREY ROSES. (_See_ KEYNOTES SERIES.) - - -_HAYES (ALFRED)._ - - THE VALE OF ARDEN, AND OTHER POEMS. With a title-page and cover - design by E. H. NEW. Fcap. 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - Also 25 copies large paper. 15_s._ _net_. - - -_HEINEMANN (WILLIAM)._ - - THE FIRST STEP: A Dramatic Moment. Sm. 4to. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - -_HOPPER (NORA)._ - - BALLADS IN PROSE. With a title-page and cover by WALTER WEST. Sq. - 16mo. 5_s._ _net_. - - _Boston: Roberts Bros._ - - -_HOUSMAN (LAURENCE)._ - - GREEN ARRAS: Poems. With illustrations by the Author. Cr. 8vo. - 5_s._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - - - -_IRVING (LAURENCE)._ - - GODEFROI AND YOLANDE: A Play. With 3 illustrations by AUBREY - BEARDSLEY. Sm. 4to. 5_s._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - - - -_JAMES (W. P.)._ - - ROMANTIC PROFESSIONS: A volume of Essays. With title-page designed - by J. ILLINGWORTH KAY. Cr. 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - - _New York: Macmillan & Co._ - - -_JOHNSON (LIONEL)._ - - THE ART OF THOMAS HARDY. Six Essays, with etched portrait by WM. - STRANG, and Bibliography by JOHN LANE. Second edition, cr. 8vo. - Buckram. 5_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - Also 150 copies, large paper, with proofs of the portrait. £1_s._ - 1_s._ _net_. - -_New York: Dodd, Mead & Co._ - - -_JOHNSON (PAULINE)._ - - THE WHITE WAMPUM: Poems. With title-page and cover designs by E. H. - NEW. Cr. 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - - _Boston: Lamson, Wolffe & Co._ - - -_JOHNSTONE (C. E.)._ - - BALLADS OF BOY AND BEAK. Sq. 32mo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - - - -_KEYNOTES SERIES._ - - Each volume with specially designed title-page by AUBREY BEARDSLEY. - Cr. 8vo, cloth. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -Vol. I. KEYNOTES. By GEORGE EGERTON. - -[_Seventh edition now ready._ - -Vol. II. THE DANCING FAUN. By FLORENCE FARR. - - Vol. III. POOR FOLK. Translated from the Russian of F. DOSTOIEVSKY - by LENA MILMAN, with a preface by GEORGE MOORE. - -Vol. IV. A CHILD OF THE AGE. By FRANCIS ADAMS. - - Vol. V. THE GREAT GOD PAN AND THE INMOST LIGHT. By ARTHUR MACHEN. - -[_Second edition now ready._ - -Vol. VI. DISCORDS. By GEORGE EGERTON. - -[_Fourth edition now ready._ - -Vol. VII. PRINCE ZALESKI. By M. P. SHIEL. - -Vol. VIII. THE WOMAN WHO DID. By GRANT ALLEN. - -[_Fifteenth edition now ready._ - - Vol. IX. WOMEN’S TRAGEDIES. By H. D. LOWRY. - - Vol. X. GREY ROSES. By HENRY HARLAND. - - Vol. XI. AT THE FIRST CORNER, AND OTHER STORIES. By H. B. MARRIOTT - WATSON. - - Vol. XII. MONOCHROMES. By ELLA D’ARCY. - - Vol. XIII. AT THE RELTON ARMS. By EVELYN SHARP. - - Vol. XIV. THE GIRL FROM THE FARM. By GERTRUDE DIX. - - Vol. XV. THE MIRROR OF MUSIC. By STANLEY V. MAKOWER. - - Vol. XVI. YELLOW AND WHITE. By W. CARLTON DAWE. - - Vol. XVII. THE MOUNTAIN LOVERS. By FIONA MACLEOD. - - Vol. XVIII. THE THREE IMPOSTORS. By ARTHUR MACHEN. - -_Boston: Roberts Bros._ - -[_In preparation._ - - -_LANDER (HARRY)._ - - WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE: A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 4_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - - - -_LANG (ANDREW)._ - - _See_ STODDART. - - -_LEATHER (R. K.)._. - - VERSES. 250 copies, fcap. 8vo. 3_s._ _net_. - - _Transferred by the Author to the present Publisher._ - - -_LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD)._ - - PROSE FANCIES. With portrait of the Author by WILSON STEER. Fourth - edition, cr. 8vo, purple cloth. 5_s._ _net_. - - Also a limited large paper edition. 12_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -_New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons._ - -THE BOOK BILLS OF NARCISSUS. An account rendered by RICHARD LE -GALLIENNE. Third edition, with a new chapter and a frontispiece, cr. -8vo, purple cloth. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -Also 50 copies on large paper. 8vo. 10_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -_New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons._ - -ENGLISH POEMS. Fourth edition, revised, cr. 8vo, purple cloth. 4_s._ -6_d._ _net_. - -_Boston: Copeland & Day._ - - GEORGE MEREDITH: some Characteristics; with a Bibliography (much - enlarged) by JOHN LANE, portrait, &c. 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Second edition, sq. 16mo, buckram. - 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - _New York: Macmillan & Co._ - - EXCURSIONS IN CRITICISM; BEING SOME PROSE RECREATIONS OF A RHYMER. - Second edition, cr. 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - - _New York: Macmillan Co._ - - THE PRINCE’S QUEST, AND OTHER POEMS. With a bibliographical note - added. Second edition, fcap. 8vo. 4_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - -_WATT (FRANCIS)._ - - THE LAW’S LUMBER ROOM. Fcap. 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - - - -_WATTS (THEODORE)._ - - POEMS. Crown 8vo. 5_s._ _net_. - -[_In preparation._ - - _There will also be an_ Edition de Luxe _of this volume, printed at - the Kelmscott Press_. - - -_WELLS (H. G.)._ - - SELECT CONVERSATIONS WITH AN UNCLE, NOW EXTINCT. With a title-page - designed by F. H. TOWNSEND. Fcap. 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - _New York: The Merriam Co._ - - -_WHARTON (H. T.)._ - - SAPPHO. Memoir, text, selected renderings, and a literal - translation by HENRY THORNTON WHARTON. 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Pauline Johnson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The White Wampum - -Author: E. Pauline Johnson - -Release Date: September 5, 2016 [EBook #52988] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE WAMPUM *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/cover_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="318" height="500" alt="[Image -of the book's cover unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_i" id="page_i"></a>{i}</span> </p> - -<h1>THE WHITE WAMPUM</h1> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ii" id="page_ii"></a>{ii}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iii" id="page_iii"></a>{iii}</span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/title_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/title_sml.jpg" width="325" height="500" alt="THE WHITE WAMPVM -BY -E·PAVLINE JOHNSON - -Tekahionwake - -LONDON: John Lane 1895 -Toronto: The Copp Clark Co: -Boston: Lamson, Wolffe & Co." /></a> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iv" id="page_iv"></a>{iv}</span> </p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">“And few to-day remain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But copper-tinted face and smouldering fire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of wilder life, were left me by my sire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To be my proudest claim.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_v" id="page_v"></a>{v}</span></p> - -<div class="blk"> -<p class="nind"><i>As wampums to the Redman, so to the Poet are his songs; chiselled alike -from that which is the purest of his possessions, woven alike with -meaning into belt and book, fraught alike with the corresponding message -of peace, the breathing of tradition, the value of more than coin, and -the seal of fellowship with all men.</i></p> - -<p><i>So do I offer this belt of verse-wampum to those two who have taught me -most of its spirit—my Mother, whose encouragement has been my mainstay -in its weaving; my Father, whose feet have long since wandered to the -Happy Hunting Grounds.</i></p> - -<p class="r"> -<i>E. P. J.</i><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vi" id="page_vi"></a>{vi}</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vii" id="page_vii"></a>{vii}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td></td><td class="rt"><i>Page</i></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#OJISTOH">Ojistoh</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#AS_RED_MEN_DIE">As Red Men Die</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_4">4</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_PILOT_OF_THE_PLAINS">The Pilot of the Plains</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_7">7</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_CATTLE_THIEF">The Cattle Thief</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_11">11</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#A_CRY_FROM_AN_INDIAN_WIFE">A Cry from an Indian Wife</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_16">16</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#DAWENDINE">Dawendine</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_19">19</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#WOLVERINE">Wolverine</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_24">24</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_VAGABONDS">The Vagabonds</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_30">30</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_SONG_MY_PADDLE_SINGS">The Song my Paddle Sings</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_32">32</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_CAMPER">The Camper</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_35">35</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#AT_HUSKING_TIME">At Husking Time</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_36">36</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#WORKWORN">Workworn</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_37">37</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#EASTER">Easter</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_39">39</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#ERIE_WATERS">Erie Waters</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_41">41</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_FLIGHT_OF_THE_CROWS">The Flight of the Crows</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_43">43</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#MOONSET">Moonset</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_46">46</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#MARSHLANDS">Marshlands</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_47">47</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#JOE">Joe</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_48">48</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#SHADOW_RIVER">Shadow River</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii"></a>{viii}</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_50">50</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#RAINFALL">Rainfall</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_52">52</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#UNDER_CANVAS">Under Canvas</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_53">53</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_BIRDS_LULLABY">The Birds’ Lullaby</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_55">55</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#OVERLOOKED">Overlooked</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_57">57</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#FASTING">Fasting</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_59">59</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#CHRISTMASTIDE">Christmastide</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_63">63</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#CLOSE_BY">Close by</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_65">65</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_IDLERS">The Idlers</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_67">67</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#AT_SUNSET">At Sunset</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_70">70</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#PENSEROSO">Penseroso</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_72">72</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#RE-VOYAGE">Re-Voyage</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_74">74</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#BRIER">Brier</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_76">76</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#WAVE-WON">Wave-Won</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_77">77</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_HAPPY_HUNTING_GROUNDS">The Happy Hunting Grounds</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_80">80</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#IN_THE_SHADOWS">In the Shadows</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_82">82</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#NOCTURNE">Nocturne</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_85">85</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#MY_ENGLISH_LETTER">My English Letter</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_87">87</a></td></tr> - -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1"></a>{1}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="OJISTOH" id="OJISTOH"></a>OJISTOH</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I am</span> Ojistoh, I am she, the wife<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of him whose name breathes bravery and life<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And courage to the tribe that calls him chief.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am Ojistoh, his white star, and he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is land, and lake, and sky—and soul to me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! but they hated him, those Huron braves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Him who had flung their warriors into graves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Him who had crushed them underneath his heel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose arm was iron, and whose heart was steel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To all—save me, Ojistoh, chosen wife<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of my great Mohawk, white star of his life.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! but they hated him, and councilled long<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With subtle witchcraft how to work him wrong;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How to avenge their dead, and strike him where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His pride was highest, and his fame most fair.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their hearts grew weak as women at his name:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They dared no war-path since my Mohawk came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With ashen bow, and flinten arrow-head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To pierce their craven bodies; but their dead<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2"></a>{2}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must be avenged. Avenged? They dared not walk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In day and meet his deadly tomahawk;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They dared not face his fearless scalping knife;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So—Niyoh!<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a>—then they thought of me, his wife.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! evil, evil face of them they sent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With evil Huron speech: “Would I consent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To take of wealth? be queen of all their tribe?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have wampum ermine?” Back I flung the bribe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into their teeth, and said, “While I have life<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know this—Ojistoh is the Mohawk’s wife.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wah! how we struggled! But their arms were strong.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They flung me on their pony’s back, with thong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Round ankle, wrist, and shoulder. Then upleapt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The one I hated most: his eye he swept<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over my misery, and sneering said,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Thus, fair Ojistoh, we avenge our dead.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And we two rode, rode as a sea wind-chased,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I, bound with buckskin to his hated waist,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He, sneering, laughing, jeering, while he lashed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The horse to foam, as on and on we dashed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plunging through creek and river, bush and trail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On, on we galloped like a northern gale.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At last, his distant Huron fires aflame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We saw, and nearer, nearer still we came.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3"></a>{3}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I, bound behind him in the captive’s place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scarcely could see the outline of his face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I smiled, and laid my cheek against his back:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Loose thou my hands,” I said. “This pace let slack.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forget we now that thou and I are foes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I like thee well, and wish to clasp thee close;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I like the courage of thine eye and brow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>I like thee better than my Mohawk now</i>.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He cut the cords; we ceased our maddened haste.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I wound my arms about his tawny waist;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My hand crept up the buckskin of his belt;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His knife hilt in my burning palm I felt;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One hand caressed his cheek, the other drew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The weapon softly—“I love you, love you,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I whispered, “love you as my life.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And—buried in his back his scalping knife.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ha! how I rode, rode as a sea wind-chased,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mad with sudden freedom, mad with haste,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Back to my Mohawk and my home, I lashed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That horse to foam, as on and on I dashed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plunging thro’ creek and river, bush and trail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On, on I galloped like a northern gale.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then my distant Mohawk’s fires aflame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw, as nearer, nearer still I came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My hands all wet, stained with a life’s red dye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But pure my soul, pure as those stars on high—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“My Mohawk’s pure white star, Ojistoh, still am I.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> God, in the Mohawk language.</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4"></a>{4}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="AS_RED_MEN_DIE" id="AS_RED_MEN_DIE"></a>AS RED MEN DIE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Captive</span>! Is there a hell to him like this?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A taunt more galling than the Huron’s hiss?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He—proud and scornful, he—who laughed at law,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He—scion of the deadly Iroquois,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He—the bloodthirsty, he—the Mohawk chief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He—who despises pain and sneers at grief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here in the hated Huron’s vicious clutch,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That even captive he disdains to touch!