Poorfalling leaves! I have watched youFading slowly, with heavy heart,And as you patter around me,Vain tears to my tired eyes start.Drearily the rain is falling,And my soul is heavy with pain;O winds, thy desolate sobbingHath wakened old dreams again!Short-lived, but ah! how lovelyWere the peaceful summer hours!Sweet golden days in the wildwood,Reposing ’mid fairest bowers.The skies were grand in their beauty,And the earth was never more fair;The hills and vales filled with rapture,Caressed by the perfumed air.As a child of nature I revelledBy hillside, cool streamlet, and sea;Tender and kind were the voicesThat whispered in love unto meOf a time that had no seeming,When life was all joyous and gay,And the years, with roses laden,Passed soon like a dream away.I knew when the autumn shroudedThe world in a strange, sad veil,And heard in the lonely woodlandThe hollow, mysterious wailOf the wind in sad meanderingsBy forsaken bower and stream,Searching out the dim recessesWhere the summer had dwelt supreme.Whence cometh these weird, sad longings?Ah! wherefore this dreary pain?I’m tired as a weary child,And would rest and forget again;But the drip of the weeping rain,And the moan of waves on the shore,And the pitiful falling leavesMay cease in the heart nevermore.
Poorfalling leaves! I have watched youFading slowly, with heavy heart,And as you patter around me,Vain tears to my tired eyes start.Drearily the rain is falling,And my soul is heavy with pain;O winds, thy desolate sobbingHath wakened old dreams again!Short-lived, but ah! how lovelyWere the peaceful summer hours!Sweet golden days in the wildwood,Reposing ’mid fairest bowers.The skies were grand in their beauty,And the earth was never more fair;The hills and vales filled with rapture,Caressed by the perfumed air.As a child of nature I revelledBy hillside, cool streamlet, and sea;Tender and kind were the voicesThat whispered in love unto meOf a time that had no seeming,When life was all joyous and gay,And the years, with roses laden,Passed soon like a dream away.I knew when the autumn shroudedThe world in a strange, sad veil,And heard in the lonely woodlandThe hollow, mysterious wailOf the wind in sad meanderingsBy forsaken bower and stream,Searching out the dim recessesWhere the summer had dwelt supreme.Whence cometh these weird, sad longings?Ah! wherefore this dreary pain?I’m tired as a weary child,And would rest and forget again;But the drip of the weeping rain,And the moan of waves on the shore,And the pitiful falling leavesMay cease in the heart nevermore.
Poorfalling leaves! I have watched youFading slowly, with heavy heart,And as you patter around me,Vain tears to my tired eyes start.Drearily the rain is falling,And my soul is heavy with pain;O winds, thy desolate sobbingHath wakened old dreams again!
Short-lived, but ah! how lovelyWere the peaceful summer hours!Sweet golden days in the wildwood,Reposing ’mid fairest bowers.The skies were grand in their beauty,And the earth was never more fair;The hills and vales filled with rapture,Caressed by the perfumed air.
As a child of nature I revelledBy hillside, cool streamlet, and sea;Tender and kind were the voicesThat whispered in love unto meOf a time that had no seeming,When life was all joyous and gay,And the years, with roses laden,Passed soon like a dream away.
I knew when the autumn shroudedThe world in a strange, sad veil,And heard in the lonely woodlandThe hollow, mysterious wailOf the wind in sad meanderingsBy forsaken bower and stream,Searching out the dim recessesWhere the summer had dwelt supreme.
Whence cometh these weird, sad longings?Ah! wherefore this dreary pain?I’m tired as a weary child,And would rest and forget again;But the drip of the weeping rain,And the moan of waves on the shore,And the pitiful falling leavesMay cease in the heart nevermore.
Ah! but thou’rt beautiful, sapphire sea,When the sun in splendor along thee smiles,And thy sparkling wavelets rise and fallIn murmurs afar by a thousand isles,Where whispering winds speak soft and low—O gentle isles, kissed by thy restless feet—Where the spices and palm and olives grow,And odorous blossoms so fair and sweet.But why dost thou moan so, O great, sad sea?Such a weary, pitiful, pleading moan,Like a soul all dead to the hope of heaven,Drifting out and lost in the vast unknown.And why dost thou sob through the moonless night?Such passionate sobs rend thy deep, dark caves,Throbbing up from thy bosom ne’er at rest,O sea, with thy million lone hidden graves!Thy deep soul ever appealeth to meIn the lonesome night on the wave-worn shore;But I cannot tell all it says to meOf voices and dreamings that are no more.Sometimes thou murmurest soft and low,When the summer glorifies earth and sea;Thy pathetic voice is borne on the wind,The sweet south wind toying kindly with thee.And thou seemest to woo in tender tones,And would clasp and hold the warm, shining shore;But thou failest, O sea, and thy sad voiceIs sobbing and sobbing forevermore.O wonderful, majestic, awesome sea!Surely the Creator speaketh in thee;And a sorrow so deep, so mysterious,Appealeth in sobs eternally.When the wild typhoon sweeps thy heaving breast,And thy billows threaten the angry sky,Thy merciless fury knoweth no boundsAs the doomed ships before thee madly fly.In vain the appealing flag of distress,In vain the minute guns peal o’er the sea,In vain are prayers and the pleading cry—They sink! they sink to eternity!But the storm rolls by, and the waves subside,And the sun in glory bursts forth again;But oh! there are many breaking hearts,Weary of waiting in hopeless pain.Aye, ye’re watching in vain through dimming eyes;Ye’ve waited so long by the storm-swept shore:The seasons will come and the years will go,But the loved will come no more, no more.Art troubled, O sea, that ye rest not, nor sleep,Nor cease thy dirges by night or day?The loved and lost of the pale, dead pastStrew thy drear chambers and desolate way.And they slumber in utter loneliness;No friend may kneel by their dismal tomb;They never know of the spring’s fair hours,Or the songs of birds. The summer’s bloomDecks not their mystical, sea-fret graves,But they await the illumining rayOf light from heaven to pierce the cold gloom—An everlasting celestial day.I love thee, O sea, in thy every mood—In passion rent, or in gentle tone;Thy awesome voice is a mystery still,But never at rest is thy weary moan.
Ah! but thou’rt beautiful, sapphire sea,When the sun in splendor along thee smiles,And thy sparkling wavelets rise and fallIn murmurs afar by a thousand isles,Where whispering winds speak soft and low—O gentle isles, kissed by thy restless feet—Where the spices and palm and olives grow,And odorous blossoms so fair and sweet.But why dost thou moan so, O great, sad sea?Such a weary, pitiful, pleading moan,Like a soul all dead to the hope of heaven,Drifting out and lost in the vast unknown.And why dost thou sob through the moonless night?Such passionate sobs rend thy deep, dark caves,Throbbing up from thy bosom ne’er at rest,O sea, with thy million lone hidden graves!Thy deep soul ever appealeth to meIn the lonesome night on the wave-worn shore;But I cannot tell all it says to meOf voices and dreamings that are no more.Sometimes thou murmurest soft and low,When the summer glorifies earth and sea;Thy pathetic voice is borne on the wind,The sweet south wind toying kindly with thee.And thou seemest to woo in tender tones,And would clasp and hold the warm, shining shore;But thou failest, O sea, and thy sad voiceIs sobbing and sobbing forevermore.O wonderful, majestic, awesome sea!Surely the Creator speaketh in thee;And a sorrow so deep, so mysterious,Appealeth in sobs eternally.When the wild typhoon sweeps thy heaving breast,And thy billows threaten the angry sky,Thy merciless fury knoweth no boundsAs the doomed ships before thee madly fly.In vain the appealing flag of distress,In vain the minute guns peal o’er the sea,In vain are prayers and the pleading cry—They sink! they sink to eternity!But the storm rolls by, and the waves subside,And the sun in glory bursts forth again;But oh! there are many breaking hearts,Weary of waiting in hopeless pain.Aye, ye’re watching in vain through dimming eyes;Ye’ve waited so long by the storm-swept shore:The seasons will come and the years will go,But the loved will come no more, no more.Art troubled, O sea, that ye rest not, nor sleep,Nor cease thy dirges by night or day?The loved and lost of the pale, dead pastStrew thy drear chambers and desolate way.And they slumber in utter loneliness;No friend may kneel by their dismal tomb;They never know of the spring’s fair hours,Or the songs of birds. The summer’s bloomDecks not their mystical, sea-fret graves,But they await the illumining rayOf light from heaven to pierce the cold gloom—An everlasting celestial day.I love thee, O sea, in thy every mood—In passion rent, or in gentle tone;Thy awesome voice is a mystery still,But never at rest is thy weary moan.
