Ringout, gay notes! through the brightening blue;Peal forth o'er the shimmering wave;Re-echo in souls of the brave;Bestir the hearts of the loyal and true.Waft the sweet strains from the dear Mother-landTo the dwellers by far off sea;Loud anthem the glad JubileeFrom white-robed North unto burnished strand.Anthem the years of the peaceful decadesWhen learning asserted its sway,And poortith revived in its ray;When science and art illumined our glades.Broken that power which the conscience would bind,Base umpire 'twixt God and the soul;No tyrant free speech doth control;Loosed are the fetters which burdened the mind.Rides Progress aloft on triumphal car,Out-coursing the wings of the wind;To the gorgeous fanes of IndRich blossoms his path, from the Polar star.Philanthrophy opeth her gentle hand;Devotion Heaven's dictate obeys;Dawns clearly Hope's halcyon days;—Golden their gleam, as Aurora's bright wand.Live Commerce, careering the white crested wave,Quells baneful suspicion and fear;From high unto lowliest sphereBlendeth in union—our Empire to save.II.Now harmony striketh a tender chordIn the lay true Loyalty sings;For the offering which she bringsIs dearer than trophy won by the sword.Praise for those virtues which never wax old,Lustrous gems in a noble life;Praise for the calm amid the strife;—Serene is the spirit of sterling gold.Rolls from our vision the mist of the years,Adown through the dark aisles of time,Life's canvas, with picture sublime,In its radiance of beauty, appears.Soft falleth the sun of a kindly zoneOn the Abbey, so old and grey;On the tomb of a former day;Bathing in splendor the image of stone.Sparkling in flame on the jewelled browOf the peeress, highborn and fair;Anon on the mouldering chair,Yclad of the royal, pure ermine, now.Arrayed in the trappings of princely state,Loadstar of a glittering band;Our fair young Lady of the land—She stands—the greatest where all are great.Crowned with the crown which her brave fathers bore,Largess of honors kiss her feet;Enwraps her with dignity meetPrestige of might, as the birthright of yore.High-throned in the love of a nation's heart,Rich treasures of promise, I ween,Cheer the steps of our youthful Queen;Lighten the future, and courage impart.III.Vanished that picture of glorious youth,Dark clouds o'er life's midsummer came;Yet scathless the seasons retainThe loving trust, and the honor and truth.Full oft, o'er the fairest spring morning,There falleth a bitter, cold blight;Oft shroudeth in darksomest nightThe ruddiest sun heaven adorning.So fellhein full flush of his manhood,So dropttheyin life's glowing spring;Yet the anguished soul wakened to sing,The tear-bedimmed eyes perceived the All-Good.Richer than diamond of Indian mineThe treasure Victoria owns;Firmest pillar of earthly thrones,True sympathy,—typing the Love Divine.Thrice blessèd sympathy! may it surroundAnd cheer her graceful evening's calm;Till sceptre yields to victor's palm,May the faith and hope, and the love abound.Voice then the homage of millions as one;Wreathe garlands of amaranth flowers;Nor last be Canada—hers and ours;—For here doth the blood of true fealty run.Thunder it over the wide ocean's sheen!Sing it by peaceful inland sea;"God bless our glorious Jubilee!God bless and defend our most noble Queen!"
Ringout, gay notes! through the brightening blue;Peal forth o'er the shimmering wave;Re-echo in souls of the brave;Bestir the hearts of the loyal and true.Waft the sweet strains from the dear Mother-landTo the dwellers by far off sea;Loud anthem the glad JubileeFrom white-robed North unto burnished strand.Anthem the years of the peaceful decadesWhen learning asserted its sway,And poortith revived in its ray;When science and art illumined our glades.Broken that power which the conscience would bind,Base umpire 'twixt God and the soul;No tyrant free speech doth control;Loosed are the fetters which burdened the mind.Rides Progress aloft on triumphal car,Out-coursing the wings of the wind;To the gorgeous fanes of IndRich blossoms his path, from the Polar star.Philanthrophy opeth her gentle hand;Devotion Heaven's dictate obeys;Dawns clearly Hope's halcyon days;—Golden their gleam, as Aurora's bright wand.Live Commerce, careering the white crested wave,Quells baneful suspicion and fear;From high unto lowliest sphereBlendeth in union—our Empire to save.II.Now harmony striketh a tender chordIn the lay true Loyalty sings;For the offering which she bringsIs dearer than trophy won by the sword.Praise for those virtues which never wax old,Lustrous gems in a noble life;Praise for the calm amid the strife;—Serene is the spirit of sterling gold.Rolls from our vision the mist of the years,Adown through the dark aisles of time,Life's canvas, with picture sublime,In its radiance of beauty, appears.Soft falleth the sun of a kindly zoneOn the Abbey, so old and grey;On the tomb of a former day;Bathing in splendor the image of stone.Sparkling in flame on