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Captive! But <i>never</i> conquered; Mohawk brave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stoops not to be to <i>any</i> man a slave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Least, to the puny tribe his soul abhors,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tribe whose wigwams sprinkle Simcoe’s shores.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With scowling brow he stands and courage high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watching with haughty and defiant eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His captors, as they council o’er his fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or strive his boldness to intimidate.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then fling they unto him the choice;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i12">“Wilt thou<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Walk o’er the bed of fire that waits thee now—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5"></a>{5}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Walk with uncovered feet upon the coals<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until thou reach the ghostly Land of Souls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, with thy Mohawk death-song please our ear?<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Or wilt thou with the women rest thee here?</i>”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His eyes flash like an eagle’s, and his hands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clench at the insult. Like a god he stands.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Prepare the fire!” he scornfully demands.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He knoweth not that this same jeering band<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will bite the dust—will lick the Mohawk’s hand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will kneel and cower at the Mohawk’s feet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will shrink when Mohawk war-drums wildly beat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His death will be avenged with hideous hate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Iroquois, swift to annihilate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His vile detested captors, that now flaunt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their war clubs in his face with sneer and taunt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not thinking, soon that reeking, red, and raw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their scalps will deck the belts of Iroquois.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The path of coals outstretches, white with heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A forest fir’s length—ready for his feet.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unflinching as a rock he steps along<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The burning mass, and sings his wild war song;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sings, as he sang when once he used to roam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Throughout the forests of his southern home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, down the Genesee, the water roars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where gentle Mohawk purls between its shores,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Songs, that of exploit and of prowess tell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Songs of the Iroquois invincible.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6"></a>{6}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Up the long trail of fire he boasting goes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dancing a war dance to defy his foes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His flesh is scorched, his muscles burn and shrink,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But still he dances to death’s awful brink.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eagle plume that crests his haughty head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will <i>never</i> droop until his heart be dead.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slower and slower yet his footstep swings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wilder and wilder still his death-song rings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fiercer and fiercer thro’ the forest bounds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His voice that leaps to Happier Hunting Grounds.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One savage yell—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">Then loyal to his race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He bends to death—but <i>never</i> to disgrace.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7"></a>{7}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_PILOT_OF_THE_PLAINS" id="THE_PILOT_OF_THE_PLAINS"></a>THE PILOT OF THE PLAINS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="smcap">False</span>,” they said, “thy Pale-face lover, from the land of waking morn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rise and wed thy Redskin wooer, nobler warrior ne’er was born;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cease thy watching, cease thy dreaming,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Show the white thine Indian scorn.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus they taunted her, declaring, “He remembers naught of thee:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Likely some white maid he wooeth, far beyond the inland sea.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But she answered ever kindly,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">“He will come again to me,”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Till the dusk of Indian summer crept athwart the western skies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But a deeper dusk was burning in her dark and dreaming eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As she scanned the rolling prairie,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Where the foothills fall, and rise.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8"></a>{8}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Till the autumn came and vanished, till the season of the rains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the western world lay fettered in midwinter’s crystal chains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still she listened for his coming,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Still she watched the distant plains.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then a night with nor’land tempest, nor’land snows a-swirling fast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out upon the pathless prairie came the Pale-face through the blast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Calling, calling, “Yakonwita,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">I am coming, love, at last.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hovered night above, about him, dark its wings and cold and dread;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never unto trail or tepee were his straying footsteps led;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till benumbed, he sank, and pillowed<br /></span> -<span class="i5">On the drifting snows his head,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Saying, “O! my Yakonwita call me, call me, be my guide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the lodge beyond the prairie—for I vowed ere winter died<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I would come again, belovéd;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">I would claim my Indian bride.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9"></a>{9}</span>”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Yakonwita, Yakonwita!” Oh, the dreariness that strains<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the voice that calling, quivers, till a whisper but remains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Yakonwita, Yakonwita,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">I am lost upon the plains.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the Silent Spirit hushed him, lulled him as he cried anew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Save me, save me! O! beloved, I am Pale but I am true.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yakonwita, Yakonwita,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">I am dying, love, for you.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Leagues afar, across the prairie, she had risen from her bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roused her kinsmen from their slumber: “He has come to-night,” she said.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I can hear him calling, calling;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">But his voice is as the dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Listen!” and they sate all silent, while the tempest louder grew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a spirit-voice called faintly, “I am dying, love, for you.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then they wailed, “O! Yakonwita.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">He was Pale, but he was true.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10"></a>{10}</span>”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wrapped she then her ermine round her, stepped without the tepee door,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saying, “I must follow, follow, though he call for evermore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yakonwita, Yakonwita;”<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And they never saw her more.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Late at night, say Indian hunters, when the starlight clouds or wanes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far away they see a maiden, misty as the autumn rains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guiding with her lamp of moonlight<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Hunters lost upon the plains.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11"></a>{11}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_CATTLE_THIEF" id="THE_CATTLE_THIEF"></a>THE CATTLE THIEF</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">They</span> were coming across the prairie, they were galloping hard and fast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the eyes of those desperate riders had sighted their man at last—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sighted him off to Eastward, where the Cree encampment lay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the cotton woods fringed the river, miles and miles away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mistake him? Never, Mistake him? the famous Eagle Chief!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That terror to all the settlers, that desperate Cattle Thief—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That monstrous, fearless Indian, who lorded it over the plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who thieved and raided, and scouted, who rode like a hurricane!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But they’ve tracked him across the prairie; they’ve followed him hard and fast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For those desperate English settlers have sighted their man at last.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12"></a>{12}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up they wheeled to the tepees, all their British blood aflame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bent on bullets and bloodshed, bent on bringing down their game;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But they searched in vain for the Cattle Thief: that lion had left his lair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they cursed like a troop of demons—for the women alone were there.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The sneaking Indian coward,” they hissed; “he hides while yet he can;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He’ll come in the night for cattle, but he’s scared to face a <i>man</i>.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Never!” and up from the cotton woods, rang the voice of Eagle Chief;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And right out into the open stepped, unarmed, the Cattle Thief.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was that the game they had coveted? Scarce fifty years had rolled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over that fleshless, hungry frame, starved to the bone and old;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over that wrinkled, tawny skin, unfed by the warmth of blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over those hungry, hollow eyes that glared for the sight of food.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He turned, like a hunted lion: “I know not fear,” said he;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the words outleapt from his shrunken lips in the language of the Cree.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13"></a>{13}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I’ll fight you, white-skins, one by one, till I kill you <i>all</i>,” he said;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the threat was scarcely uttered, ere a dozen balls of lead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whizzed through the air about him like a shower of metal rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the gaunt old Indian Cattle Thief, dropped dead on the open plain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that band of cursing settlers, gave one triumphant yell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And rushed like a pack of demons on the body that writhed and fell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Cut the fiend up into inches, throw his carcass on the plain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let the wolves eat the cursed Indian, he’d have treated us the same.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dozen hands responded, a dozen knives gleamed high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the first stroke was arrested by a woman’s strange, wild cry.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And out into the open, with a courage past belief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She dashed, and spread her blanket o’er the corpse of the Cattle Thief;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the words outleapt from her shrunken lips in the language of the Cree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“If you mean to touch that body, you must cut your way through <i>me</i>.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that band of cursing settlers dropped backward one by one,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14"></a>{14}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">For they knew that an Indian woman roused, was a woman to let alone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then she raved in a frenzy that they scarcely understood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Raved of the wrongs she had suffered since her earliest babyhood:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Stand back, stand back, you white-skins, touch that dead man to your shame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You have stolen my father’s spirit, but his body I only claim.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You have killed him, but you shall not dare to touch him now he’s dead.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You have cursed, and called him a Cattle Thief, though you robbed him first of bread—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Robbed him and robbed my people—look there, at that shrunken face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Starved with a hollow hunger, we owe to you and your race.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What have you left to us of land, what have you left of game,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What have you brought but evil, and curses since you came?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How have you paid us for our game? how paid us for our land?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By a <i>book</i>, to save our souls from the sins <i>you</i> brought in your other hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go back with your new religion, we never have understood<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15"></a>{15}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your robbing an Indian’s <i>body</i>, and mocking his <i>soul</i> with food.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go back with your new religion, and find—if find you can—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The <i>honest</i> man you have ever made from out a <i>starving</i> man.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You say your cattle are not ours, your meat is not our meat;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When <i>you</i> pay for the land you live in, <i>we’ll</i> pay for the meat we eat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give back our land and our country, give back our herds of game;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give back the furs and the forests that were ours before you came;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give back the peace and the plenty. Then come with your new belief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And blame if you dare, the hunger that <i>drove</i> him to be a thief.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16"></a>{16}</span>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="A_CRY_FROM_AN_INDIAN_WIFE" id="A_CRY_FROM_AN_INDIAN_WIFE"></a>A CRY FROM AN INDIAN WIFE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">My</span> Forest Brave, my Red-skin love, farewell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We may not meet to-morrow; who can tell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What mighty ills befall our little band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or what you’ll suffer from the white man’s hand?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here is your knife! I thought ’twas sheathed for aye.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No roaming bison calls for it to-day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No hide of prairie cattle will it maim;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The plains are bare, it seeks a nobler game:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twill drink the life-blood of a soldier host.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go; rise and strike, no matter what the cost.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet stay. Revolt not at the Union Jack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor raise Thy hand against this stripling pack<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of white-faced warriors, marching West to quell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our fallen tribe that rises to rebel.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They all are young and beautiful and good;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Curse to the war that drinks their harmless blood.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Curse to the fate that brought them from the East<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To be our chiefs—to make our nation least<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That breathes the air of this vast continent.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still their new rule and council is well meant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17"></a>{17}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">They but forget we Indians owned the land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From ocean unto ocean; that they stand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon a soil that centuries agone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was our sole kingdom and our right alone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They never think how they would feel to-day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If some great nation came from far away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wresting their country from their hapless braves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Giving what they gave us—but wars and graves.