Ah! but thou’rt beautiful, sapphire sea,When the sun in splendor along thee smiles,And thy sparkling wavelets rise and fallIn murmurs afar by a thousand isles,Where whispering winds speak soft and low—O gentle isles, kissed by thy restless feet—Where the spices and palm and olives grow,And odorous blossoms so fair and sweet.
But why dost thou moan so, O great, sad sea?Such a weary, pitiful, pleading moan,Like a soul all dead to the hope of heaven,Drifting out and lost in the vast unknown.And why dost thou sob through the moonless night?Such passionate sobs rend thy deep, dark caves,Throbbing up from thy bosom ne’er at rest,O sea, with thy million lone hidden graves!
Thy deep soul ever appealeth to meIn the lonesome night on the wave-worn shore;But I cannot tell all it says to meOf voices and dreamings that are no more.Sometimes thou murmurest soft and low,When the summer glorifies earth and sea;Thy pathetic voice is borne on the wind,The sweet south wind toying kindly with thee.
And thou seemest to woo in tender tones,And would clasp and hold the warm, shining shore;But thou failest, O sea, and thy sad voiceIs sobbing and sobbing forevermore.O wonderful, majestic, awesome sea!Surely the Creator speaketh in thee;And a sorrow so deep, so mysterious,Appealeth in sobs eternally.
When the wild typhoon sweeps thy heaving breast,And thy billows threaten the angry sky,Thy merciless fury knoweth no boundsAs the doomed ships before thee madly fly.In vain the appealing flag of distress,In vain the minute guns peal o’er the sea,In vain are prayers and the pleading cry—They sink! they sink to eternity!
But the storm rolls by, and the waves subside,And the sun in glory bursts forth again;But oh! there are many breaking hearts,Weary of waiting in hopeless pain.Aye, ye’re watching in vain through dimming eyes;Ye’ve waited so long by the storm-swept shore:The seasons will come and the years will go,But the loved will come no more, no more.
Art troubled, O sea, that ye rest not, nor sleep,Nor cease thy dirges by night or day?The loved and lost of the pale, dead pastStrew thy drear chambers and desolate way.And they slumber in utter loneliness;No friend may kneel by their dismal tomb;They never know of the spring’s fair hours,Or the songs of birds. The summer’s bloom
Decks not their mystical, sea-fret graves,But they await the illumining rayOf light from heaven to pierce the cold gloom—An everlasting celestial day.I love thee, O sea, in thy every mood—In passion rent, or in gentle tone;Thy awesome voice is a mystery still,But never at rest is thy weary moan.
’Twas only a faded leafThat settled down on my hair,The last from a poor bare boughIn the crisp October air.I gathered it tenderly in,And could not restrain the tearsAs I thought of summer hoursAnd the silent faded years.O beautiful fallen leaf!Russet and crimson and gold,With a tinge of emerald still,Smitten by the frost and cold.A souvenir of the past,Telling of spring’s fair hours,Of the bloom and sighing winds,And June’s ambrosial bowers.But still this dear autumn timeIs tender and subtly sweet,Though littered by fallen leavesRustling sad at my feet.As lives that are good and trueFade out like an autumn day;More beautiful at the last,They serenely pass away.So all the hills are enwrappedIn the hazy, dreamy lightOf the Indian summertime—A season of calm delight.Ah! little pale fallen leaf,Type, thou, of man’s short hour—To bud and bloom for a span,And fade as the leaf and flower.
’Twas only a faded leafThat settled down on my hair,The last from a poor bare boughIn the crisp October air.I gathered it tenderly in,And could not restrain the tearsAs I thought of summer hoursAnd the silent faded years.O beautiful fallen leaf!Russet and crimson and gold,With a tinge of emerald still,Smitten by the frost and cold.A souvenir of the past,Telling of spring’s fair hours,Of the bloom and sighing winds,And June’s ambrosial bowers.But still this dear autumn timeIs tender and subtly sweet,Though littered by fallen leavesRustling sad at my feet.As lives that are good and trueFade out like an autumn day;More beautiful at the last,They serenely pass away.So all the hills are enwrappedIn the hazy, dreamy lightOf the Indian summertime—A season of calm delight.Ah! little pale fallen leaf,Type, thou, of man’s short hour—To bud and bloom for a span,And fade as the leaf and flower.
’Twas only a faded leafThat settled down on my hair,The last from a poor bare boughIn the crisp October air.I gathered it tenderly in,And could not restrain the tearsAs I thought of summer hoursAnd the silent faded years.
O beautiful fallen leaf!Russet and crimson and gold,With a tinge of emerald still,Smitten by the frost and cold.A souvenir of the past,Telling of spring’s fair hours,Of the bloom and sighing winds,And June’s ambrosial bowers.
But still this dear autumn timeIs tender and subtly sweet,Though littered by fallen leavesRustling sad at my feet.As lives that are good and trueFade out like an autumn day;More beautiful at the last,They serenely pass away.
So all the hills are enwrappedIn the hazy, dreamy lightOf the Indian summertime—A season of calm delight.Ah! little pale fallen leaf,Type, thou, of man’s short hour—To bud and bloom for a span,And fade as the leaf and flower.
I havenot a cent in the world,And I’ve left my father’s homeOut in the hard world to wander,Friendless, poor, and alone.I have sought in vain for a placeTo earn my daily bread,A shelter from the winter’s storm,And a place to lay my head.But cold are the bosoms I meet,Aye, cold as the drifting snow;I’m turned away from their doors,And I know not where to go.All day I’ve struggled alongThrough the weary wastes of snow,And I’m tired almost to death,But who will care now, or know?The night is closing around me,And fierce is the angry sky;I’m hungry and faint and helpless—Must I sink by the way and die?’Tis strange in this terrible hourThat thoughts of my childhood’s daysShould pass like a dream before meIn all their innocent ways.Ah! sunny home by the hillside,Song-birds of the long ago,I hear your glad, wild, sweet singing,And the murmuring brooklet’s flow.Ah! happy days in the wildwood,Revelling in nature’s bowers;Bluest skies, and soft wind sighing’Mid the tall trees and flowers.Ah! songs I sang with my motherAt evening’s golden glow,Voices of father and brother,Why are ye haunting me so?Ah! years that came with temptation,And lured me away from right,Till hope was gone, and in frenzyI fled from its wiles in fright.Weep, hearts, for there on the morrow,By the sun’s wan light ye may traceHis weary way, and find thereFrozen tears on his poor dead face.God in His infinite mercyKnew when all hope was slain,And closed his eyes, and in pityRelieved him from earthly pain.
I havenot a cent in the world,And I’ve left my father’s homeOut in the hard world to wander,Friendless, poor, and alone.I have sought in vain for a placeTo earn my daily bread,A shelter from the winter’s storm,And a place to lay my head.But cold are the bosoms I meet,Aye, cold as the drifting snow;I’m turned away from their doors,And I know not where to go.All day I’ve struggled alongThrough the weary wastes of snow,And I’m tired almost to death,But who will care now, or know?The night is closing around me,And fierce is the angry sky;I’m hungry and faint and helpless—Must I sink by the way and die?’Tis strange in this terrible hourThat thoughts of my childhood’s daysShould pass like a dream before meIn all their innocent ways.Ah! sunny home by the hillside,Song-birds of the long ago,I hear your glad, wild, sweet singing,And the murmuring brooklet’s flow.Ah! happy days in the wildwood,Revelling in nature’s bowers;Bluest skies, and soft wind sighing’Mid the tall trees and flowers.Ah! songs I sang with my motherAt evening’s golden glow,Voices of father and brother,Why are ye haunting me so?Ah! years that came with temptation,And lured me away from right,Till hope was gone, and in frenzyI fled from its wiles in fright.Weep, hearts, for there on the morrow,By the sun’s wan light ye may traceHis weary way, and find thereFrozen tears on his poor dead face.God in His infinite mercyKnew when all hope was slain,And closed his eyes, and in pityRelieved him from earthly pain.