the jewelled browOf the peeress, highborn and fair;Anon on the mouldering chair,Yclad of the royal, pure ermine, now.Arrayed in the trappings of princely state,Loadstar of a glittering band;Our fair young Lady of the land—She stands—the greatest where all are great.Crowned with the crown which her brave fathers bore,Largess of honors kiss her feet;Enwraps her with dignity meetPrestige of might, as the birthright of yore.High-throned in the love of a nation's heart,Rich treasures of promise, I ween,Cheer the steps of our youthful Queen;Lighten the future, and courage impart.III.Vanished that picture of glorious youth,Dark clouds o'er life's midsummer came;Yet scathless the seasons retainThe loving trust, and the honor and truth.Full oft, o'er the fairest spring morning,There falleth a bitter, cold blight;Oft shroudeth in darksomest nightThe ruddiest sun heaven adorning.So fellhein full flush of his manhood,So dropttheyin life's glowing spring;Yet the anguished soul wakened to sing,The tear-bedimmed eyes perceived the All-Good.Richer than diamond of Indian mineThe treasure Victoria owns;Firmest pillar of earthly thrones,True sympathy,—typing the Love Divine.Thrice blessèd sympathy! may it surroundAnd cheer her graceful evening's calm;Till sceptre yields to victor's palm,May the faith and hope, and the love abound.Voice then the homage of millions as one;Wreathe garlands of amaranth flowers;Nor last be Canada—hers and ours;—For here doth the blood of true fealty run.Thunder it over the wide ocean's sheen!Sing it by peaceful inland sea;"God bless our glorious Jubilee!God bless and defend our most noble Queen!"
Ringout, gay notes! through the brightening blue;Peal forth o'er the shimmering wave;Re-echo in souls of the brave;Bestir the hearts of the loyal and true.
Waft the sweet strains from the dear Mother-landTo the dwellers by far off sea;Loud anthem the glad JubileeFrom white-robed North unto burnished strand.
Anthem the years of the peaceful decadesWhen learning asserted its sway,And poortith revived in its ray;When science and art illumined our glades.
Broken that power which the conscience would bind,Base umpire 'twixt God and the soul;No tyrant free speech doth control;Loosed are the fetters which burdened the mind.
Rides Progress aloft on triumphal car,Out-coursing the wings of the wind;To the gorgeous fanes of IndRich blossoms his path, from the Polar star.
Philanthrophy opeth her gentle hand;Devotion Heaven's dictate obeys;Dawns clearly Hope's halcyon days;—Golden their gleam, as Aurora's bright wand.
Live Commerce, careering the white crested wave,Quells baneful suspicion and fear;From high unto lowliest sphereBlendeth in union—our Empire to save.II.Now harmony striketh a tender chordIn the lay true Loyalty sings;For the offering which she bringsIs dearer than trophy won by the sword.
II.
Praise for those virtues which never wax old,Lustrous gems in a noble life;Praise for the calm amid the strife;—Serene is the spirit of sterling gold.
Rolls from our vision the mist of the years,Adown through the dark aisles of time,Life's canvas, with picture sublime,In its radiance of beauty, appears.
Soft falleth the sun of a kindly zoneOn the Abbey, so old and grey;On the tomb of a former day;Bathing in splendor the image of stone.
Sparkling in flame on the jewelled browOf the peeress, highborn and fair;Anon on the mouldering chair,Yclad of the royal, pure ermine, now.
Arrayed in the trappings of princely state,Loadstar of a glittering band;Our fair young Lady of the land—She stands—the greatest where all are great.
Crowned with the crown which her brave fathers bore,Largess of honors kiss her feet;Enwraps her with dignity meetPrestige of might, as the birthright of yore.
High-throned in the love of a nation's heart,Rich treasures of promise, I ween,Cheer the steps of our youthful Queen;Lighten the future, and courage impart.III.Vanished that picture of glorious youth,Dark clouds o'er life's midsummer came;Yet scathless the seasons retainThe loving trust, and the honor and truth.
III.
Full oft, o'er the fairest spring morning,There falleth a bitter, cold blight;Oft shroudeth in darksomest nightThe ruddiest sun heaven adorning.
So fellhein full flush of his manhood,So dropttheyin life's glowing spring;Yet the anguished soul wakened to sing,The tear-bedimmed eyes perceived the All-Good.
Richer than diamond of Indian mineThe treasure Victoria owns;Firmest pillar of earthly thrones,True sympathy,—typing the Love Divine.
Thrice blessèd sympathy! may it surroundAnd cheer her graceful evening's calm;Till sceptre yields to victor's palm,May the faith and hope, and the love abound.
Voice then the homage of millions as one;Wreathe garlands of amaranth flowers;Nor last be Canada—hers and ours;—For here doth the blood of true fealty run.
Thunder it over the wide ocean's sheen!Sing it by peaceful inland sea;"God bless our glorious Jubilee!God bless and defend our most noble Queen!"