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then go and strike for liberty and life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bring back honour to your Indian wife.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your wife? Ah, what of that, who cares for me?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who pities my poor love and agony?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What white-robed priest prays for your safety here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As prayer is said for every volunteer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That swells the ranks that Canada sends out?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who prays for vict’ry for the Indian scout?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who prays for our poor nation lying low?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">None—therefore take your tomahawk and go.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart may break and burn into its core,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I am strong to bid you go to war.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet stay, my heart is not the only one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That grieves the loss of husband and of son;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Think of the mothers o’er the inland seas;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Think of the pale-faced maiden on her knees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One pleads her God to guard some sweet-faced child<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That marches on toward the North-West wild.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The other prays to shield her love from harm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To strengthen his young, proud uplifted arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18"></a>{18}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah, how her white face quivers thus to think,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Your</i> tomahawk his life’s best blood will drink.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She never thinks of my wild aching breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor prays for your dark face and eagle crest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Endangered by a thousand rifle balls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart the target if my warrior falls.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! coward self I hesitate no more;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go forth, and win the glories of the war.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go forth, nor bend to greed of white man’s hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By right, by birth we Indians own these lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though starved, crushed, plundered, lies our nation low....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps the white man’s God has willed it so.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19"></a>{19}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="DAWENDINE" id="DAWENDINE"></a>DAWENDINE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There’s</span> a spirit on the river, there’s a ghost upon the shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They are chanting, they are singing through the starlight evermore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As they steal amid the silence,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And the shadows of the shore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You can hear them when the Northern candles light the Northern sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those pale, uncertain candle flames, that shiver, dart and die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those dead men’s icy finger tips,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Athwart the Northern sky.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You can hear the ringing war cry of a long forgotten brave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Echo through the midnight forest, echo o’er the midnight wave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Northern lanterns tremble<br /></span> -<span class="i5">At the war cry of that brave.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20"></a>{20}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And you hear a voice responding, but in soft and tender song;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is Dawendine’s spirit singing, singing all night long;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the whisper of the night wind<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Bears afar her Spirit song.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the wailing pine trees murmur with their voice attuned to hers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Murmur when they ’rouse from slumber as the night wind through them stirs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you listen to their legend,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And their voices blend with hers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There was feud and there was bloodshed near the river by the hill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Dawendine listened, while her very heart stood still:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would her kinsman or her lover<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Be the victim by the hill?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who would be the great unconquered? who come boasting how he dealt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death? and show his rival’s scalplock fresh and bleeding at his belt.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who would say, “O Dawendine!<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Look upon the death I dealt?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21"></a>{21}</span>”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And she listens, listens, listens—till a war-cry rends the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cry of her victorious lover, monarch he of all the height;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And his triumph wakes the horrors,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Kills the silence of the night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Heart of her! it throbs so madly, then lies freezing in her breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the icy hand of death has chilled the brother she loved best;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her lover dealt the deathblow;<br /></span> -<span class="i10">And her heart dies in her breast.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And she hears her mother saying, “Take thy belt of wampum white;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go unto yon evil savage while he glories on the height;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sing and sue for peace between us:<br /></span> -<span class="i5">At his feet lay wampum white,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Lest thy kinsmen all may perish, all thy brothers and thy sire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fall before his mighty hatred as the forest falls to fire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Take thy wampum pale and peaceful,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Save thy brothers, save thy sire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22"></a>{22}</span>”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the girl arises softly, softly slips toward the shore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Loves she well the murdered brother, loves his hated foeman more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Loves, and longs to give the wampum;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And she meets him on the shore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Peace,” she sings, “O mighty victor, Peace! I bring thee wampum white.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sheathe thy knife whose blade has tasted my young kinsman’s blood to-night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere it drink to slake its thirsting,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">I have brought thee wampum white.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Answers he, “O Dawendine! I will let thy kinsmen be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I accept thy belt of wampum; but my hate demands for me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That they give their fairest treasure,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Ere I let thy kinsmen be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Dawendine, for thy singing, for thy suing, war shall cease;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For thy name, which speaks of dawning, <i>Thou</i> shalt be the dawn of peace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For thine eyes whose purple shadows tell of dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">My hate shall cease.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23"></a>{23}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Dawendine, Child of Dawning, hateful are thy kin to me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red my fingers with their heart blood, but my heart is red for thee:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dawendine, Child of Dawning,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Wilt thou fail or follow me?”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And her kinsmen still are waiting her returning from the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waiting, waiting for her coming with her belt of wampum white;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But forgetting all, she follows,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Where he leads through day or night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There’s a spirit on the river, there’s a ghost upon the shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they sing of love and loving through the starlight evermore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As they steal amid the silence,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And the shadows of the shore.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24"></a>{24}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="WOLVERINE" id="WOLVERINE"></a>WOLVERINE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="smcap">Yes</span>, sir, it’s quite a story, though you won’t believe it’s true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But such things happened often when I lived beyond the Soo.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the trapper tilted back his chair and filled his pipe anew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I ain’t thought of it neither fer this many ’n’ many a day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Although, it used to haunt me in the years that’s slid away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The years I spent a-trappin’ for the good old Hudson’s Bay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Wild? You bet, ’twas wild then, an’ few an’ far between<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The squatters’ shacks, for whites was scarce as furs when things is green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ only reds an’ ‘Hudson’s’ men was all the folk I seen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25"></a>{25}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“No. Them old Indyans ain’t so bad, not if you treat ’em square.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why, I lived in amongst ’em all the winters I was there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ I never lost a copper, an’ I never lost a hair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“But I’d have lost my life the time that you’ve heard tell about;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I don’t think I’d be settin’ here, but dead beyond a doubt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If that there Indyan ‘Wolverine’ jest hadn’t helped me out.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="smclft">’</span>Twas freshet time, ’way back, as long as sixty-six or eight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ I was comin’ to the Post that year a kind of late,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For beaver had been plentiful, and trappin’ had been great.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“One day I had been settin’ traps along a bit of wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ night was catchin’ up to me jest faster ’an it should,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all at once I heard a sound that curdled up my blood,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26"></a>{26}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“It was the howl of famished wolves—I didn’t stop to think<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But jest lit out across for home as quick as you could wink,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when I reached the river’s edge I brought up at the brink.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“That mornin’ I had crossed the stream straight on a sheet of ice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ now, God help me! There it was, churned up an’ cracked to dice,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flood went boiling past—I stood like one shut in a vice.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“No way ahead, no path aback, trapped like a rat ashore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With naught but death to follow, and with naught but death afore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The howl of hungry wolves aback—ahead, the torrents roar.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“An’ then—a voice, an Indyan voice, that called out clear and clean,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Take Indyan’s horse, I run like deer, wolf can’t catch Wolverine.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I says, ‘Thank Heaven.’ There stood the chief I’d nicknamed Wolverine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27"></a>{27}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I leapt on that there horse, an’ then jest like coward fled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ left that Indyan standin’ there alone, as good as dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the wolves a-howlin’ at his back, the swollen stream ahead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I don’t know how them Indyans dodge from death the way they do,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You won’t believe it, sir, but what I’m tellin’ you is true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But that there chap was round next day as sound as me or you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“He came to get his horse, but not a cent he’d take from me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes, sir, you’re right, the Indyans now ain’t like they used to be;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ve got em sharpened up a bit an’ now they’ll take a fee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“No, sir, you’re wrong, they ain’t no ‘dogs.’ I’m not through tellin’ yet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’ll take that name right back again, or else jest out you get!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’ll take that name right back when you hear all this yarn, I bet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28"></a>{28}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“It happened that same autumn, when some Whites was cornin’ in,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I heard the old Red River carts a-kickin’ up a din,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So I went over to their camp to see an English skin.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“They said, ‘They’d had an awful scare from Injuns,’ an’ they swore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That savages had come around the very night before<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A-brandishing their tomahawks an’ painted up for war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="smclft">‘</span>But when their plucky Englishmen had put a bit of lead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Right through the heart of one of them, an’ rolled him over, dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The other cowards said that they had come on peace instead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="smclft">‘</span>That they (the Whites) had lost some stores, from off their little pack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ that the Red they peppered dead had followed up their track,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because he’d found the packages an’ came <i>to give them back</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29"></a>{29}</span>’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="smclft">‘</span>Oh!’ they said, ‘they were quite sorry, but it wasn’t like as if<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They had killed a decent Whiteman by mistake or in a tiff,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was only some old Injun dog that lay there stark an’ stiff.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I said, ‘You are the meanest dogs that ever yet I seen,’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then I rolled the body over as it lay out on the green;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I peered into the face—My God! twas poor old Wolverine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30"></a>{30}</span>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_VAGABONDS" id="THE_VAGABONDS"></a>THE VAGABONDS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">What</span> saw you in your flight to-day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crows, awinging your homeward way?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Went you far in carrion quest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crows, that worry the sunless west?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thieves and villains, you shameless things!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Black your record as black your wings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tell me, birds of the inky hue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plunderous rogues—to-day have you<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Seen with mischievous, prying eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lands where earlier suns arise?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Saw you a lazy beck between<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trees that shadow its breast in green,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Teased by obstinate stones that lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crossing the current tauntingly.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fields abloom on the farther side<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With purpling clover lying wide—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31"></a>{31}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Saw you there as you circled by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vale-environed a cottage lie,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Girt about with emerald bands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nestling down in its meadow lands?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Saw you this on your thieving raids?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Speak—you rascally renegades!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thieved you also away from me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Olden scenes that I long to see?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If, O! crows, you have flown since morn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the place where I was born,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Forget will I, how black you were<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since dawn, in feather and character;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Absolve will I, your vagrant band<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere you enter your slumberland.