I havenot a cent in the world,And I’ve left my father’s homeOut in the hard world to wander,Friendless, poor, and alone.I have sought in vain for a placeTo earn my daily bread,A shelter from the winter’s storm,And a place to lay my head.
But cold are the bosoms I meet,Aye, cold as the drifting snow;I’m turned away from their doors,And I know not where to go.All day I’ve struggled alongThrough the weary wastes of snow,And I’m tired almost to death,But who will care now, or know?
The night is closing around me,And fierce is the angry sky;I’m hungry and faint and helpless—Must I sink by the way and die?’Tis strange in this terrible hourThat thoughts of my childhood’s daysShould pass like a dream before meIn all their innocent ways.
Ah! sunny home by the hillside,Song-birds of the long ago,I hear your glad, wild, sweet singing,And the murmuring brooklet’s flow.Ah! happy days in the wildwood,Revelling in nature’s bowers;Bluest skies, and soft wind sighing’Mid the tall trees and flowers.
Ah! songs I sang with my motherAt evening’s golden glow,Voices of father and brother,Why are ye haunting me so?Ah! years that came with temptation,And lured me away from right,Till hope was gone, and in frenzyI fled from its wiles in fright.
Weep, hearts, for there on the morrow,By the sun’s wan light ye may traceHis weary way, and find thereFrozen tears on his poor dead face.God in His infinite mercyKnew when all hope was slain,And closed his eyes, and in pityRelieved him from earthly pain.
Away, gaunt fiend!Take thy tyrannous presence from my cottage door.Too long thou hast held me captive at thy will,And I cannot bear thy blighting touch so chill,For I am weary, and my heart is bruised and sore.Too long thou’st mocked me with thy hideous face;When all the world seemed dark and cold to me,Thou’st jeered and taunted in thy fiendish glee,That I was homeless and had scarce a resting place.Vile spectre, avaunt!Take thy evil visage from my humble cottage door,And thy lacerating talons from my shrinking heart.O! I have prayed that thou would’st pity and depart,And leave me peace at last that I might want no more.Why hast thou all these weary and burdened yearsShadowed every hope and left but toil and pain,Clutched at my very life, and made all vainThe aspirations that died in sorrow and in tears?Down, black phantom!Filled with blighted hopes, vain dreams, and dead men’s bones,Thou heedest not the pleadings of the souls that die,The widow’s want and prayer, the orphan’s cryFor help, earth’s poor that struggle on ’mid sighs and moans.Thou hast still’d the voices that rang light and gay,And hushed the laughter that will gush no more,And brought the gloom of night along the shining shoreOf souls once bright with bloom and sunny as the day.Insatiate ghoul!I’d snatch thee from thy infamous pedestal,And hurl thee writhing down the glaring vaults of hell,That man might walk redeemed, with head erect, and dwellIn plenteousness when capital’s divided well.But I’ll arise and smite thy grinning, dev’lish face;Aye, I’ll fight thee unto death’s grim, ghastly gate,And, though I perish by thy cruel fangs and fate,’Twere best to fight a hero’s fight for liberty and place!Malignant foe!Thou shalt at last be put to ignominious flight,For life is but a span, an echo on the shore,Where burdens are laid down and sorrow is no more.Thy doom shall be “cast out in endless, shoreless night.”Thank God, there is a sphere to which thou canst not rise,A radiant place of fadeless bloom divine:Man’s home supernal, far beyond the reach of time,Where weary ones may rest, O wondrous paradise!
Away, gaunt fiend!Take thy tyrannous presence from my cottage door.Too long thou hast held me captive at thy will,And I cannot bear thy blighting touch so chill,For I am weary, and my heart is bruised and sore.Too long thou’st mocked me with thy hideous face;When all the world seemed dark and cold to me,Thou’st jeered and taunted in thy fiendish glee,That I was homeless and had scarce a resting place.Vile spectre, avaunt!Take thy evil visage from my humble cottage door,And thy lacerating talons from my shrinking heart.O! I have prayed that thou would’st pity and depart,And leave me peace at last that I might want no more.Why hast thou all these weary and burdened yearsShadowed every hope and left but toil and pain,Clutched at my very life, and made all vainThe aspirations that died in sorrow and in tears?Down, black phantom!Filled with blighted hopes, vain dreams, and dead men’s bones,Thou heedest not the pleadings of the souls that die,The widow’s want and prayer, the orphan’s cryFor help, earth’s poor that struggle on ’mid sighs and moans.Thou hast still’d the voices that rang light and gay,And hushed the laughter that will gush no more,And brought the gloom of night along the shining shoreOf souls once bright with bloom and sunny as the day.Insatiate ghoul!I’d snatch thee from thy infamous pedestal,And hurl thee writhing down the glaring vaults of hell,That man might walk redeemed, with head erect, and dwellIn plenteousness when capital’s divided well.But I’ll arise and smite thy grinning, dev’lish face;Aye, I’ll fight thee unto death’s grim, ghastly gate,And, though I perish by thy cruel fangs and fate,’Twere best to fight a hero’s fight for liberty and place!Malignant foe!Thou shalt at last be put to ignominious flight,For life is but a span, an echo on the shore,Where burdens are laid down and sorrow is no more.Thy doom shall be “cast out in endless, shoreless night.”Thank God, there is a sphere to which thou canst not rise,A radiant place of fadeless bloom divine:Man’s home supernal, far beyond the reach of time,Where weary ones may rest, O wondrous paradise!
Away, gaunt fiend!Take thy tyrannous presence from my cottage door.Too long thou hast held me captive at thy will,And I cannot bear thy blighting touch so chill,For I am weary, and my heart is bruised and sore.Too long thou’st mocked me with thy hideous face;When all the world seemed dark and cold to me,Thou’st jeered and taunted in thy fiendish glee,That I was homeless and had scarce a resting place.
Vile spectre, avaunt!Take thy evil visage from my humble cottage door,And thy lacerating talons from my shrinking heart.O! I have prayed that thou would’st pity and depart,And leave me peace at last that I might want no more.Why hast thou all these weary and burdened yearsShadowed every hope and left but toil and pain,Clutched at my very life, and made all vainThe aspirations that died in sorrow and in tears?
Down, black phantom!Filled with blighted hopes, vain dreams, and dead men’s bones,Thou heedest not the pleadings of the souls that die,The widow’s want and prayer, the orphan’s cryFor help, earth’s poor that struggle on ’mid sighs and moans.Thou hast still’d the voices that rang light and gay,And hushed the laughter that will gush no more,And brought the gloom of night along the shining shoreOf souls once bright with bloom and sunny as the day.
Insatiate ghoul!I’d snatch thee from thy infamous pedestal,And hurl thee writhing down the glaring vaults of hell,That man might walk redeemed, with head erect, and dwellIn plenteousness when capital’s divided well.But I’ll arise and smite thy grinning, dev’lish face;Aye, I’ll fight thee unto death’s grim, ghastly gate,And, though I perish by thy cruel fangs and fate,’Twere best to fight a hero’s fight for liberty and place!
Malignant foe!Thou shalt at last be put to ignominious flight,For life is but a span, an echo on the shore,Where burdens are laid down and sorrow is no more.Thy doom shall be “cast out in endless, shoreless night.”Thank God, there is a sphere to which thou canst not rise,A radiant place of fadeless bloom divine:Man’s home supernal, far beyond the reach of time,Where weary ones may rest, O wondrous paradise!