Faroff from the smoke, and the city's glare,To the breath of the clover lea;From the din and dust to the healthful air,And the song of a tranquil sea.Which falls on the ear like a holy psalmFrom a world unkenned of strife;As the eve glides past in a blissful calm,Like the close of a well-spent life.Yet sighings of sorrow are heard in the foamWhich white-wreathes thy border, Point Prim;As she telleth their fate, who left thee, to roam,The eyes of the mother wax dim.Of him who ne'er quitted dread danger's postTill engulfed in the treacherous wave;Or of him who fevered on sultry coast,And was launched in the sailor's grave.No thrilling oration shall vaunt their praise,No flowers bloom over their breast;The surges shall wail through the long, long days,Yet disturb not their quiet rest.No kindred shall bind them in narrow bed,No marble earth's sympathy crave;Sea-shells will pillow the wave-shrouded head,And winds sigh the dirge of her brave.No more by the wood path, through falling leaves,Will she hasten their steps to greet;But yet will she gather her golden sheaves,When time and eternity meet.No more will they weather the tempest's strain,With a lowering sky o'erhead;—One haven will shelter her loved againWhen the sea giveth up its dead.
Faroff from the smoke, and the city's glare,To the breath of the clover lea;From the din and dust to the healthful air,And the song of a tranquil sea.Which falls on the ear like a holy psalmFrom a world unkenned of strife;As the eve glides past in a blissful calm,Like the close of a well-spent life.Yet sighings of sorrow are heard in the foamWhich white-wreathes thy border, Point Prim;As she telleth their fate, who left thee, to roam,The eyes of the mother wax dim.Of him who ne'er quitted dread danger's postTill engulfed in the treacherous wave;Or of him who fevered on sultry coast,And was launched in the sailor's grave.No thrilling oration shall vaunt their praise,No flowers bloom over their breast;The surges shall wail through the long, long days,Yet disturb not their quiet rest.No kindred shall bind them in narrow bed,No marble earth's sympathy crave;Sea-shells will pillow the wave-shrouded head,And winds sigh the dirge of her brave.No more by the wood path, through falling leaves,Will she hasten their steps to greet;But yet will she gather her golden sheaves,When time and eternity meet.No more will they weather the tempest's strain,With a lowering sky o'erhead;—One haven will shelter her loved againWhen the sea giveth up its dead.
Faroff from the smoke, and the city's glare,To the breath of the clover lea;From the din and dust to the healthful air,And the song of a tranquil sea.Which falls on the ear like a holy psalmFrom a world unkenned of strife;As the eve glides past in a blissful calm,Like the close of a well-spent life.
Yet sighings of sorrow are heard in the foamWhich white-wreathes thy border, Point Prim;As she telleth their fate, who left thee, to roam,The eyes of the mother wax dim.Of him who ne'er quitted dread danger's postTill engulfed in the treacherous wave;Or of him who fevered on sultry coast,And was launched in the sailor's grave.
No thrilling oration shall vaunt their praise,No flowers bloom over their breast;The surges shall wail through the long, long days,Yet disturb not their quiet rest.No kindred shall bind them in narrow bed,No marble earth's sympathy crave;Sea-shells will pillow the wave-shrouded head,And winds sigh the dirge of her brave.
No more by the wood path, through falling leaves,Will she hasten their steps to greet;But yet will she gather her golden sheaves,When time and eternity meet.No more will they weather the tempest's strain,With a lowering sky o'erhead;—One haven will shelter her loved againWhen the sea giveth up its dead.
Sweet, pale-faced Queen of silent night!Calm-seated on thy azure throne,Shed forth thy beams of silvery lightTill nether realms embrace thine own.Till gleaming spire on tree-crowned hill,With waving corn on valley land;Till peaceful flood, and noiseless millSeem burnished of enchanter's wand.And you, ye moonbeams! softly glideAlong fair Orwell's glittering wave;And gently rest where all my prideLies buried, in my Mary's grave.Oh Mary! lovèd of my youth!Oh blissful dreams of early day!When love was life, and troth was truth,And hallowed shrine was Orwell Bay.Full oft, upon thy banks, of yore,With hearts entwined in love divine,While murmuring wavelets kissed thy shore,We watched the radiant day's decline.When sorrow fell, when times were hard,Love held its faith, youth hoped the best;I bade farewell thy greening sward,And turned me to the glowing West.Dull seasons fled, dark shadows lowered,My utmost efforts were unmeet;When sudden, fickle Fortune showeredHer golden largess at my feet.As needle turneth to the pole,So, homeward hied my steps to thee;But ne'er shall love, or kindred soul,Or joys of youth return to me.Not all my wealth of hard-won goldCould shield from blight that lustrous headNow lying in the churchyard mould;—The church where we had hoped to wed.I list the sweet, clear notes which thrillThrough wooded uplands o'er thy wave;The music in my heart is still,Still as the stars o'er Mary's grave.Oh, gorgeous lamps of living light!Which halo all the arc of blue,Ye emblem to my raptured sightThe white soul of a life most true.My Mary! tender guiding star!I bow before the Sovereign sway;—That higher realm, where nought can mar,Is fairer e'en than Orwell Bay.