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32"></a>{32}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_SONG_MY_PADDLE_SINGS" id="THE_SONG_MY_PADDLE_SINGS"></a>THE SONG MY PADDLE SINGS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">West</span> wind blow from your prairie nest?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blow from the mountains, blow from the west.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sail is idle, the sailor too;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! wind of the west, we wait for you.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blow, blow!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have wooed you so,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But never a favour you bestow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You rock your cradle the hills between,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But scorn to notice my white lateen.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I stow the sail, unship the mast:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I wooed you long but my wooing’s past;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My paddle will lull you into rest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! drowsy wind of the drowsy west,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleep, sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By your mountain steep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or down where the prairie grasses sweep!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now fold in slumber your laggard wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For soft is the song my paddle sings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33"></a>{33}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">August is laughing across the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Laughing while paddle, canoe and I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drift, drift,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the hills uplift<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On either side of the current swift.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The river rolls in its rocky bed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My paddle is plying its way ahead;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dip, dip,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the waters flip<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In foam as over their breast we slip.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And oh, the river runs swifter now;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eddies circle about my bow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swirl, swirl!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How the ripples curl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In many a dangerous pool awhirl!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And forward far the rapids roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fretting their margin for evermore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dash, dash,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a mighty crash,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They seethe, and boil, and bound, and splash.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Be strong, O paddle! be brave, canoe!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The reckless waves you must plunge into.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reel, reel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On your trembling keel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But never a fear my craft will feel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34"></a>{34}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We’ve raced the rapid, we’re far ahead!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The river slips through its silent bed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sway, sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the bubbles spray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fall in tinkling tunes away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And up on the hills against the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A fir tree rocking its lullaby,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swings, swings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its emerald wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swelling the song that my paddle sings.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35"></a>{35}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_CAMPER" id="THE_CAMPER"></a>THE CAMPER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Night</span> neath the northern skies, lone, black, and grim:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nought but the starlight lies twixt heaven, and him.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of man no need has he, of God, no prayer;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He and his Deity are brothers there.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Above his bivouac the firs fling down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through branches gaunt and black, their needles brown.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Afar some mountain streams, rockbound and fleet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sing themselves through his dreams in cadence sweet,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The pine trees whispering, the heron’s cry.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The plover’s passing wing, his lullaby.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And blinking overhead the white stars keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watch o’er his hemlock bed—his sinless sleep.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36"></a>{36}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="AT_HUSKING_TIME" id="AT_HUSKING_TIME"></a>AT HUSKING TIME</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">At</span> husking time the tassel fades<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To brown above the yellow blades,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose rustling sheath enswathes the corn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That bursts its chrysalis in scorn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Longer to lie in prison shades.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Among the merry lads and maids<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The creaking ox-cart slowly wades<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Twixt stalks and stubble, sacked and torn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At husking time.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The prying pilot crow persuades<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flock to join in thieving raids;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sly racoon with craft inborn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His portion steals; from plenty’s horn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His pouch the saucy chipmunk lades<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At husking time.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37"></a>{37}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="WORKWORN" id="WORKWORN"></a>WORKWORN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Across</span> the street, an humble woman lives;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To her tis little fortune ever gives;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Denied the wines of life, it puzzles me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To know how she can laugh so cheerily.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This morn I listened to her softly sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, marvelling what this effect could bring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I looked: twas but the presence of a child<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who passed her gate, and looking in, had smiled.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But self-encrusted, I had failed to see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The child had also looked and laughed to me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My lowly neighbour thought the smile God-sent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And singing, through the toilsome hours she went.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! weary singer, I have learned the wrong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of taking gifts, and giving nought of song;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I thought my blessings scant, my mercies few,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till I contrasted them with yours, and you;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-day I counted much, yet wished it more—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While but a child’s bright smile was all your store,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If I had thought of all the stormy days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That fill some lives that tread less favoured ways,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38"></a>{38}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">How little sunshine through their shadows gleamed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My own dull life had much the brighter seemed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I had thought of all the eyes that weep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through desolation, and still smiling keep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That see so little pleasure, so much woe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My own had laughed more often long ago;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I had thought how leaden was the weight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Adversity lays at my kinsman’s gate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of that great cross my next door neighbour bears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My thanks had been more frequent in my prayers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I had watched the woman o’er the way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Work worn and old, who labours day by day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who has no rest, no joy to call her own,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My tasks, my heart, had much the lighter grown.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39"></a>{39}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="EASTER" id="EASTER"></a>EASTER<br /><br /> -<small><span class="smcap">April 1, 1888</span></small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lent</span> gathers up her cloak of sombre shading<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In her reluctant hands.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her beauty heightens, fairest in its fading,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As pensively she stands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Awaiting Easter’s benediction falling,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like silver stars at night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before she can obey the summons calling<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her to her upward flight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Awaiting Easter’s wings that she must borrow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ere she can hope to fly—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those glorious wings that we shall see to-morrow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Against the far, blue sky.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has not the purple of her vesture’s lining<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Brought calm and rest to all?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has her dark robe had naught of golden shining<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Been naught but pleasure’s pall?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who knows? Perhaps when to the world returning<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In youth’s light joyousness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll wear some rarer jewels we found burning<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In Lent’s black-bordered dress.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40"></a>{40}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">So hand in hand with fitful March she lingers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To beg the crowning grace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of lifting with her pure and holy fingers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The veil from April’s face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet, rosy April—laughing, sighing, waiting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Until the gateway swings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she and Lent can kiss between the grating<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Easter’s tissue wings.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Too brief the bliss—the parting comes with sorrow.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Goodbye dear Lent, goodbye!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll watch your fading wings outlined to-morrow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Against the far blue sky.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41"></a>{41}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ERIE_WATERS" id="ERIE_WATERS"></a>ERIE WATERS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A dash</span> of yellow sand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wind-scattered and sun-tanned;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some waves that curl and cream along the margin of the strand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, creeping close to these<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long shores that lounge at ease,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Old Erie rocks and ripples to a fresh sou’-western breeze.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A sky of blue and gray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some stormy clouds that play<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At scurrying up with ragged edge, then laughing blow away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just leaving in their trail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some snatches of a gale:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To whistling summer winds we lift a single daring sail.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42"></a>{42}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! wind so sweet and swift,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! danger-freighted gift<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bestowed on Erie with her waves that foam and fall and lift,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We laugh in your wild face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And break into a race<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With flying clouds and tossing gulls that weave and interlace.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43"></a>{43}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_FLIGHT_OF_THE_CROWS" id="THE_FLIGHT_OF_THE_CROWS"></a>THE FLIGHT OF THE CROWS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> autumn afternoon is dying o’er<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The quiet western valley where I lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the maples on the river shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where tinted leaves, blue waters and fair sky<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Environ all; and far above some birds are flying by<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To seek their evening haven in the breast<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And calm embrace of silence, while they sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Te Deums to the night, invoking rest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For busy chirping voice and tired wing—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in the hush of sleeping trees their sleeping cradles swing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In forest arms the night will soonest creep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where sombre pines a lullaby intone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Nature’s children curl themselves to sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all is still at last, save where alone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A band of black, belated crows arrive from lands unknown.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44"></a>{44}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Strange sojourn has been theirs since waking day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Strange sights and cities in their wanderings blend<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With fields of yellow maize, and leagues away<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With rivers where their sweeping waters wend<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Past velvet banks to rocky shores, in cañons bold to end.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O’er what vast lakes that stretch superbly dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till lashed to life by storm clouds, have they flown?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In what wild lands, in laggard flight have led<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their aërial career unseen, unknown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till now with twilight come their cries in lonely monotone?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The flapping of their pinions in the air<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dies in the hush of distance, while they light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the fir tops, weirdly black and bare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That stand with giant strength and peerless height,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To shelter fairy, bird and beast throughout the closing night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Strange black and princely pirates of the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Would that your wind-tossed travels I could know!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would that my soul could see, and, seeing, rise<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45"></a>{45}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To unrestricted life where ebb and flow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Nature’s pulse would constitute a wider life below!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Could I but live just here in Freedom’s arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A kingly life without a sovereign’s care!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vain dreams! Day hides with closing wings her charms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all is cradled in repose, save where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yon band of black, belated crows still frets the evening air.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46"></a>{46}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MOONSET" id="MOONSET"></a>MOONSET</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Idles</span> the night wind through the dreaming firs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That waking murmur low,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As some lost melody returning stirs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The love of long ago;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And through the far, cool distance, zephyr fanned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moon is sinking into shadow land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The troubled night-bird, calling plaintively,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wanders on restless wing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cedars, chanting vespers to the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Await its answering,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That comes in wash of waves along the strand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The while the moon slips into shadow-land,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! soft responsive voices of the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I join your minstrelsy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And call across the fading silver light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As something calls to me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I may not all your meaning understand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I have touched your soul in shadow-land.