Thegolden sun all mellow was fallingAdown the far aisles of the flaming west,Bathing earth and sea in fading gloryAs it sank majestically to rest.Murmuringly the summer winds were breathingA song of love to the birds and flowers,Wooing low the streams and distant woodlands,And toying with gems in fairest bowers.Low were the tones, mysterious and soothing,That came from the depths of the throbbing sea,Whisp’ring the soul of the great Eternal,Far, far beyond, where bright spirits are free.Gently the twilight came stealing around me,Mantling earth and sea in dreamy array;Palely the night orbs o’er me were twinkling,Silv’ring the waters away and away.Serenely the queen of night in her beautyLooked on the sea and the isles afar,Pointing her rays o’er the quivering foliageTo the far gates of day just left ajar.Sweet were my dreamings alone in the gloamingOn that summer’s eve of the long ago,Loving and trusting in meek adoration,Quaffing from nature’s mysterious flow.I paused by the murmuring sad voiced sea,Dreaming of love, with the world at my feet;So trusting is youth at the flush of its morn,Soaring high on the wings of hope complete.But darker and denser the shadows grew,Deepening to gloom as night grew apace;Ghostly clouds hid the stars, sky, earth, and sea,And the crescent moon hid her beautiful face;And the wandering night winds sighed and grieved,And the waves sobbed low along the dim shore,And a voice like a prayer, full of tears,Wailed pitifully, “Nevermore!”And I softly wept, yet I scarce knew why;Vague doubts and fears touched my passionate soul,Like the approaching tempest heard afarWhen its muttering thunders onward roll.I wandered away o’er the pitiless world,Fighting life’s battle with might and with main,And amid toil and tears through long sad years,So weary of waiting, and all in vain.All scathed and worn by the battle’s fierce flame,With the day uncertain and incomplete;Bright hope, love, and fame, and friendship so dear,Lie a pitiful wreck at my tired feet.I’ve come once again with the summer time,At the evetime’s mystical afterglow,To the lonely sea, ’neath a waning moon,Where the waves still restlessly ebb and flow.I look far out o’er the shadowed deep,Seeking its dreamland isles afar;But I scarce can see for the blinding tearsThe beautiful sunset gates ajar.But I seem to view up its golden aislesA fairer world ’neath immortal skies,All bright with bloom, and the friends I loved,On the fadeless hills of paradise!
Thegolden sun all mellow was fallingAdown the far aisles of the flaming west,Bathing earth and sea in fading gloryAs it sank majestically to rest.Murmuringly the summer winds were breathingA song of love to the birds and flowers,Wooing low the streams and distant woodlands,And toying with gems in fairest bowers.Low were the tones, mysterious and soothing,That came from the depths of the throbbing sea,Whisp’ring the soul of the great Eternal,Far, far beyond, where bright spirits are free.Gently the twilight came stealing around me,Mantling earth and sea in dreamy array;Palely the night orbs o’er me were twinkling,Silv’ring the waters away and away.Serenely the queen of night in her beautyLooked on the sea and the isles afar,Pointing her rays o’er the quivering foliageTo the far gates of day just left ajar.Sweet were my dreamings alone in the gloamingOn that summer’s eve of the long ago,Loving and trusting in meek adoration,Quaffing from nature’s mysterious flow.I paused by the murmuring sad voiced sea,Dreaming of love, with the world at my feet;So trusting is youth at the flush of its morn,Soaring high on the wings of hope complete.But darker and denser the shadows grew,Deepening to gloom as night grew apace;Ghostly clouds hid the stars, sky, earth, and sea,And the crescent moon hid her beautiful face;And the wandering night winds sighed and grieved,And the waves sobbed low along the dim shore,And a voice like a prayer, full of tears,Wailed pitifully, “Nevermore!”And I softly wept, yet I scarce knew why;Vague doubts and fears touched my passionate soul,Like the approaching tempest heard afarWhen its muttering thunders onward roll.I wandered away o’er the pitiless world,Fighting life’s battle with might and with main,And amid toil and tears through long sad years,So weary of waiting, and all in vain.All scathed and worn by the battle’s fierce flame,With the day uncertain and incomplete;Bright hope, love, and fame, and friendship so dear,Lie a pitiful wreck at my tired feet.I’ve come once again with the summer time,At the evetime’s mystical afterglow,To the lonely sea, ’neath a waning moon,Where the waves still restlessly ebb and flow.I look far out o’er the shadowed deep,Seeking its dreamland isles afar;But I scarce can see for the blinding tearsThe beautiful sunset gates ajar.But I seem to view up its golden aislesA fairer world ’neath immortal skies,All bright with bloom, and the friends I loved,On the fadeless hills of paradise!
Thegolden sun all mellow was fallingAdown the far aisles of the flaming west,Bathing earth and sea in fading gloryAs it sank majestically to rest.Murmuringly the summer winds were breathingA song of love to the birds and flowers,Wooing low the streams and distant woodlands,And toying with gems in fairest bowers.Low were the tones, mysterious and soothing,That came from the depths of the throbbing sea,Whisp’ring the soul of the great Eternal,Far, far beyond, where bright spirits are free.
Gently the twilight came stealing around me,Mantling earth and sea in dreamy array;Palely the night orbs o’er me were twinkling,Silv’ring the waters away and away.Serenely the queen of night in her beautyLooked on the sea and the isles afar,Pointing her rays o’er the quivering foliageTo the far gates of day just left ajar.Sweet were my dreamings alone in the gloamingOn that summer’s eve of the long ago,Loving and trusting in meek adoration,Quaffing from nature’s mysterious flow.
I paused by the murmuring sad voiced sea,Dreaming of love, with the world at my feet;So trusting is youth at the flush of its morn,Soaring high on the wings of hope complete.But darker and denser the shadows grew,Deepening to gloom as night grew apace;Ghostly clouds hid the stars, sky, earth, and sea,And the crescent moon hid her beautiful face;And the wandering night winds sighed and grieved,And the waves sobbed low along the dim shore,And a voice like a prayer, full of tears,Wailed pitifully, “Nevermore!”
And I softly wept, yet I scarce knew why;Vague doubts and fears touched my passionate soul,Like the approaching tempest heard afarWhen its muttering thunders onward roll.I wandered away o’er the pitiless world,Fighting life’s battle with might and with main,And amid toil and tears through long sad years,So weary of waiting, and all in vain.All scathed and worn by the battle’s fierce flame,With the day uncertain and incomplete;Bright hope, love, and fame, and friendship so dear,Lie a pitiful wreck at my tired feet.
I’ve come once again with the summer time,At the evetime’s mystical afterglow,To the lonely sea, ’neath a waning moon,Where the waves still restlessly ebb and flow.I look far out o’er the shadowed deep,Seeking its dreamland isles afar;But I scarce can see for the blinding tearsThe beautiful sunset gates ajar.But I seem to view up its golden aislesA fairer world ’neath immortal skies,All bright with bloom, and the friends I loved,On the fadeless hills of paradise!
List! The year was slowly dyingIn the dark December days,And the winds moaned low and sadlyO’er the lonely winter ways.And the hills and vales were lyingAs when life’s last flush hath fled,Folded in a snowy mantle,Silent, dreamless, cold and dread.Whilst the winds without were grievingO’er the meads and frozen streams,Hearts within were filled with mourning,Near the firelight’s fitful gleams.On a couch of painful anguish,Meek and patient, pale and wan,Hand clasped hand in solemn parting—Dying mother, stricken son.“Dearest mother, are you trustingIn the name of Jesus now,As you near the Stygian riverWith the death damps on your brow?Oh, so cold and dark the waters!Do you fear to enter in?Mother, I shall sadly miss youIn this world of care and sin.”“Yes, my boy, I’m fully trustingIn the Saviour’s mighty love;And I know His hand will guide meSafely to His courts above.Ah! I hear such holy voicesChanting on the other shore,Filling all my soul with raptureAs I’m swiftly sailing o’er.”Thus she passed beyond the river,Far beyond the gleaming barsOf the sunset’s golden gloryAnd the pathway of the stars.And they laid her last cold relics’Neath the dreary drifting snow,Whilst the winds moaned saddest requiem,Prayerful, solemn, grieved, and low.