Sweet, pale-faced Queen of silent night!Calm-seated on thy azure throne,Shed forth thy beams of silvery lightTill nether realms embrace thine own.Till gleaming spire on tree-crowned hill,With waving corn on valley land;Till peaceful flood, and noiseless millSeem burnished of enchanter's wand.And you, ye moonbeams! softly glideAlong fair Orwell's glittering wave;And gently rest where all my prideLies buried, in my Mary's grave.Oh Mary! lovèd of my youth!Oh blissful dreams of early day!When love was life, and troth was truth,And hallowed shrine was Orwell Bay.Full oft, upon thy banks, of yore,With hearts entwined in love divine,While murmuring wavelets kissed thy shore,We watched the radiant day's decline.When sorrow fell, when times were hard,Love held its faith, youth hoped the best;I bade farewell thy greening sward,And turned me to the glowing West.Dull seasons fled, dark shadows lowered,My utmost efforts were unmeet;When sudden, fickle Fortune showeredHer golden largess at my feet.As needle turneth to the pole,So, homeward hied my steps to thee;But ne'er shall love, or kindred soul,Or joys of youth return to me.Not all my wealth of hard-won goldCould shield from blight that lustrous headNow lying in the churchyard mould;—The church where we had hoped to wed.I list the sweet, clear notes which thrillThrough wooded uplands o'er thy wave;The music in my heart is still,Still as the stars o'er Mary's grave.Oh, gorgeous lamps of living light!Which halo all the arc of blue,Ye emblem to my raptured sightThe white soul of a life most true.My Mary! tender guiding star!I bow before the Sovereign sway;—That higher realm, where nought can mar,Is fairer e'en than Orwell Bay.
Sweet, pale-faced Queen of silent night!Calm-seated on thy azure throne,Shed forth thy beams of silvery lightTill nether realms embrace thine own.Till gleaming spire on tree-crowned hill,With waving corn on valley land;Till peaceful flood, and noiseless millSeem burnished of enchanter's wand.
And you, ye moonbeams! softly glideAlong fair Orwell's glittering wave;And gently rest where all my prideLies buried, in my Mary's grave.Oh Mary! lovèd of my youth!Oh blissful dreams of early day!When love was life, and troth was truth,And hallowed shrine was Orwell Bay.
Full oft, upon thy banks, of yore,With hearts entwined in love divine,While murmuring wavelets kissed thy shore,We watched the radiant day's decline.When sorrow fell, when times were hard,Love held its faith, youth hoped the best;I bade farewell thy greening sward,And turned me to the glowing West.
Dull seasons fled, dark shadows lowered,My utmost efforts were unmeet;When sudden, fickle Fortune showeredHer golden largess at my feet.As needle turneth to the pole,So, homeward hied my steps to thee;But ne'er shall love, or kindred soul,Or joys of youth return to me.
Not all my wealth of hard-won goldCould shield from blight that lustrous headNow lying in the churchyard mould;—The church where we had hoped to wed.I list the sweet, clear notes which thrillThrough wooded uplands o'er thy wave;The music in my heart is still,Still as the stars o'er Mary's grave.
Oh, gorgeous lamps of living light!Which halo all the arc of blue,Ye emblem to my raptured sightThe white soul of a life most true.My Mary! tender guiding star!I bow before the Sovereign sway;—That higher realm, where nought can mar,Is fairer e'en than Orwell Bay.
Ohfleeting hour! Oh faltering heart!Oh long and sad farewell!How bitter long we twain may partIt is not ours to tell.For many a golden shaft will beamThrough many a pearly rain,Down forest aisles, o'er mountain stream,Ere we can meet again.Yet, when on far off ocean's foam,Or on some foreign strand,Bright Memory wafts thy spirit homeUnto thy native land,Bethink thee of those gladsome daysWhen carelessly we strayedO'er furrowed sand, or daisied braes,While Ocean minstrels played.'Neath gleaming skies of cloudless blue;Beyond the tropic's glare,Where bright-eyed birds of rainbow hueFloat through the perfumed air;By pictured scenes of former age;In seats of ancient lore,Where poet, painter, sculptor, sageIllumined days of yore,Recall that grand, familiar sight,When heaven seems all ablazeWith floods of gold and purple light,—Aurora's matchless rays.And when, from black, dissonant skyNo stars may vigil keep;When boisterous seas exult on highAnd o'er the taffrail sweep,Bethink thee of those days to be,When floods shall swell no more;Nor loud-voiced surge, nor angry seaShall break upon the shore.Where white-winged storm shall never beatAcross the verdant plain;Where severed lives, once more complete,E'erlasting life shall gain.