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47"></a>{47}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MARSHLANDS" id="MARSHLANDS"></a>MARSHLANDS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A thin</span> wet sky, that yellows at the rim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And meets with sun-lost lip the marsh’s brim.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The pools low lying, dank with moss and mould,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glint through their mildews like large cups of gold<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Among the wild rice in the still lagoon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In monotone the lizard shrills his tune.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wild goose, homing, seeks a sheltering,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where rushes grow, and oozing lichens cling.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Late cranes with heavy wing, and lazy flight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sail up the silence with the nearing night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And like a spirit, swathed in some soft veil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Steals twilight and its shadows o’er the swale.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hushed lie the sedges, and the vapours creep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thick, grey and humid, while the marshes sleep.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48"></a>{48}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="JOE" id="JOE"></a>JOE<br /><br /> -<small><span class="smcap">An Etching</span></small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A Meadow</span> brown; across the yonder edge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A zigzag fence is ambling; here a wedge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of underbush has cleft its course in twain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till where beyond it staggers up again;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The long, grey rails stretch in a broken line<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their ragged length of rough, split forest pine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in their zigzag tottering have reeled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In drunken efforts to enclose the field,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which carries on its breast, September born,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A patch of rustling, yellow, Indian corn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond its shrivelled tassels, perched upon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The topmost rail, sits Joe, the settler’s son,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A little semi-savage boy of nine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now dozing in the warmth of Nature’s wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His face the sun has tampered with, and wrought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By heated kisses, mischief, and has brought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some vagrant freckles, while from here and there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A few wild locks of vagabond brown hair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Escape the old straw hat the sun looks through,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And blinks to meet his Irish eyes of blue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49"></a>{49}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Barefooted, innocent of coat or vest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His grey checked shirt unbuttoned at his chest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Both hardy hands within their usual nest—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His breeches pockets—so, he waits to rest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His little fingers, somewhat tired and worn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That all day long were husking Indian corn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His drowsy lids snap at some trivial sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With lazy yawns he slips towards the ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then with an idle whistle lifts his load<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shambles home along the country road<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That stretches on fringed out with stumps and weeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And finally unto the backwoods leads,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where forests wait with giant trunk and bough<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The axe of pioneer, the settler’s plough.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50"></a>{50}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="SHADOW_RIVER" id="SHADOW_RIVER"></a>SHADOW RIVER<br /><br /> -<small><span class="smcap">Muskoka</span></small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A stream</span> of tender gladness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of filmy sun, and opal tinted skies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of warm midsummer air that lightly lies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In mystic rings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where softly swings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The music of a thousand wings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That almost tone to sadness.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Midway twixt earth and heaven,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bubble in the pearly air, I seem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To float upon the sapphire floor, a dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of clouds of snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above, below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drift with my drifting, dim and slow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As twilight drifts to even.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The little fern-leaf, bending<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the brink, its green reflection greets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And kisses soft the shadow that it meets<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51"></a>{51}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With touch so fine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The border line<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The keenest vision can’t define;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So perfect is the blending.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The far, fir trees that cover<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brownish hills with needles green and gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The arching elms o’erhead, vinegrown and old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Repictured are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath me far,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where not a ripple moves to mar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shades underneath, or over.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mine is the undertone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The beauty, strength, and power of the land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will never stir or bend at my command;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But all the shade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is marred or made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I but dip my paddle blade;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it is mine alone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! pathless world of seeming!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! pathless life of mine whose deep ideal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is more my own than ever was the real.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For others Fame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Love’s red flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yellow gold: I only claim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shadows and the dreaming.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52"></a>{52}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="RAINFALL" id="RAINFALL"></a>RAINFALL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">From</span> out the west, where darkling storm-clouds float,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The waking wind pipes soft its rising note.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From out the west, o’er hung with fringes grey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind preludes with sighs its roundelay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then blowing, singing, piping, laughing loud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It scurries on before the grey storm-cloud;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Across the hollow and along the hill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It whips and whirls among the maples, till<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With boughs upbent, and green of leaves blown wide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The silver shines upon their underside.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A gusty freshening of humid air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With showers laden, and with fragrance rare;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now a little sprinkle, with a dash<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of great cool drops that fall with sudden splash;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then over field and hollow, grass and grain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The loud, crisp whiteness of the nearing rain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53"></a>{53}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="UNDER_CANVAS" id="UNDER_CANVAS"></a>UNDER CANVAS<br /><br /> -<small><span class="smcap">In Muskoka</span></small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lichens</span> of green and grey on every side;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And green and grey the rocks beneath our feet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above our heads the canvas stretching wide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And over all, enchantment rare and sweet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fair Rosseau slumbers in an atmosphere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That kisses her to passionless soft dreams.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! joy of living we have found thee here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And life lacks nothing, so complete it seems.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The velvet air, stirred by some elfin wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes swinging up the waters and then stills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its voice so low that floating by it sings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like distant harps among the distant hills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Across the lake the rugged islands lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fir-crowned and grim; and further in the view<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some shadows seeming swung twixt cloud and sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are countless shores, a symphony of blue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54"></a>{54}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some Northern sorceress, when day is done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hovers where cliffs uplift their gaunt grey steeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bewitching to vermilion Rosseau’s sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in a liquid mass of rubies sleeps.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The scent of burning leaves, the camp-fire’s blaze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The great logs cracking in the brilliant flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The groups grotesque, on which the fire-light plays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are pictures which Muskoka twilights frame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Night, star-crested, wanders up the mere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With opiates for idleness to quaff,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And while she ministers, far off I hear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The owl’s uncanny cry, the wild loon’s laugh.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55"></a>{55}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_BIRDS_LULLABY" id="THE_BIRDS_LULLABY"></a>THE BIRDS’ LULLABY</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sing</span> to us, cedars; the twilight is creeping<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With shadowy garments, the wilderness through;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All day we have carolled, and now would be sleeping,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So echo the anthems we warbled to you;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">While we swing, swing,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And your branches sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sing</span> to us, cedars; the night-wind is sighing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is wooing, is pleading, to hear you reply;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here in your arms we are restfully lying,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And longing to dream to your soft lullaby;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">While we swing, swing,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And your branches sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56"></a>{56}</span></p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sing</span> to us, cedars; your voice is so lowly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your breathing so fragrant, your branches so strong;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our little nest-cradles are swaying so slowly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While zephyrs are breathing their slumberous song.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And we swing, swing,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">While your branches sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57"></a>{57}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="OVERLOOKED" id="OVERLOOKED"></a>OVERLOOKED</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sleep</span>, with her tender balm, her touch so kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Has passed me by;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Afar I see her vesture, velvet-lined,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Float silently;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! Sleep, my tired eyes had need of thee!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is thy sweet kiss not meant to-night for me?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Peace, with the blessings that I longed for so,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Has passed me by;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where ere she folds her holy wings I know<br /></span> -<span class="i5">All tempests die;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! Peace, my tired soul had need of thee!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is thy sweet kiss denied alone to me?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Love, with her heated touches, passion-stirred,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Has passed me by.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I called, “O stay thy flight,” but all unheard<br /></span> -<span class="i5">My lonely cry:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! Love, my tired heart had need of thee!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is thy sweet kiss withheld alone from me?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58"></a>{58}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sleep, sister-twin of Peace, my waking eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i5">So weary grow!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! Love, thou wanderer from Paradise,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Dost thou not know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How oft my lonely heart has cried to thee?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Thou, and Sleep, and Peace, come not to me.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59"></a>{59}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="FASTING" id="FASTING"></a>FASTING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">’Tis</span> morning now, yet silently I stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Uplift the curtain with a weary hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Look out while darkness overspreads the way,<br /></span> -<span class="i7">And long for day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Calm peace is frighted with my mood to-night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor visits my dull chamber with her light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To guide my senses into her sweet rest<br /></span> -<span class="i7">And leave me blest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Long hours since the city rocked and sung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Itself to slumber: only the stars swung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aloft their torches in the midnight skies<br /></span> -<span class="i7">With watchful eyes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No sound awakes; I, even, breathe no sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor hear a single footstep passing by;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet I am not alone, for now I feel<br /></span> -<span class="i7">A presence steal.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60"></a>{60}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Within my chamber walls; I turn to see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sweetest guest that courts humanity;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With subtle, slow enchantment draws she near,<br /></span> -<span class="i7">And Sleep is here.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What care I for the olive branch of Peace?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Kind Sleep will bring a thrice-distilled release,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nepenthes, that alone her mystic hand<br /></span> -<span class="i7">Can understand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And so she bends, this welcome sorceress,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To crown my fasting with her light caress.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah, sure my pain will vanish at the bliss<br /></span> -<span class="i7">Of her warm kiss.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But still my duty lies in self-denial;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I must refuse sweet Sleep, although the trial<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will reawaken all my depth of pain.<br /></span> -<span class="i7">So once again<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I lift the curtain with a weary hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With more than sorrow, silently I stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Look out while darkness overspreads the way,<br /></span> -<span class="i7">And long for day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Go, Sleep,” I say, “before the darkness die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To one who needs you even more than I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For I can bear my part alone, but he<br /></span> -<span class="i7">Has need of thee.