List! The year was slowly dyingIn the dark December days,And the winds moaned low and sadlyO’er the lonely winter ways.And the hills and vales were lyingAs when life’s last flush hath fled,Folded in a snowy mantle,Silent, dreamless, cold and dread.Whilst the winds without were grievingO’er the meads and frozen streams,Hearts within were filled with mourning,Near the firelight’s fitful gleams.On a couch of painful anguish,Meek and patient, pale and wan,Hand clasped hand in solemn parting—Dying mother, stricken son.“Dearest mother, are you trustingIn the name of Jesus now,As you near the Stygian riverWith the death damps on your brow?Oh, so cold and dark the waters!Do you fear to enter in?Mother, I shall sadly miss youIn this world of care and sin.”“Yes, my boy, I’m fully trustingIn the Saviour’s mighty love;And I know His hand will guide meSafely to His courts above.Ah! I hear such holy voicesChanting on the other shore,Filling all my soul with raptureAs I’m swiftly sailing o’er.”Thus she passed beyond the river,Far beyond the gleaming barsOf the sunset’s golden gloryAnd the pathway of the stars.And they laid her last cold relics’Neath the dreary drifting snow,Whilst the winds moaned saddest requiem,Prayerful, solemn, grieved, and low.
List! The year was slowly dyingIn the dark December days,And the winds moaned low and sadlyO’er the lonely winter ways.And the hills and vales were lyingAs when life’s last flush hath fled,Folded in a snowy mantle,Silent, dreamless, cold and dread.
Whilst the winds without were grievingO’er the meads and frozen streams,Hearts within were filled with mourning,Near the firelight’s fitful gleams.On a couch of painful anguish,Meek and patient, pale and wan,Hand clasped hand in solemn parting—Dying mother, stricken son.
“Dearest mother, are you trustingIn the name of Jesus now,As you near the Stygian riverWith the death damps on your brow?Oh, so cold and dark the waters!Do you fear to enter in?Mother, I shall sadly miss youIn this world of care and sin.”
“Yes, my boy, I’m fully trustingIn the Saviour’s mighty love;And I know His hand will guide meSafely to His courts above.Ah! I hear such holy voicesChanting on the other shore,Filling all my soul with raptureAs I’m swiftly sailing o’er.”
Thus she passed beyond the river,Far beyond the gleaming barsOf the sunset’s golden gloryAnd the pathway of the stars.And they laid her last cold relics’Neath the dreary drifting snow,Whilst the winds moaned saddest requiem,Prayerful, solemn, grieved, and low.
Onlydreams, aye, dreams foreverHaunt my soul and fill my brainWith the loved that I may neverMeet in this great world again.Springtime seems but fraught with sadness,Though the birds sing just as gay;And there’s still as much of gladnessIn the blooming, balmy May;And the soft winds play as lightlyO’er the verdure and the flowers;And the sun beams just as brightlyOver nature’s lovely bowers;And the streamlet and the riverMurmur onward to the sea,Singing low with silver quiverJust the same, but not to me;And the twilight dews of evenJust as sweet a fragrance shed,And the pale night orbs of heavenBeam the same, though years have fled—Years that brought so many changes,Years that stole my flowers away;Now in fancy only lingerDreams that once were bright as day.Visions of the cot and wildwoodFlit before me evermore,But the friends that blest my childhoodMeet me at the stream no more.Thus it is that dreams will haunt us—Forms and scenes we loved so well;Smiling faces, tones and voices,Time nor change can e’er dispel.
Onlydreams, aye, dreams foreverHaunt my soul and fill my brainWith the loved that I may neverMeet in this great world again.Springtime seems but fraught with sadness,Though the birds sing just as gay;And there’s still as much of gladnessIn the blooming, balmy May;And the soft winds play as lightlyO’er the verdure and the flowers;And the sun beams just as brightlyOver nature’s lovely bowers;And the streamlet and the riverMurmur onward to the sea,Singing low with silver quiverJust the same, but not to me;And the twilight dews of evenJust as sweet a fragrance shed,And the pale night orbs of heavenBeam the same, though years have fled—Years that brought so many changes,Years that stole my flowers away;Now in fancy only lingerDreams that once were bright as day.Visions of the cot and wildwoodFlit before me evermore,But the friends that blest my childhoodMeet me at the stream no more.Thus it is that dreams will haunt us—Forms and scenes we loved so well;Smiling faces, tones and voices,Time nor change can e’er dispel.
Onlydreams, aye, dreams foreverHaunt my soul and fill my brainWith the loved that I may neverMeet in this great world again.Springtime seems but fraught with sadness,Though the birds sing just as gay;And there’s still as much of gladnessIn the blooming, balmy May;
And the soft winds play as lightlyO’er the verdure and the flowers;And the sun beams just as brightlyOver nature’s lovely bowers;And the streamlet and the riverMurmur onward to the sea,Singing low with silver quiverJust the same, but not to me;
And the twilight dews of evenJust as sweet a fragrance shed,And the pale night orbs of heavenBeam the same, though years have fled—Years that brought so many changes,Years that stole my flowers away;Now in fancy only lingerDreams that once were bright as day.
Visions of the cot and wildwoodFlit before me evermore,But the friends that blest my childhoodMeet me at the stream no more.Thus it is that dreams will haunt us—Forms and scenes we loved so well;Smiling faces, tones and voices,Time nor change can e’er dispel.
O’erthe vast rolling prairie,And afar in the “Great Lone Land,”Otter’s column’s advancingAmid dangers on every hand.Yet forward, steadily forward,A day and a long night they go,And just at the morn’s pale dawningSweep down on the savage foe.And under the gallant OtterSwiftly they form up and well,Dash forward over the streamletInto coulee, ravine and dell.Moving into the fighting lineWith a rush the fierce gatling goes;Forward, into the hot centre,Dealing death on the dusky foes.And the intrepid Shortt moves up,Placing his guns on either side,To sweep coulee and dark ravine,And the Cut Knife Hill far and wide.With “B” Battery in supportOf Rutherford’s raging guns,Shaking the dark, trembling streamThat by the base of Cut Knife runs.On either flank of the batteriesThe Mounted Police were placed,And steadily they extended,And proudly the dark foe faced.To the right and rear were the Guards,And the proud Infantry School corps,Cool and steady as on parade,Under Gray and the stern Wadmore.To the left, on a ledge of the hill,Extending near unto the stream,Was the ever-gallant Queen’s OwnWith but an interval betweenThe stealthy approach of the foe.Protecting the ford and right rearWas the good Battleford Rifles—Brave men, deterred not by fear.Opening along the whole line,The roaring guns shake the hill,And the infantry’s fire crashes,And all hearts heroically thrill.Thus cool, collected, and steady,Dealing out grim death on the foe,By coulee and hill and ravine,And the trembling stream below.Here the foe rushed for our gatling,But were met by a scorching flameFrom the Police and artillery,And driven confused back again.Shortt gallantly led the brave onset,And the foe were punished sore,And the deafening guns raged madly,In one incessant roar.The right rear was now menaced,But there came a defiant cheerFrom the ready Battleford corpsAs the savage foe drew near.And the gallant Nash with his corpsCleared the ground that was threatened so;The Queen’s Own and the Guards assisted,And delivered a telling blow.The left rear, too, was threatened,But instantly now to the foreWent the fearless Queen’s Own RiflesAnd Nash with his gallant corps.Hot and furious was their fire,Holding there the red fiends at bay,And their coolness and their valorAdded lustre to the day.Meanwhile, Ross, the intrepid scout,With his resourceful, daring band,Stole around the dark foeman’s flank,Making untenable their stand.Thus at eleven o’clock of the day,After six hours of strife,Our flanks and our rear were clear of the foe,Though severe was the loss of life.But the object of the reconnaissanceWas admirably attained,And Canadian and British valorWas at Cut Knife Hill sustained.The wounded and dying were cared for,And the gallant dead borne awayTo the slow, sad tread of comrades,At the close of the dying day.Honor Otter, Herchmer, and Shortt,Wattom and the gallant Pelletier,Nash and McKell, Sears and Mutton,And Rutherford hail with a cheer.They fought for this grand land of ours,For our union from sea to sea;Placing their lives in the balance,They won, and Canada is free.And shall not a grateful countryHonor the living and dead?We, so blest in our true freedom,Remember the blood that was shed.As long as the years roll by usMay the Old Flag over us wave,And conspirators and traitorsFind a ready dishonored grave.