Ohfleeting hour! Oh faltering heart!Oh long and sad farewell!How bitter long we twain may partIt is not ours to tell.For many a golden shaft will beamThrough many a pearly rain,Down forest aisles, o'er mountain stream,Ere we can meet again.Yet, when on far off ocean's foam,Or on some foreign strand,Bright Memory wafts thy spirit homeUnto thy native land,Bethink thee of those gladsome daysWhen carelessly we strayedO'er furrowed sand, or daisied braes,While Ocean minstrels played.'Neath gleaming skies of cloudless blue;Beyond the tropic's glare,Where bright-eyed birds of rainbow hueFloat through the perfumed air;By pictured scenes of former age;In seats of ancient lore,Where poet, painter, sculptor, sageIllumined days of yore,Recall that grand, familiar sight,When heaven seems all ablazeWith floods of gold and purple light,—Aurora's matchless rays.And when, from black, dissonant skyNo stars may vigil keep;When boisterous seas exult on highAnd o'er the taffrail sweep,Bethink thee of those days to be,When floods shall swell no more;Nor loud-voiced surge, nor angry seaShall break upon the shore.Where white-winged storm shall never beatAcross the verdant plain;Where severed lives, once more complete,E'erlasting life shall gain.
Ohfleeting hour! Oh faltering heart!Oh long and sad farewell!How bitter long we twain may partIt is not ours to tell.For many a golden shaft will beamThrough many a pearly rain,Down forest aisles, o'er mountain stream,Ere we can meet again.
Yet, when on far off ocean's foam,Or on some foreign strand,Bright Memory wafts thy spirit homeUnto thy native land,Bethink thee of those gladsome daysWhen carelessly we strayedO'er furrowed sand, or daisied braes,While Ocean minstrels played.
'Neath gleaming skies of cloudless blue;Beyond the tropic's glare,Where bright-eyed birds of rainbow hueFloat through the perfumed air;By pictured scenes of former age;In seats of ancient lore,Where poet, painter, sculptor, sageIllumined days of yore,
Recall that grand, familiar sight,When heaven seems all ablazeWith floods of gold and purple light,—Aurora's matchless rays.And when, from black, dissonant skyNo stars may vigil keep;When boisterous seas exult on highAnd o'er the taffrail sweep,
Bethink thee of those days to be,When floods shall swell no more;Nor loud-voiced surge, nor angry seaShall break upon the shore.Where white-winged storm shall never beatAcross the verdant plain;Where severed lives, once more complete,E'erlasting life shall gain.
Thecloudless sun of southern climeShone full that Christmas Day,As the city of the CæsarsHeld regal holiday.For Him whose gracious advent,Hailed in seraphic tone,The saved of earth, and saints in HeavenIn grateful praises own.Full loud above the city's humPealed forth cathedral chime;While round the loftiest, proudest dome,Wreathed harmony sublime,Which thrilled among those ruins vastThat long have braved the skies;Proud monument of Pagan hateAnd Christian sacrifice.Rejoicing echoes filled the breezeThat fanned the martyrs' tombs;Fit requiem! they sowed the seedWhich now triumphant blooms.Where Reason held its vaunted sway,Firm-leagued with Godless might,Round storied urn, through marbled hallsLoud shriek the birds of night.Whilst borne along the sounding wavesWhich fleck the furthest shore,That light of life, that perfect faithSealed with the martyrs' gore.But, within that regal city,On that bright Christmas Day,In hectic flush of fever heatA stranger student lay.A stranger from a distant landAcross the western sea,Where peace doth reign, and howe'er poorMan feels that he is free.Of faith inspired, he'd crossed the foamAnd left his native sod,That he his years might consecrateTo winning souls for God.No higher aim was ever sought,No purer soul was shriven;For the whole purpose of his lifeUnto his Lord was given.A noble matron sat besideAnd soothed his dying bed;One who, with mother's tenderness,Had weptherearly dead.Sore, sore it grieved that mother's heart!When fever's pulse beat highAnd reason reeled, the parchèd lipsGave forth the wailing cry,"Oh! take me to that far-off landWhere cool sea-breezes blow;Where wintry sun doth smiling shineAthwart the pure, white snow."Oh! thither wist I to returnFraught with my mission high,To bear the standard of the CrossBeneath my native sky."For this my spirit waked to zealWhere soft the sunlight falls;For this I craved the higher loreOf Propaganda's halls."Then "list the strains of music!Now loud, now soft and clear;—It is the voice of wavelets sweetWhich greets my listening ear."Brimful of glee, it seems to me,They ripple o'er the strand,As when they sang the lullabyOf our dear, household band."Mark how the lustrous, Autumn glowIllumes the reddening leaves;The genial harvest-tide is past,And gathered in, the sheaves."Now there—yes! through the waning lightI see the little stile;—A few steps more—how dark it grows!Home in Prince Edward Isle."But as, o'er the calm of eveningBreathed forth the vesper hymn,The visions of fancy faded,The clear, blue eyes waxed dim.The hectic flush evanishedBefore cold Pallor's hand;Ended the warfare, hushed the voice—Hushed in the silent land.And the soul of the fair young dreamerWent up with music's swell;Whilst Victory's pæans grandly soaredHigh o'er earth's parting knell.And though to his home and kindredHe cometh ne'er again,The memory of his bright young lifeThe years will aye retain.And aye, as the festive season falls,On fair St. Lawrence Bay,They mourn the student who died in RomeOn that bright Christmas Day.