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61"></a>{61}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“His poor tired eyes in vain have sought relief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His heart more tired still, with all its grief;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His pain is deep, while mine is vague and dim,<br /></span> -<span class="i7">Go thou to him.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“When thou hast fanned him with thy drowsy wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And laid thy lips upon the pulsing strings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in his soul with fret and fever burn,<br /></span> -<span class="i7">To me return.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She goes. The air within the quiet street<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reverberates to the passing of her feet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I watch her take her passage through the gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i7">To your dear home.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Belovéd, would you knew how sweet to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is this denial, and how fervently<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I pray that Sleep may lift you to her breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i7">And give you rest—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A privilege that she alone can claim.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would that my heart could comfort you the same,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But in the censer Sleep is swinging high,<br /></span> -<span class="i7">All sorrows die.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She comes not back, yet all my miseries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wane at the thought of your calm sleeping eyes—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wane, as I hear the early matin bell<br /></span> -<span class="i7">The dawn foretell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62"></a>{62}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And so, dear heart, still silently I stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Uplift the curtain with a weary hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The long, long night has bitter been and lone,<br /></span> -<span class="i7">But now tis gone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dawn lights her candles in the East once more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And darkness flees her chariot before;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Lenten morning breaks with holy ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i7">And it is day!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63"></a>{63}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHRISTMASTIDE" id="CHRISTMASTIDE"></a>CHRISTMASTIDE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I may</span> not go to-night to Bethlehem,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor follow star-directed ways, nor tread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The paths wherein the shepherds walked, that led<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Christ, and peace, and God’s good will to men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I may not hear the Herald Angels’ song<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peal through the oriental skies, nor see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wonder of that Heavenly company<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Announce the King the world had waited long.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The manger throne I may not kneel before,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or see how man to God is reconciled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through pure St. Mary’s purer, holier child;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The human Christ these eyes may not adore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I may not carry frankincense and myrrh<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With adoration to the Holy One;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor gold have I to give the Perfect Son,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To be with those wise kings a worshipper.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64"></a>{64}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not mine the joy that Heaven sent to them,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ages since Time swung and locked his gates,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I may kneel without—the star still waits,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To guide me on to holy Bethlehem.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65"></a>{65}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CLOSE_BY" id="CLOSE_BY"></a>CLOSE BY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">So</span> near at hand (our eyes o’erlooked its nearness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In search of distant things)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dear dream lay—perchance to grow in dearness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had we but felt its wings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Astir. The air our very breathing fanned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was so near at hand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Once, many days ago, we almost held it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The love we so desired;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But our shut eyes saw not, and fate dispelled it<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before our pulses fired<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To flame, and errant fortune bade us stand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hand almost touching hand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I sometimes think had we two been discerning,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The by-path hid away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From others’ eyes had then revealed its turning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To us, nor led astray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our footsteps, guiding us into love’s land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lay so near at hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66"></a>{66}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So near at hand, dear heart, could we have known it!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Throughout those dreamy hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had either loved, or loving had we shown it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Response had sure been ours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We did not know that heart could heart command,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And love so near at hand!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What then availed the red wine’s subtle glisten?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We passed it blindly by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now what profit that we wait and listen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each for the other’s heart beat? Ah! the cry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of love o’erlooked still lingers, you and I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sought heaven afar, we did not understand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Twas—once so near at hand.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67"></a>{67}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_IDLERS" id="THE_IDLERS"></a>THE IDLERS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> sun’s red pulses beat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full prodigal of heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full lavish of its lustre unrepressed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But we have drifted far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From where his kisses are,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in this landward-lying shade we let our paddles rest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The river, deep and still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The maple-mantled hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The little yellow beach whereon we lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The puffs of heated breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All sweetly whisper—These<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are days that only come in a Canadian July.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So, silently we two<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lounge in our still canoe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor fate, nor fortune matters to us now:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So long as we alone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May call this dream our own,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The breeze may die, the sail may droop, we care not when or how.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68"></a>{68}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Against the thwart, near by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Inactively you lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all too near my arm your temple bends.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your indolently crude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Abandoned attitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is one of ease and art, in which a perfect languor blends.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your costume, loose and light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaves unconcealed your might<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of muscle, half suspected, half defined;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And falling well aside,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your vesture opens wide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above your splendid sunburnt throat that pulses unconfined.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With easy unreserve,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across the gunwale’s curve,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your arm superb is lying, brown and bare;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your hand just touches mine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With import firm and fine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(I kiss the very wind that blows about your tumbled hair).<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! Dear, I am unwise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In echoing your eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whene’er they leave their far off gaze, and turn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To melt and blur my sight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For every other light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is servile to your cloud-grey eyes, wherein cloud shadows burn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69"></a>{69}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But once the silence breaks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But once your ardour wakes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To words that humanize this lotus-land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So perfect and complete<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those burning words and sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So perfect is the single kiss your lips lay on my hand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The paddles lie disused,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fitful breeze abused,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has dropped to slumber, with no after-blow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hearts will pay the cost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For you and I have lost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More than the homeward blowing wind that died an hour ago.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70"></a>{70}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="AT_SUNSET" id="AT_SUNSET"></a>AT SUNSET</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To-night</span> the west o’er-brims with warmest dyes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its chalice overflows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With pools of purple colouring the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aflood with gold and rose;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As sinks the sun within that world of wine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I seem to hear a bar of music float<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And swoon into the west;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But something in my breast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blends with that strain, till both accord in one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As cloud and colour blend at set of sun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As ashes follow flame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But O! I heard a voice from those rich skies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Call tenderly my name;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was as if some priestly fingers stole<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In benedictions o’er my lonely soul.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71"></a>{71}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I know not why, but all my being longed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leapt at that sweet call;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart outreached its arms, all passion thronged<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And beat against Fate’s wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crying in utter homesickness to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Near to a heart that loves and leans to me.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72"></a>{72}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="PENSEROSO" id="PENSEROSO"></a>PENSEROSO</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Soulless</span> is all humanity to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-night. My keenest longing is to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alone, alone with God’s grey earth that seems<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pulse of my pulse and consort of my dreams.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To-night my soul desires no fellowship,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or fellow-being; crave I but to slip<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thro’ space on space, till flesh no more can bind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I may quit for aye my fellow kind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let me but feel athwart my cheek the lash<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of whipping wind, but hear the torrent dash<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Adown the mountain steep, twere more my choice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than touch of human hand, than human voice.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let me but wander on the shore night-stilled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drinking its darkness till my soul is filled;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The breathing of the salt sea on my hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My outstretched hands but grasping empty air.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73"></a>{73}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let me but feel the pulse of Nature’s soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Athrob on mine, let seas and thunders roll<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er night and me; sands whirl; winds, waters beat;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For God’s grey earth has no cheap counterfeit.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74"></a>{74}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="RE-VOYAGE" id="RE-VOYAGE"></a>RE-VOYAGE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">What</span> of the days when we two dreamed together?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Days marvellously fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As lightsome as a skyward-floating feather<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sailing on summer air—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Summer, summer, that came drifting through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fate’s hand to me, to you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What of the days, my dear? I sometimes wonder<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If you too wish this sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could be the blue we sailed so softly under,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In that sun-kissed July;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sailed in the warm and yellow afternoon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hearts in touch and tune.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Have you no longing to relive the dreaming,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Adrift in my canoe?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To watch my paddle blade all wet and gleaming<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cleaving the waters through?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To lie wind-blown and wave-caressed, until<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your restless pulse grows still?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75"></a>{75}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you not long to listen to the purling<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of foam athwart the keel?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hear the nearing rapids softly swirling<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among their stones, to feel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The boat’s unsteady tremor as it braves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild and snarling waves?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What need of question, what of your replying?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oh! well I know that you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would toss the world away to be but lying<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Again in my canoe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In listless indolence entranced and lost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wave-rocked, and passion-tossed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah me! my paddle failed me in the steering<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across love’s shoreless seas;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All reckless, I had ne’er a thought of fearing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Such dreary days as these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When through the self-same rapids we dash by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My lone canoe and I.