O’erthe vast rolling prairie,And afar in the “Great Lone Land,”Otter’s column’s advancingAmid dangers on every hand.Yet forward, steadily forward,A day and a long night they go,And just at the morn’s pale dawningSweep down on the savage foe.And under the gallant OtterSwiftly they form up and well,Dash forward over the streamletInto coulee, ravine and dell.Moving into the fighting lineWith a rush the fierce gatling goes;Forward, into the hot centre,Dealing death on the dusky foes.And the intrepid Shortt moves up,Placing his guns on either side,To sweep coulee and dark ravine,And the Cut Knife Hill far and wide.With “B” Battery in supportOf Rutherford’s raging guns,Shaking the dark, trembling streamThat by the base of Cut Knife runs.On either flank of the batteriesThe Mounted Police were placed,And steadily they extended,And proudly the dark foe faced.To the right and rear were the Guards,And the proud Infantry School corps,Cool and steady as on parade,Under Gray and the stern Wadmore.To the left, on a ledge of the hill,Extending near unto the stream,Was the ever-gallant Queen’s OwnWith but an interval betweenThe stealthy approach of the foe.Protecting the ford and right rearWas the good Battleford Rifles—Brave men, deterred not by fear.Opening along the whole line,The roaring guns shake the hill,And the infantry’s fire crashes,And all hearts heroically thrill.Thus cool, collected, and steady,Dealing out grim death on the foe,By coulee and hill and ravine,And the trembling stream below.Here the foe rushed for our gatling,But were met by a scorching flameFrom the Police and artillery,And driven confused back again.Shortt gallantly led the brave onset,And the foe were punished sore,And the deafening guns raged madly,In one incessant roar.The right rear was now menaced,But there came a defiant cheerFrom the ready Battleford corpsAs the savage foe drew near.And the gallant Nash with his corpsCleared the ground that was threatened so;The Queen’s Own and the Guards assisted,And delivered a telling blow.The left rear, too, was threatened,But instantly now to the foreWent the fearless Queen’s Own RiflesAnd Nash with his gallant corps.Hot and furious was their fire,Holding there the red fiends at bay,And their coolness and their valorAdded lustre to the day.Meanwhile, Ross, the intrepid scout,With his resourceful, daring band,Stole around the dark foeman’s flank,Making untenable their stand.Thus at eleven o’clock of the day,After six hours of strife,Our flanks and our rear were clear of the foe,Though severe was the loss of life.But the object of the reconnaissanceWas admirably attained,And Canadian and British valorWas at Cut Knife Hill sustained.The wounded and dying were cared for,And the gallant dead borne awayTo the slow, sad tread of comrades,At the close of the dying day.Honor Otter, Herchmer, and Shortt,Wattom and the gallant Pelletier,Nash and McKell, Sears and Mutton,And Rutherford hail with a cheer.They fought for this grand land of ours,For our union from sea to sea;Placing their lives in the balance,They won, and Canada is free.And shall not a grateful countryHonor the living and dead?We, so blest in our true freedom,Remember the blood that was shed.As long as the years roll by usMay the Old Flag over us wave,And conspirators and traitorsFind a ready dishonored grave.
O’erthe vast rolling prairie,And afar in the “Great Lone Land,”Otter’s column’s advancingAmid dangers on every hand.Yet forward, steadily forward,A day and a long night they go,And just at the morn’s pale dawningSweep down on the savage foe.
And under the gallant OtterSwiftly they form up and well,Dash forward over the streamletInto coulee, ravine and dell.Moving into the fighting lineWith a rush the fierce gatling goes;Forward, into the hot centre,Dealing death on the dusky foes.
And the intrepid Shortt moves up,Placing his guns on either side,To sweep coulee and dark ravine,And the Cut Knife Hill far and wide.With “B” Battery in supportOf Rutherford’s raging guns,Shaking the dark, trembling streamThat by the base of Cut Knife runs.
On either flank of the batteriesThe Mounted Police were placed,And steadily they extended,And proudly the dark foe faced.To the right and rear were the Guards,And the proud Infantry School corps,Cool and steady as on parade,Under Gray and the stern Wadmore.
To the left, on a ledge of the hill,Extending near unto the stream,Was the ever-gallant Queen’s OwnWith but an interval betweenThe stealthy approach of the foe.Protecting the ford and right rearWas the good Battleford Rifles—Brave men, deterred not by fear.
Opening along the whole line,The roaring guns shake the hill,And the infantry’s fire crashes,And all hearts heroically thrill.Thus cool, collected, and steady,Dealing out grim death on the foe,By coulee and hill and ravine,And the trembling stream below.
Here the foe rushed for our gatling,But were met by a scorching flameFrom the Police and artillery,And driven confused back again.Shortt gallantly led the brave onset,And the foe were punished sore,And the deafening guns raged madly,In one incessant roar.
The right rear was now menaced,But there came a defiant cheerFrom the ready Battleford corpsAs the savage foe drew near.And the gallant Nash with his corpsCleared the ground that was threatened so;The Queen’s Own and the Guards assisted,And delivered a telling blow.
The left rear, too, was threatened,But instantly now to the foreWent the fearless Queen’s Own RiflesAnd Nash with his gallant corps.Hot and furious was their fire,Holding there the red fiends at bay,And their coolness and their valorAdded lustre to the day.
Meanwhile, Ross, the intrepid scout,With his resourceful, daring band,Stole around the dark foeman’s flank,Making untenable their stand.Thus at eleven o’clock of the day,After six hours of strife,Our flanks and our rear were clear of the foe,Though severe was the loss of life.
But the object of the reconnaissanceWas admirably attained,And Canadian and British valorWas at Cut Knife Hill sustained.The wounded and dying were cared for,And the gallant dead borne awayTo the slow, sad tread of comrades,At the close of the dying day.
Honor Otter, Herchmer, and Shortt,Wattom and the gallant Pelletier,Nash and McKell, Sears and Mutton,And Rutherford hail with a cheer.They fought for this grand land of ours,For our union from sea to sea;Placing their lives in the balance,They won, and Canada is free.
And shall not a grateful countryHonor the living and dead?We, so blest in our true freedom,Remember the blood that was shed.As long as the years roll by usMay the Old Flag over us wave,And conspirators and traitorsFind a ready dishonored grave.