Thecloudless sun of southern climeShone full that Christmas Day,As the city of the CæsarsHeld regal holiday.For Him whose gracious advent,Hailed in seraphic tone,The saved of earth, and saints in HeavenIn grateful praises own.Full loud above the city's humPealed forth cathedral chime;While round the loftiest, proudest dome,Wreathed harmony sublime,Which thrilled among those ruins vastThat long have braved the skies;Proud monument of Pagan hateAnd Christian sacrifice.Rejoicing echoes filled the breezeThat fanned the martyrs' tombs;Fit requiem! they sowed the seedWhich now triumphant blooms.Where Reason held its vaunted sway,Firm-leagued with Godless might,Round storied urn, through marbled hallsLoud shriek the birds of night.Whilst borne along the sounding wavesWhich fleck the furthest shore,That light of life, that perfect faithSealed with the martyrs' gore.But, within that regal city,On that bright Christmas Day,In hectic flush of fever heatA stranger student lay.A stranger from a distant landAcross the western sea,Where peace doth reign, and howe'er poorMan feels that he is free.Of faith inspired, he'd crossed the foamAnd left his native sod,That he his years might consecrateTo winning souls for God.No higher aim was ever sought,No purer soul was shriven;For the whole purpose of his lifeUnto his Lord was given.A noble matron sat besideAnd soothed his dying bed;One who, with mother's tenderness,Had weptherearly dead.Sore, sore it grieved that mother's heart!When fever's pulse beat highAnd reason reeled, the parchèd lipsGave forth the wailing cry,"Oh! take me to that far-off landWhere cool sea-breezes blow;Where wintry sun doth smiling shineAthwart the pure, white snow."Oh! thither wist I to returnFraught with my mission high,To bear the standard of the CrossBeneath my native sky."For this my spirit waked to zealWhere soft the sunlight falls;For this I craved the higher loreOf Propaganda's halls."Then "list the strains of music!Now loud, now soft and clear;—It is the voice of wavelets sweetWhich greets my listening ear."Brimful of glee, it seems to me,They ripple o'er the strand,As when they sang the lullabyOf our dear, household band."Mark how the lustrous, Autumn glowIllumes the reddening leaves;The genial harvest-tide is past,And gathered in, the sheaves."Now there—yes! through the waning lightI see the little stile;—A few steps more—how dark it grows!Home in Prince Edward Isle."But as, o'er the calm of eveningBreathed forth the vesper hymn,The visions of fancy faded,The clear, blue eyes waxed dim.The hectic flush evanishedBefore cold Pallor's hand;Ended the warfare, hushed the voice—Hushed in the silent land.And the soul of the fair young dreamerWent up with music's swell;Whilst Victory's pæans grandly soaredHigh o'er earth's parting knell.And though to his home and kindredHe cometh ne'er again,The memory of his bright young lifeThe years will aye retain.And aye, as the festive season falls,On fair St. Lawrence Bay,They mourn the student who died in RomeOn that bright Christmas Day.
Thecloudless sun of southern climeShone full that Christmas Day,As the city of the CæsarsHeld regal holiday.
For Him whose gracious advent,Hailed in seraphic tone,The saved of earth, and saints in HeavenIn grateful praises own.
Full loud above the city's humPealed forth cathedral chime;While round the loftiest, proudest dome,Wreathed harmony sublime,
Which thrilled among those ruins vastThat long have braved the skies;Proud monument of Pagan hateAnd Christian sacrifice.
Rejoicing echoes filled the breezeThat fanned the martyrs' tombs;Fit requiem! they sowed the seedWhich now triumphant blooms.
Where Reason held its vaunted sway,Firm-leagued with Godless might,Round storied urn, through marbled hallsLoud shriek the birds of night.
Whilst borne along the sounding wavesWhich fleck the furthest shore,That light of life, that perfect faithSealed with the martyrs' gore.But, within that regal city,On that bright Christmas Day,In hectic flush of fever heatA stranger student lay.
A stranger from a distant landAcross the western sea,Where peace doth reign, and howe'er poorMan feels that he is free.
Of faith inspired, he'd crossed the foamAnd left his native sod,That he his years might consecrateTo winning souls for God.
No higher aim was ever sought,No purer soul was shriven;For the whole purpose of his lifeUnto his Lord was given.
A noble matron sat besideAnd soothed his dying bed;One who, with mother's tenderness,Had weptherearly dead.
Sore, sore it grieved that mother's heart!When fever's pulse beat highAnd reason reeled, the parchèd lipsGave forth the wailing cry,
"Oh! take me to that far-off landWhere cool sea-breezes blow;Where wintry sun doth smiling shineAthwart the pure, white snow.
"Oh! thither wist I to returnFraught with my mission high,To bear the standard of the CrossBeneath my native sky.