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76"></a>{76}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="BRIER" id="BRIER"></a>BRIER<br /><br /> -<small>GOOD FRIDAY</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Because</span>, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bends back the brier that edges life’s long way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Because I never knew your care to tire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your hand to weary guiding me aright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because you walk before and crush the brier,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Because so often you have hearkened to<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That these harsh hands of mine add not unto<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77"></a>{77}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="WAVE-WON" id="WAVE-WON"></a>WAVE-WON</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To-night</span> I hunger so,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Belovéd one, to know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If you recall and crave again the dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That haunted our canoe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wove its witchcraft through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our hearts as neath the northern night we sailed the northern stream.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! dear, if only we<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As yesternight could be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Afloat within that light and lonely shell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To drift in silence till<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heart-hushed, and lulled and still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moonlight through the melting air flung forth its fatal spell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dusky summer night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The path of gold and white<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moon had cast across the river’s breast,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78"></a>{78}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shores in shadows clad,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The far-away, half-sad<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet singing of the whip-poor-will, all soothed our souls to rest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You trusted I could feel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My arm as strong as steel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So still your upturned face, so calm your breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While circling eddies curled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While laughing rapids whirled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From boulder unto boulder, till they dashed themselves to death.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your splendid eyes aflame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Put heaven’s stars to shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your god-like head so near my lap was laid—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My hand is burning where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It touched your wind-blown hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As sweeping to the rapids verge, I changed my paddle blade.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The boat obeyed my hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till wearied with its grand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild anger, all the river lay aswoon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And as my paddle dipped,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thro’ pools of pearl it slipped<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And swept beneath a shore of shade, beneath a velvet moon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79"></a>{79}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To-night, again dream you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our spirit-winged canoe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is listening to the rapids purling past?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, in delirium reeled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our maddened hearts that kneeled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To idolize the perfect world, to taste of love at last.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80"></a>{80}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_HAPPY_HUNTING_GROUNDS" id="THE_HAPPY_HUNTING_GROUNDS"></a>THE HAPPY HUNTING GROUNDS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Into</span> the rose gold westland, its yellow prairies roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">World of the bison’s freedom, home of the Indian’s soul.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roll out, O seas! in sunlight bathed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your plains wind-tossed, and grass enswathed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Farther than vision ranges, farther than eagles fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stretches the land of beauty, arches the perfect sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hemm’d through the purple mists afar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By peaks that gleam like star on star.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fringing the prairie billows, fretting horizon’s line,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Darkly green are slumb’ring wildernesses of pine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleeping until the zephyrs throng<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To kiss their silence into song.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whispers freighted with odour swinging into the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Russet needles as censers swing to an altar, where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The angels’ songs are less divine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than duo sung twixt breeze and pine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81"></a>{81}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Laughing into the forest, dimples a mountain stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pure as the airs above it, soft as a summer dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! Lethean spring thou’rt only found<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In this ideal hunting ground.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Surely the great Hereafter cannot be more than this,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Surely we’ll see that country after Time’s farewell kiss.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who would his lovely faith condole?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who envies not the Red-skin’s soul,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sailing into the cloud land, sailing into the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the crimson portals ajar when life is done?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! dear dead race, my spirit too<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would fain sail westward unto you.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82"></a>{82}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="IN_THE_SHADOWS" id="IN_THE_SHADOWS"></a>IN THE SHADOWS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I am</span> sailing to the leeward,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the current runs to seaward<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Soft and slow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the sleeping river grasses<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brush my paddle as it passes<br /></span> -<span class="i3">To and fro.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the shore the heat is shaking<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the golden sands awaking<br /></span> -<span class="i3">In the cove;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the quaint sand-piper, winging<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the shallows, ceases singing<br /></span> -<span class="i3">When I move.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the water’s idle pillow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleeps the overhanging willow,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Green and cool;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the rushes lift their burnished<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oval heads from out the tarnished<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Emerald pool.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83"></a>{83}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where the very silence slumbers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Water lilies grow in numbers,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Pure and pale;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the morning they have rested,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Amber crowned, and pearly crested,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Fair and frail.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here, impossible romances,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Indefinable sweet fancies,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Cluster round;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But they do not mar the sweetness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of this still September fleetness<br /></span> -<span class="i3">With a sound.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I can scarce discern the meeting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the shore and stream retreating,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">So remote;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the laggard river, dozing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only wakes from its reposing<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Where I float.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where the river mists are rising,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the foliage baptizing<br /></span> -<span class="i3">With their spray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There the sun gleams far and faintly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a shadow soft and saintly,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">In its ray.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the perfume of some burning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far-off brushwood, ever turning<br /></span> -<span class="i3">To exhale<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84"></a>{84}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">All its smoky fragrance dying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the arms of evening lying,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Where I sail.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My canoe is growing lazy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the atmosphere so hazy,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">While I dream;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Half in slumber I am guiding,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eastward indistinctly gliding<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Down the stream.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85"></a>{85}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="NOCTURNE" id="NOCTURNE"></a>NOCTURNE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Night</span> of Mid-June, in heavy vapours dying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like priestly hands thy holy touch is lying<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the world’s wide brow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God-like and grand all nature is commanding<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The “peace that passes human understanding;”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I, also, feel it now.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What matters it to-night, if one life treasure<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I covet, is not mine! Am I to measure<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gifts of Heaven’s decree<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By my desires? O! life for ever longing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For some far gift, where many gifts are thronging,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God wills, it may not be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Am I to learn that longing, lifted higher,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps will catch the gleam of sacred fire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That shows my cross is gold?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That underneath this cross—however lowly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A jewel rests, white, beautiful and holy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose worth can not be told.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86"></a>{86}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like to a scene I watched one day in wonder:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">city, great and powerful, lay under<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sky of grey and gold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun outbreaking in his farewell hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was scattering afar a yellow shower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of light, that aureoled<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With brief hot touch, so marvellous and shining,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A hundred steeples on the sky out-lining,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like network threads of fire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above them all, with halo far outspreading,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw a golden cross in glory heading<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A consecrated spire:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I only saw its gleaming form uplifting,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the clouds of grey to seaward drifting,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet I surely know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the seen, a great unseen is resting,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For while the cross that pinnacle is cresting,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An Altar lies below.<br /></span> -<span class="ig">* * * * *<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night of mid-June, so slumberous and tender,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night of mid-June, transcendent in thy splendour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy silent wings enfold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hush my longing, as at thy desire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All colour fades from round that far off spire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Except its cross of gold.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87"></a>{87}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MY_ENGLISH_LETTER" id="MY_ENGLISH_LETTER"></a>MY ENGLISH LETTER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> each white moon, her lantern idly swinging,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Comes out to join the star night-watching band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across the grey-green sea, a ship is bringing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For me a letter, from the Motherland.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Naught would I care to live in quaint old Britain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These wilder shores are dearer far to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet when I read the words that hand has written,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The parent sod more precious seems to be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Within that folded note I catch the savour<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of climes that make the Motherland so fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Although I never knew the blessed favour<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That surely lies in breathing English air.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Imagination’s brush before me fleeing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Paints English pictures, though my longing eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have never known the blessedness of seeing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The blue that lines the arch of English skies.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88"></a>{88}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And yet my letter brings the scenes I covet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Framed in the salt sea winds, aye more in dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I almost see the face that bent above it,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I almost touch that hand, so near it seems.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Near, for the very grey-green sea that dashes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Round these Canadian coasts, rolls out once more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Eastward, and the same Atlantic splashes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her wild white spray on England’s distant shore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Near, for the same young moon so idly swinging<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her threadlike crescent bends the self-same smile<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On that old land from whence a ship is bringing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My message from the transatlantic Isle.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus loves my heart that far old country better,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Because of those dear words that always come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With love enfolded in each English letter<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That drifts into my sun-kissed Western home.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="c"><small> -<i>Printed by</i> <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson & Co</span>.<br /> -<i>London & Edinburgh</i></small> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89"></a>{89}</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="c"><b><big><big>L</big>ist of <big>B</big>ooks</big><br /><br /> - -<small>IN</small><br /><br /> - -<big><big><big>B</big> e l l e s <big>L</big> e t t r e s</big></big> -</b> -<br /><br /><img src="images/colophon2.png" -width="175" -height="197" -alt="" -/><br /><br />All the Books in this Catalogue<br /> -are Published at Net Prices</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td valign="middle"> -<i>1895</i> <img src="images/ill_1895.png" -width="25" -height="14" -alt="" -/><br /> -</td> -<td><span style="margin-left: 2em;margin-right: 2em;"> </span></td> -<td> -<small><i>Telegraphic Address</i><br /> - <i>Bodleian, London</i></small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90"></a>{90}</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91"></a>{91}</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="r"> -<i>1895.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="c">List of Books<br /><br /> - -<small>IN</small><br /><br /> - -<big><i>BELLES LETTRES</i></big><br /><small> - -(<i>Including some Transfers</i>)</small><br /><br /> - -Published by John Lane<br /><br /> - -<span class="eng">The Bodley Head</span><br /><br /> - -Vigo Street, London, W.</p> - -<p><i>N.B.—The Authors and Publisher reserve the right of reprinting any -book in this list if a new edition is called for, except in cases where -a stipulation has been made to the contrary, and of printing a separate -edition of any of the books for America irrespective of the numbers to -which the English editions are limited. The numbers mentioned do not -include copies sent to the public libraries, nor those sent for review.</i></p> - -<p><i>Most of the books are published simultaneously in England and America, -and in many instances the names of the American publishers are -appended.</i></p> - -<p class="c"><img src="images/ill_1895-2.png" -width="60" -height="18" -alt="" -/></p> - -<p><i>ADAMS (FRANCIS).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Essays in Modernity.</span> Cr. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>Shortly.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Chicago: Stone & Kimball.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Child of the Age.