O songless, lost, and silent voice,Steal back from pale oblivion’s shore,And breathe the songs so loved of old,That echo down the years no more.O voice, lost voice, that pined and died—A solace with the changing years—I miss thee so, my more than friend,That soothed to rest life’s cares and fears.We were so gay, lost friend and I,When life was young and all a song;And tenderness steals o’er us now,As thoughts of old around us throng.We played at dawn by field and glade;The wild birds joined us with their song;And oh! the days were fair and sweetThat to the dreamy past belong.We were so merry when the hillsWere mantled o’er with emerald green,And summer winds blew soft and low,And bloomed the lilies by the stream.And how we sang by lane and mead,And wandered through the forest aisles,By brook and rill and lonely tarn,Where nature in profusion smiles.And tasks were lightened by our lay,And dear to us was the old farm—Our own dear home beside the stream,Where hearts were sunny, true and warm.The ev’ning heard us singing still—A solace ’twas for every care—Ah! feet will seldom go astray,If cheered by song and mother’s prayer.We had a lay for every theme,And sang of home, of life, of heaven,Our country and our country’s cause,The sinner, and his sins forgiven.We sang of friendship and of love,Of plighted troth and true hearts slain,Of heroes and their noble warOn many a hard-fought battle plain.But time flows on, and bears awayOur youthful dreams, and on the tideOf stormy seas we too are borne,Drifting and drifting far and wide.And still we sing, though oft through tearsWe scarce can trace the lonesome way,Or count our grievous loss or gainsAs closes down the dreary day.And we have known adversity,Saw love and friendship take their flight;And very weary grew our feet;Alone we looked upon the night.And sad and sadder grew our lay,But still it soothed the heart to rest;Teaching us patience to abideThe years in trust and tenderness.But when our voice grew weary, too,Chilled by the winter’s sleet and rain,And stilled in death’s embrace it lay,Our head bowed low in dreary pain.We are forgot, our voice and I,That once could wake the smile or tear,And stir the heart to tenderness,And drive away its every fear.And now our feet must go alone;Our day is passing, night is near;If we should sink beneath our load,Ah! who will drop a silent tear?A thought comes to us, and it cheers,It makes the lonely heart rejoice,That in a sphere above the starsAwaits a more melodious voice.
O songless, lost, and silent voice,Steal back from pale oblivion’s shore,And breathe the songs so loved of old,That echo down the years no more.O voice, lost voice, that pined and died—A solace with the changing years—I miss thee so, my more than friend,That soothed to rest life’s cares and fears.We were so gay, lost friend and I,When life was young and all a song;And tenderness steals o’er us now,As thoughts of old around us throng.We played at dawn by field and glade;The wild birds joined us with their song;And oh! the days were fair and sweetThat to the dreamy past belong.We were so merry when the hillsWere mantled o’er with emerald green,And summer winds blew soft and low,And bloomed the lilies by the stream.And how we sang by lane and mead,And wandered through the forest aisles,By brook and rill and lonely tarn,Where nature in profusion smiles.And tasks were lightened by our lay,And dear to us was the old farm—Our own dear home beside the stream,Where hearts were sunny, true and warm.The ev’ning heard us singing still—A solace ’twas for every care—Ah! feet will seldom go astray,If cheered by song and mother’s prayer.We had a lay for every theme,And sang of home, of life, of heaven,Our country and our country’s cause,The sinner, and his sins forgiven.We sang of friendship and of love,Of plighted troth and true hearts slain,Of heroes and their noble warOn many a hard-fought battle plain.But time flows on, and bears awayOur youthful dreams, and on the tideOf stormy seas we too are borne,Drifting and drifting far and wide.And still we sing, though oft through tearsWe scarce can trace the lonesome way,Or count our grievous loss or gainsAs closes down the dreary day.And we have known adversity,Saw love and friendship take their flight;And very weary grew our feet;Alone we looked upon the night.And sad and sadder grew our lay,But still it soothed the heart to rest;Teaching us patience to abideThe years in trust and tenderness.But when our voice grew weary, too,Chilled by the winter’s sleet and rain,And stilled in death’s embrace it lay,Our head bowed low in dreary pain.We are forgot, our voice and I,That once could wake the smile or tear,And stir the heart to tenderness,And drive away its every fear.And now our feet must go alone;Our day is passing, night is near;If we should sink beneath our load,Ah! who will drop a silent tear?A thought comes to us, and it cheers,It makes the lonely heart rejoice,That in a sphere above the starsAwaits a more melodious voice.
O songless, lost, and silent voice,Steal back from pale oblivion’s shore,And breathe the songs so loved of old,That echo down the years no more.O voice, lost voice, that pined and died—A solace with the changing years—I miss thee so, my more than friend,That soothed to rest life’s cares and fears.
We were so gay, lost friend and I,When life was young and all a song;And tenderness steals o’er us now,As thoughts of old around us throng.We played at dawn by field and glade;The wild birds joined us with their song;And oh! the days were fair and sweetThat to the dreamy past belong.
We were so merry when the hillsWere mantled o’er with emerald green,And summer winds blew soft and low,And bloomed the lilies by the stream.And how we sang by lane and mead,And wandered through the forest aisles,By brook and rill and lonely tarn,Where nature in profusion smiles.
And tasks were lightened by our lay,And dear to us was the old farm—Our own dear home beside the stream,Where hearts were sunny, true and warm.The ev’ning heard us singing still—A solace ’twas for every care—Ah! feet will seldom go astray,If cheered by song and mother’s prayer.
We had a lay for every theme,And sang of home, of life, of heaven,Our country and our country’s cause,The sinner, and his sins forgiven.We sang of friendship and of love,Of plighted troth and true hearts slain,Of heroes and their noble warOn many a hard-fought battle plain.
But time flows on, and bears awayOur youthful dreams, and on the tideOf stormy seas we too are borne,Drifting and drifting far and wide.And still we sing, though oft through tearsWe scarce can trace the lonesome way,Or count our grievous loss or gainsAs closes down the dreary day.
And we have known adversity,Saw love and friendship take their flight;And very weary grew our feet;Alone we looked upon the night.And sad and sadder grew our lay,But still it soothed the heart to rest;Teaching us patience to abideThe years in trust and tenderness.
But when our voice grew weary, too,Chilled by the winter’s sleet and rain,And stilled in death’s embrace it lay,Our head bowed low in dreary pain.We are forgot, our voice and I,That once could wake the smile or tear,And stir the heart to tenderness,And drive away its every fear.
And now our feet must go alone;Our day is passing, night is near;If we should sink beneath our load,Ah! who will drop a silent tear?A thought comes to us, and it cheers,It makes the lonely heart rejoice,That in a sphere above the starsAwaits a more melodious voice.
A littleapart from the rest,Unnoticed and alone,No crypt or costly monument,Nor rich engraven stone.A little lonely weed-grown moundBut marks the silent spotOf all that now is left of her,The fair, so soon forgot.The summer hath kindly givenA few wild fragrant flowersTo deck her lonely, neglected graveIn meekness from her bowers.And nature’s song is there trillingA soothing lullaby,And in the rustling foliageThe wind breathes sigh for sighTo the voice of wavelets murmuringIn whispers deep and low,Of a maiden fair as summerThat perished long ago.Meek and loving and gentle,Pure as the angels areWas her every thought and feeling,Her soul was bright as a star.I’m filled with a deathless longing,Aleene, kneeling by thee;But the years are slowly waningInto eternity.And shall we be reunited,Where love and life ne’er dies,In a land of summers fadeless,In the vales of paradise?
A littleapart from the rest,Unnoticed and alone,No crypt or costly monument,Nor rich engraven stone.A little lonely weed-grown moundBut marks the silent spotOf all that now is left of her,The fair, so soon forgot.The summer hath kindly givenA few wild fragrant flowersTo deck her lonely, neglected graveIn meekness from her bowers.And nature’s song is there trillingA soothing lullaby,And in the rustling foliageThe wind breathes sigh for sighTo the voice of wavelets murmuringIn whispers deep and low,Of a maiden fair as summerThat perished long ago.Meek and loving and gentle,Pure as the angels areWas her every thought and feeling,Her soul was bright as a star.I’m filled with a deathless longing,Aleene, kneeling by thee;But the years are slowly waningInto eternity.And shall we be reunited,Where love and life ne’er dies,In a land of summers fadeless,In the vales of paradise?
A littleapart from the rest,Unnoticed and alone,No crypt or costly monument,Nor rich engraven stone.A little lonely weed-grown moundBut marks the silent spotOf all that now is left of her,The fair, so soon forgot.
The summer hath kindly givenA few wild fragrant flowersTo deck her lonely, neglected graveIn meekness from her bowers.And nature’s song is there trillingA soothing lullaby,And in the rustling foliageThe wind breathes sigh for sigh
To the voice of wavelets murmuringIn whispers deep and low,Of a maiden fair as summerThat perished long ago.Meek and loving and gentle,Pure as the angels areWas her every thought and feeling,Her soul was bright as a star.