"For this my spirit waked to zealWhere soft the sunlight falls;For this I craved the higher loreOf Propaganda's halls."
Then "list the strains of music!Now loud, now soft and clear;—It is the voice of wavelets sweetWhich greets my listening ear.
"Brimful of glee, it seems to me,They ripple o'er the strand,As when they sang the lullabyOf our dear, household band.
"Mark how the lustrous, Autumn glowIllumes the reddening leaves;The genial harvest-tide is past,And gathered in, the sheaves.
"Now there—yes! through the waning lightI see the little stile;—A few steps more—how dark it grows!Home in Prince Edward Isle."
But as, o'er the calm of eveningBreathed forth the vesper hymn,The visions of fancy faded,The clear, blue eyes waxed dim.
The hectic flush evanishedBefore cold Pallor's hand;Ended the warfare, hushed the voice—Hushed in the silent land.
And the soul of the fair young dreamerWent up with music's swell;Whilst Victory's pæans grandly soaredHigh o'er earth's parting knell.
And though to his home and kindredHe cometh ne'er again,The memory of his bright young lifeThe years will aye retain.
And aye, as the festive season falls,On fair St. Lawrence Bay,They mourn the student who died in RomeOn that bright Christmas Day.
Hesat 'neath the green verandah shade at cool of a sunbright day;And many a pleasant look he cast to the children at their play.Though blanched his locks, though stooped his form, his heart no frosts might sere,For peacefully the shadows fall, where mind and soul are clear.At length the noisy mirth is hushed for breathing space of rest,And gaily round the loved grandsire the merry group hath pressed.There's gentle Effie, little Will, big Joe and sturdy Ben,Grandpa's namesake, "who sure will make his mark 'mongst mighty men.""A story!" and the spectacles are moved from off the face,And carefully and kindly wiped ere slipped into their case."A story! well, it seems to me that all my tales are told;Both of these nigh, fast fleeting years, and long, long days of old."Upwafted from the clover field, in fragrance on the wind,Came breathings from a former hour in freshness to the mind."Perchance you have not listed how one stroke from woman's handTransformed a forest dense and dim to fair and fruitful land."'Twas in a far back settlement, within a dusky wood,The rude hut of an immigrant on scanty clearance stood."Strong hands had reared the rooftree, and sowed the patch of ground,And bleating from the sheepfold broke the solitude around."From rim of rudely builded flue the hazy smoke-wreaths curled,To wander o'er the mighty vault which guards a sleeping world."Out of the widely opened door doth savory flavor stealAs, from gun of clever marksman, is prepared the evening meal."Beside the woodpile, which was hauled across last winter's snow,Sat the owner of the homestead, but his head was bending low."He had flung aside his hatchet and tired and care-oppressed,Sat down to muse and vex his mind, while he gave his body rest."His heart yearned o'er the byegone hours, on Scotia's bonny braes,When he chased among the yellow broom, or plucked the juicy slaes."He hears the plashing of the wave upon the sea-beat shore;He hears his mother's gentle step, as music on the floor."He sees the ivy-mantled church on yonder green hill sideWhere, in his earlier manhood, he claimed his girlish bride."But the past is passed forever, and in its place doth standThe certain fate of pioneer in our Canadian land."A match 'twixt strength of arm and will, of labor tough and keen,Affording slightest intervals for idleness, I ween,"And nature in repellant mood; in roughest, homeliest guise;Of frowning features, fit to thwart the purpose from the prize."He conjured up his hardships in this new land of the West,And reasoned of returning to the land he loved the best."But within the cot was wanted fresh fuel for the flame;Impatient to the woodstack a trim young matron came."She steadied with her nimble foot the log late split in twain;She raised the axe, but action failed; her stroke descends in vain."It failed, yet failed not; it had touched one sad, desponding heart,And nerved his arm and urged him on to act the manlier part."Shame mantled o'er his sunbrowned cheek, and tinged his yet fair brow;The mists fell from his longing eyes; he faced the real now."He looked unto the forest with its miles of birch and pine,Its maple, and its tangled growth through which no sun might shine."He looked unto the forest with its giants great and tall;He looked unto the forest but—God ruleth over all."Through years of active industry, through perfect trust in Heaven,'Yond all the ups and downs of life complete success was given."I, for I was that laggard, by that stroke of woman's hand,Was started on the royal road which needs no wizard wand."We planned and worked together—my Effie dear and I,And quickly o'er our busy life the sunny years went by."For denseness of the solemn pine, came cheerful apple bloom;And gleeful shouts of buoyant hearts outrang the sighs of gloom."For screeching owl, and croaking frog, came lowing of the cows,As the merry bells went jingle, beyond the ample mows."Our boys grew up to help us; our boys—their mother's pride;And ne'er a cloud came o'er our joys until our first-born died."A village sprung up near the farm; steam engines whistled by;And the dusky serpent trailed its fumes along our placid sky."Then your father brought a fair young wife, our waning hours to cheer;Her face was sweet as daffodil, her voice as song-bird's clear."But one morn there came a message,—Joe! you remember all;And grandma heard it cheerfully, and answered to the call."My love! who loved me ever, from morn till gloaming grey,Dear heart! who never murmured o'er the home of early day."For though she loved the olden land with love that knew no change,With fuller life her sympathies found freer, broader range."The kind eyes closed, the busy hands were crossed on silent breast;And reverently her mourning sons conveyed her to her rest."Beside her first-born on the hill—and there I hope to lieWhen the blessed Lord doth summon me to meet her in the sky."He looked upon the tasseled corn, the richest crop all round,Then wistfully he gazed beyond to the now hallowed groundWhere slept his past; he faintly sighed, then bowed his agèd head;—The children strove to rouse him but—the loved grandsire was dead.No more he tells of struggle vast, or rest from labour won;He singeth in the psalms of peace 'neath an unsetting sun.No more he sees with vision dim; upon that other shoreThe Light of Life hath welcomed him to glory evermore.