</span> (<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Keynotes Series</span>.)</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92"></a>{92}</span></p> - -<p><i>ALLEN (GRANT).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Lower Slopes</span>: A Volume of Verse. With title-page and cover -design by <span class="smcap">J. Illingworth Kay</span>. 600 copies, cr. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Chicago: Stone & Kimball.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Woman Who Did.</span> (<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Keynotes Series</span>.)</p></div> - -<p><i>BEARDSLEY (AUBREY).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Story of Venus and Tannhäuser</span>, in which is set forth an exact -account of the Manner of State held by Madam Venus, Goddess and -Meretrix, under the famous Hörselberg, and containing the -adventures of Tannhäuser in that place, his repentance, his -journeying to Rome, and return to the loving mountain. By <span class="smcap">Aubrey -Beardsley</span>. With 20 full-page illustrations, numerous ornaments, and -a cover from the same hand. Sq. 16mo. 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="c"> -<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p></div> - -<p><i>BEDDOES (T. L.).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Gosse (Edmund)</span>.</p></div> - -<p><i>BEECHING (Rev. H. C.).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In a Garden</span>: Poems. With title-page and cover design by <span class="smcap">Roger Fry</span>. -Cr. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: Macmillan & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>BENSON (ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Lyrics.</span> Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: Macmillan & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>BROTHERTON (MARY).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Rosemary for Remembrance</span>. With title-page and cover design by -<span class="smcap">Walter West</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p></div> - -<p><i>CAMPBELL (GERALD).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Joneses and the Asterisks.</span> With six illustrations and -title-page by <span class="smcap">F. H. Townsend</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: The Merriam Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>CASTLE (Mrs. EGERTON).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">My Little Lady Anne</span>: A Romance. Sq. 16mo. 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Philadelphia: Henry Altemus.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93"></a>{93}</span></p> - -<p><i>CASTLE (EGERTON).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Stevenson (Robert Louis)</span>.</p></div> - -<p><i>CROSS (VICTORIA).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Consummation</span>: A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p></div> - -<p><i>DALMON (C. W.).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Song Favours.</span> With a specially designed title-page. Sq. 16mo. 3<i>s.</i> -6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Chicago: Way & Williams.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>D’ARCY (ELLA).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Monochromes.</span> (<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Keynotes Series</span>.)</p></div> - -<p><i>DAVIDSON (JOHN).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Plays</span>: An Unhistorical Pastoral; A Romantic Farce; Bruce, a -Chronicle Play; Smith, a Tragic Farce; Scaramouch in Naxos, a -Pantomime. With a frontispiece and cover design by <span class="smcap">Aubrey -Beardsley</span>. Printed at the Ballantyne Press. 500 copies, sm. 4to. -7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Chicago: Stone & Kimball.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fleet Street Eclogues.</span> Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>Out of print at present.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">A Random Itinerary and a Ballad.</span> With a frontispiece and title-page -by <span class="smcap">Laurence Housman</span>. 600 copies. Fcap. 8vo, Irish Linen. 5<i>s.</i> -<i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Boston: Copeland & Day.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ballads and Songs.</span> With title-page designed by <span class="smcap">Walter West</span>. Fourth -Edition. Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Boston: Copeland & Day.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>DAWE (W. CARLTON).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Yellow and White.</span> (<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Keynotes Series</span>.)</p></div> - -<p><i>DE TABLEY (LORD).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical.</span> By <span class="smcap">John Leicester Warren</span> (Lord De -Tabley). Illustrations and cover design by <span class="smcap">C. S. Ricketts</span>. 2nd -edition, cr. 8vo. 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: Macmillan & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94"></a>{94}</span></p> - -<p><i>DE TABLEY (LORD).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical.</span> 2nd series, uniform in binding with -the former volume. Cr. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: Macmillan & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>DIX (GERTRUDE).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Girl from the Farm.</span> (<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Keynotes Series</span>.)</p></div> - -<p><i>DOSTOIEVSKY (F.).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">(<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Keynotes Series</span>, Vol. III.)</p></div> - -<p><i>ECHEGARAY (JOSÉ).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Lynch (Hannah)</span>.</p></div> - -<p><i>EGERTON (GEORGE).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Keynotes.</span> (<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Keynotes Series</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Discords.</span> (<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Keynotes Series</span>.)</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Young Ofeg’s Ditties.</span> A translation from the Swedish of <span class="smcap">Ola -Hansson</span>. Cr. 8vo. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Boston: Roberts Bros.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>FARR (FLORENCE).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Dancing Faun.</span> (<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Keynotes Series</span>.)</p></div> - -<p><i>FLETCHER (J. S.).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Wonderful Wapentake.</span> By “<span class="smcap">A Son of the Soil</span>.” With 18 full-page -illustrations by <span class="smcap">J. A. Symington</span>. Cr. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Chicago: A. C. McClurg & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>GALE (NORMAN).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Orchard Songs.</span> With title-page and cover design by <span class="smcap">J. Illingworth -Kay</span>. Fcap. 8vo. Irish Linen. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p>Also a special edition limited in number on hand-made paper bound -in English vellum. £1 1<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95"></a>{95}</span></p> - -<p><i>GARNETT</i> (<i>RICHARD</i>).</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> With title-page by <span class="smcap">J. Illingworth Kay</span>. 350 copies, cr. 8vo. -5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Boston: Copeland & Day.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dante, Petrarch, Camoens.</span> CXXIV Sonnets rendered in English. Cr. -8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p></div> - -<p><i>GEARY (NEVILL).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Lawyer’s Wife</span>: A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p></div> - -<p><i>GOSSE (EDMUND).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Letters of Thomas Lovell Beddoes.</span> Now first edited. Pott 8vo. -5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p>Also 25 copies large paper. 12<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: Macmillan & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>GRAHAME (KENNETH).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Pagan Papers: A Volume of Essays.</span> With title-page by <span class="smcap">Aubrey -Beardsley</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Chicago: Stone & Kimball.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Golden Age.</span> Cr. 8vo. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Chicago: Stone & Kimball.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>GREENE (G. A.).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Italian Lyrists of To-Day.</span> Translations in the original metres from -about 35 living Italian poets with bibliographical and biographical -notes. Cr. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: Macmillan & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>GREENWOOD (FREDERICK).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Imagination in Dreams.</span> Crown 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: Macmillan & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>HAKE (T. GORDON).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Selection from his Poems.</span> Edited by Mrs. <span class="smcap">Meynell</span>. With a portrait -after <span class="smcap">D. G. Rossetti</span>, and a cover design by <span class="smcap">Gleeson White</span>. Cr. 8vo. -5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Chicago: Stone & Kimball.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96"></a>{96}</span></p> - -<p><i>HANSSON (LAURA MARHOLM).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Modern Women</span>: Six Psychological Sketches. [<span class="smcap">Sophia Kovalevsky</span>, -<span class="smcap">George Egerton</span>, <span class="smcap">Eleonora Duse</span>, <span class="smcap">Amalie Skram</span>, <span class="smcap">Marie Bashkirtseff</span>, <span class="smcap">A. -Edgren Leffler</span>.] Translated from the German by <span class="smcap">Hermione Ramsden</span>. -Cr. 8vo. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p></div> - -<p><i>HANSSON (OLA).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Egerton</span>.</p></div> - -<p><i>HARLAND (HENRY).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Grey Roses.</span> (<i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Keynotes Series</span>.)</p></div> - -<p><i>HAYES (ALFRED).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Vale of Arden, and Other Poems.</span> With a title-page and cover -design by <span class="smcap">E. H. New</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p>Also 25 copies large paper. 15<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p></div> - -<p><i>HEINEMANN (WILLIAM).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The First Step</span>: A Dramatic Moment. Sm. 4to. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p></div> - -<p><i>HOPPER (NORA).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballads in Prose.</span> With a title-page and cover by <span class="smcap">Walter West</span>. Sq. -16mo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Boston: Roberts Bros.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>HOUSMAN (LAURENCE).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Green Arras</span>: Poems. With illustrations by the Author. Cr. 8vo. -5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p></div> - -<p><i>IRVING (LAURENCE).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Godefroi and Yolande</span>: A Play. With 3 illustrations by <span class="smcap">Aubrey -Beardsley</span>. Sm. 4to. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p></div> - -<p><i>JAMES (W. P.).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Romantic Professions</span>: A volume of Essays. With title-page designed -by <span class="smcap">J. Illingworth Kay</span>. Cr. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: Macmillan & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97"></a>{97}</span></p> - -<p><i>JOHNSON (LIONEL).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Art of Thomas Hardy.</span> Six Essays, with etched portrait by <span class="smcap">Wm. -Strang</span>, and Bibliography by <span class="smcap">John Lane</span>. Second edition, cr. 8vo. -Buckram. 5<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Also 150 copies, large paper, with proofs of the portrait. £1<i>s.</i> -1<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p></div> - -<p><i>New York: Dodd, Mead & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>JOHNSON (PAULINE).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The White Wampum</span>: Poems. With title-page and cover designs by <span class="smcap">E. H. -New</span>. Cr. 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Boston: Lamson, Wolffe & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>JOHNSTONE (C. E.).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballads of Boy and Beak.</span> Sq. 32mo. 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p></div> - -<p><i>KEYNOTES SERIES.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Each volume with specially designed title-page by <span class="smcap">Aubrey Beardsley</span>. -Cr. 8vo, cloth. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p></div> - -<p>Vol. <small>I</small>. <span class="smcap">Keynotes.</span> By <span class="smcap">George Egerton</span>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>Seventh edition now ready.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>Vol. <small>II</small>. <span class="smcap">The Dancing Faun.</span> By <span class="smcap">Florence Farr</span>.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Vol. <small>III</small>. <span class="smcap">Poor Folk.</span> Translated from the Russian of <span class="smcap">F. Dostoievsky</span> -by <span class="smcap">Lena Milman</span>, with a preface by <span class="smcap">George Moore</span>.</p></div> - -<p>Vol. <small>IV</small>. <span class="smcap">A Child of the Age.</span> By <span class="smcap">Francis Adams</span>.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Vol. <small>V</small>. <span class="smcap">The Great God Pan and the Inmost Light.</span> By <span class="smcap">Arthur Machen</span>.</p></div> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>Second edition now ready.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>Vol. <small>VI</small>. <span class="smcap">Discords.</span> By <span class="smcap">George Egerton</span>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>Fourth edition now ready.</i><br /> -</p> -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>Vol. <small>VII</small>. <span class="smcap">Prince Zaleski</span>. By <span class="smcap">M. P. Shiel</span>.</p> - -<p>Vol. <small>VIII</small>. <span class="smcap">The Woman who Did.</span> By <span class="smcap">Grant Allen</span>.</p> -</div> -<p class="r"> -[<i>Fifteenth edition now ready.</i><br /> -</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Vol. <small>IX</small>. <span class="smcap">Women’s Tragedies.</span> By <span class="smcap">H. D. Lowry</span>.</p> - -<p>Vol. <small>X</small>. <span class="smcap">Grey Roses.</span> By <span class="smcap">Henry Harland</span>.</p> - -<p>Vol. <small>XI</small>. <span class="smcap">At the First Corner, and Other Stories.</span> By <span class="smcap">H. B. Marriott -Watson</span>.</p> - -<p>Vol. <small>XII</small>. <span class="smcap">Monochromes.</span> By <span class="smcap">Ella D’Arcy</span>.</p> - -<p>Vol. <small>XIII</small>. <span class="smcap">At the Relton Arms.</span> By <span class="smcap">Evelyn Sharp</span>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98"></a>{98}</span></p> - -<p>Vol. <small>XIV</small>. <span class="smcap">The Girl from the Farm.</span> By <span class="smcap">Gertrude Dix.</span></p> - -<p>Vol. <small>XV</small>. <span class="smcap">The Mirror of Music.</span> By <span class="smcap">Stanley V. Makower</span>.</p> - -<p>Vol. <small>XVI</small>. <span class="smcap">Yellow and White.</span> By <span class="smcap">W. Carlton Dawe</span>.</p> - -<p>Vol. <small>XVII</small>. <span class="smcap">The Mountain Lovers.</span> By <span class="smcap">Fiona Macleod</span>.</p> - -<p>Vol. <small>XVIII</small>. <span class="smcap">The Three Impostors.</span> By <span class="smcap">Arthur Machen</span>.</p></div> - -<p><i>Boston: Roberts Bros.</i></p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>LANDER (HARRY).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Weighed in the Balance</span>: A Novel. Cr. 8vo. 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p></div> - -<p><i>LANG (ANDREW).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Stoddart</span>.</p></div> - -<p><i>LEATHER (R. K.).</i>.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Verses.</span> 250 copies, fcap. 8vo. 3<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Transferred by the Author to the present Publisher.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Prose Fancies.</span> With portrait of the Author by <span class="smcap">Wilson Steer</span>. Fourth -edition, cr. 8vo, purple cloth. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p>Also a limited large paper edition. 12<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p></div> - -<p><i>New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Book Bills of Narcissus.</span> An account rendered by <span class="smcap">Richard le -Gallienne</span>. Third edition, with a new chapter and a frontispiece, cr. -8vo, purple cloth. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Also 50 copies on large paper. 8vo. 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.<br /> -</p> - -<p><i>New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">English Poems.</span> Fourth edition, revised, cr. 8vo, purple cloth. 4<i>s.</i> -6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Boston: Copeland & Day.</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">George Meredith</span>: some Characteristics; with a Bibliography (much -enlarged) by <span class="smcap">John Lane</span>, portrait, &c. Fourth edition, cr. 8vo, -purple cloth. 5<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99"></a>{99}</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Religion of a Literary Man.</span> 5th thousand, cr. 8vo, purple -cloth. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p>Also a special rubricated edition on hand-made paper, 8vo. 10<i>s.</i> -6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson</span>: An Elegy, and Other Poems, mainly personal. -With etched title-page by <span class="smcap">D. Y. 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Second edition, fcap. 8vo. 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p></div> - -<p><i>WATT (FRANCIS).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Law’s Lumber Room.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p class="r"> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p></div> - -<p><i>WATTS (THEODORE).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Crown 8vo. 5<i>s.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p> -[<i>In preparation.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>There will also be an</i> Edition de Luxe <i>of this volume, printed at -the Kelmscott Press</i>.</p></div> - -<p><i>WELLS (H. G.).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Select Conversations with an Uncle, now extinct.</span> With a title-page -designed by <span class="smcap">F. H. Townsend</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>New York: The Merriam Co.</i></p></div> - -<p><i>WHARTON (H. T.).</i></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Sappho.</span> Memoir, text, selected renderings, and a literal -translation by <span class="smcap">Henry Thornton Wharton</span>. With Three Illustrations in -photogravure and a cover design by <span class="smcap">Aubrey Beardsley</span>. Fcap. 8vo. -7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <i>net</i>.</p> - -<p><i>Chicago: A. C. McClurg & Co.</i></p></div> - -<p class="c"><big><big>The Yellow Book</big></big></p> - -<p class="c"><i>An Illustrated Quarterly. Pott 4to, 5s. net.</i></p> - -<p class="nind"> -Volume <small>I</small>. April 1894, 272 pp., 15 Illustrations.<br /> -Volume <small>II</small>. July 1894, 364 pp., 23 Illustrations.<br /> -Volume <small>III</small>. October 1894, 280 pp., 15 Illustrations.<br /> -Volume <small>IV</small>. January 1895, 285 pp., 16 Illustrations.<br /> -Volume <small>V</small>. 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