I’m filled with a deathless longing,Aleene, kneeling by thee;But the years are slowly waningInto eternity.And shall we be reunited,Where love and life ne’er dies,In a land of summers fadeless,In the vales of paradise?
Whatis this that subtly stealethOver my soul to-day,Just as the last sweet day of summerFleeth swiftly away.Weird and strained is this tender silenceThat broodeth o’er the lea,Over the streams and lonely woodlands,And along the shrouded sea.The fields are shorn of their golden yield,The harvest time is o’er,And the last sweet day of the summerIs gone for evermore.I hear only the crickets chantingA ceaseless, haunting strain,And the plaint of the wandering windsFilling my heart with pain.Regret for the past that was so fairSteals back with phantom tread,With beautiful dreams and faces dearHid with the silent dead.And I bow in tender reverenceBeside their sacred tomb;My soul is full of a fond desireFor rest, sweet rest, and home.But still in these mystical dreamingsComfort and strength is given;These soulful, loving, and tender thoughtsBring us nearer heaven.And nature is full of subtle charmsThat speak to the soul alone;And they soothe and purify and bless,Nearing the setting sun.
Whatis this that subtly stealethOver my soul to-day,Just as the last sweet day of summerFleeth swiftly away.Weird and strained is this tender silenceThat broodeth o’er the lea,Over the streams and lonely woodlands,And along the shrouded sea.The fields are shorn of their golden yield,The harvest time is o’er,And the last sweet day of the summerIs gone for evermore.I hear only the crickets chantingA ceaseless, haunting strain,And the plaint of the wandering windsFilling my heart with pain.Regret for the past that was so fairSteals back with phantom tread,With beautiful dreams and faces dearHid with the silent dead.And I bow in tender reverenceBeside their sacred tomb;My soul is full of a fond desireFor rest, sweet rest, and home.But still in these mystical dreamingsComfort and strength is given;These soulful, loving, and tender thoughtsBring us nearer heaven.And nature is full of subtle charmsThat speak to the soul alone;And they soothe and purify and bless,Nearing the setting sun.
Whatis this that subtly stealethOver my soul to-day,Just as the last sweet day of summerFleeth swiftly away.Weird and strained is this tender silenceThat broodeth o’er the lea,Over the streams and lonely woodlands,And along the shrouded sea.
The fields are shorn of their golden yield,The harvest time is o’er,And the last sweet day of the summerIs gone for evermore.I hear only the crickets chantingA ceaseless, haunting strain,And the plaint of the wandering windsFilling my heart with pain.
Regret for the past that was so fairSteals back with phantom tread,With beautiful dreams and faces dearHid with the silent dead.And I bow in tender reverenceBeside their sacred tomb;My soul is full of a fond desireFor rest, sweet rest, and home.
But still in these mystical dreamingsComfort and strength is given;These soulful, loving, and tender thoughtsBring us nearer heaven.And nature is full of subtle charmsThat speak to the soul alone;And they soothe and purify and bless,Nearing the setting sun.
A monotoneof love and song,In cadence mild, sereneAs unseen harps borne on the wind,Breathes over all the scene.I love thee yet, beauteous time;Yet oh, so far awayAdown the dim forsaken pastThou lead’st my thoughts to-day.So grand, awak’ning from death’s sleep,So regally adornedArt thou, O nature’s queen; and IThy absence long have mournedAs for the dead who come no more.Across a wintry seaI look in vain; only in dreamsDo they return to me.The melody of other times,In many an olden song,Echoing down the vanished yearsIn interminable throng,Steals o’er my soul, and I would wakeThe dear old strains again,Though fraught with many banished hopes,Delusive dreams, and vain.
A monotoneof love and song,In cadence mild, sereneAs unseen harps borne on the wind,Breathes over all the scene.I love thee yet, beauteous time;Yet oh, so far awayAdown the dim forsaken pastThou lead’st my thoughts to-day.So grand, awak’ning from death’s sleep,So regally adornedArt thou, O nature’s queen; and IThy absence long have mournedAs for the dead who come no more.Across a wintry seaI look in vain; only in dreamsDo they return to me.The melody of other times,In many an olden song,Echoing down the vanished yearsIn interminable throng,Steals o’er my soul, and I would wakeThe dear old strains again,Though fraught with many banished hopes,Delusive dreams, and vain.
A monotoneof love and song,In cadence mild, sereneAs unseen harps borne on the wind,Breathes over all the scene.I love thee yet, beauteous time;Yet oh, so far awayAdown the dim forsaken pastThou lead’st my thoughts to-day.
So grand, awak’ning from death’s sleep,So regally adornedArt thou, O nature’s queen; and IThy absence long have mournedAs for the dead who come no more.Across a wintry seaI look in vain; only in dreamsDo they return to me.
The melody of other times,In many an olden song,Echoing down the vanished yearsIn interminable throng,Steals o’er my soul, and I would wakeThe dear old strains again,Though fraught with many banished hopes,Delusive dreams, and vain.
A SONG.
Whenthe low, sweet winds of summerPlay among the wildwood trees,And the waves of ocean murmur,And the flow’rets ope their leaves;In the evening’s dewy hours,At the twilight’s dreamy ray,In the morning’s balmy bowers,All the long, fair summer’s day.
Whenthe low, sweet winds of summerPlay among the wildwood trees,And the waves of ocean murmur,And the flow’rets ope their leaves;In the evening’s dewy hours,At the twilight’s dreamy ray,In the morning’s balmy bowers,All the long, fair summer’s day.
Whenthe low, sweet winds of summerPlay among the wildwood trees,And the waves of ocean murmur,And the flow’rets ope their leaves;In the evening’s dewy hours,At the twilight’s dreamy ray,In the morning’s balmy bowers,All the long, fair summer’s day.
Chorus.Shall we never hear thy gentle voice at evening?We’ve been pining for thee, Allie, all the day;And our sad hearts o’er the lonely seas are gliding,Seeking vainly where our darling’s footsteps stray.
Chorus.Shall we never hear thy gentle voice at evening?We’ve been pining for thee, Allie, all the day;And our sad hearts o’er the lonely seas are gliding,Seeking vainly where our darling’s footsteps stray.
Chorus.
Shall we never hear thy gentle voice at evening?We’ve been pining for thee, Allie, all the day;And our sad hearts o’er the lonely seas are gliding,Seeking vainly where our darling’s footsteps stray.
Wehave missed thee, ever missed thee,With thy sweet and tender smile,And thy bright and glowing beauty—Nature’s pure and winning guile;And thy voice’s glorious musicWe, alas, do hear no moreIn the vale where Allie wanderedIn the dear old times of yore.When the golden sun his splendorPours along the summer sea,And the southern winds are dying,Allie dear, come back to me.We are weary and so lonely;Ah, this life seems but in vainSince our Allie hath departed—Dearest one, return again.
Wehave missed thee, ever missed thee,With thy sweet and tender smile,And thy bright and glowing beauty—Nature’s pure and winning guile;And thy voice’s glorious musicWe, alas, do hear no moreIn the vale where Allie wanderedIn the dear old times of yore.When the golden sun his splendorPours along the summer sea,And the southern winds are dying,Allie dear, come back to me.We are weary and so lonely;Ah, this life seems but in vainSince our Allie hath departed—Dearest one, return again.
Wehave missed thee, ever missed thee,With thy sweet and tender smile,And thy bright and glowing beauty—Nature’s pure and winning guile;And thy voice’s glorious musicWe, alas, do hear no moreIn the vale where Allie wanderedIn the dear old times of yore.
When the golden sun his splendorPours along the summer sea,And the southern winds are dying,Allie dear, come back to me.We are weary and so lonely;Ah, this life seems but in vainSince our Allie hath departed—Dearest one, return again.
A Thrilling Incident, and a Gallant Rescue off Leamington, Ontario, in the Winter of 1895.