Hesat 'neath the green verandah shade at cool of a sunbright day;And many a pleasant look he cast to the children at their play.Though blanched his locks, though stooped his form, his heart no frosts might sere,For peacefully the shadows fall, where mind and soul are clear.At length the noisy mirth is hushed for breathing space of rest,And gaily round the loved grandsire the merry group hath pressed.There's gentle Effie, little Will, big Joe and sturdy Ben,Grandpa's namesake, "who sure will make his mark 'mongst mighty men.""A story!" and the spectacles are moved from off the face,And carefully and kindly wiped ere slipped into their case."A story! well, it seems to me that all my tales are told;Both of these nigh, fast fleeting years, and long, long days of old."Upwafted from the clover field, in fragrance on the wind,Came breathings from a former hour in freshness to the mind."Perchance you have not listed how one stroke from woman's handTransformed a forest dense and dim to fair and fruitful land."'Twas in a far back settlement, within a dusky wood,The rude hut of an immigrant on scanty clearance stood."Strong hands had reared the rooftree, and sowed the patch of ground,And bleating from the sheepfold broke the solitude around."From rim of rudely builded flue the hazy smoke-wreaths curled,To wander o'er the mighty vault which guards a sleeping world."Out of the widely opened door doth savory flavor stealAs, from gun of clever marksman, is prepared the evening meal."Beside the woodpile, which was hauled across last winter's snow,Sat the owner of the homestead, but his head was bending low."He had flung aside his hatchet and tired and care-oppressed,Sat down to muse and vex his mind, while he gave his body rest."His heart yearned o'er the byegone hours, on Scotia's bonny braes,When he chased among the yellow broom, or plucked the juicy slaes."He hears the plashing of the wave upon the sea-beat shore;He hears his mother's gentle step, as music on the floor."He sees the ivy-mantled church on yonder green hill sideWhere, in his earlier manhood, he claimed his girlish bride."But the past is passed forever, and in its place doth standThe certain fate of pioneer in our Canadian land."A match 'twixt strength of arm and will, of labor tough and keen,Affording slightest intervals for idleness, I ween,"And nature in repellant mood; in roughest, homeliest guise;Of frowning features, fit to thwart the purpose from the prize."He conjured up his hardships in this new land of the West,And reasoned of returning to the land he loved the best."But within the cot was wanted fresh fuel for the flame;Impatient to the woodstack a trim young matron came."She steadied with her nimble foot the log late split in twain;She raised the axe, but action failed; her stroke descends in vain."It failed, yet failed not; it had touched one sad, desponding heart,And nerved his arm and urged him on to act the manlier part."Shame mantled o'er his sunbrowned cheek, and tinged his yet fair brow;The mists fell from his longing eyes; he faced the real now."He looked unto the forest with its miles of birch and pine,Its maple, and its tangled growth through which no sun might shine."He looked unto the forest with its giants great and tall;He looked unto the forest but—God ruleth over all."Through years of active industry, through perfect trust in Heaven,'Yond all the ups and downs of life complete success was given."I, for I was that laggard, by that stroke of woman's hand,Was started on the royal road which needs no wizard wand."We planned and worked together—my Effie dear and I,And quickly o'er our busy life the sunny years went by."For denseness of the solemn pine, came cheerful apple bloom;And gleeful shouts of buoyant hearts outrang the sighs of gloom."For screeching owl, and croaking frog, came lowing of the cows,As the merry bells went jingle, beyond the ample mows."Our boys grew up to help us; our boys—their mother's pride;And ne'er a cloud came o'er our joys until our first-born died."A village sprung up near the farm; steam engines whistled by;And the dusky serpent trailed its fumes along our placid sky."Then your father brought a fair young wife, our waning hours to cheer;Her face was sweet as daffodil, her voice as song-bird's clear."But one morn there came a message,—Joe! you remember all;And grandma heard it cheerfully, and answered to the call."My love! who loved me ever, from morn till gloaming grey,Dear heart! who never murmured o'er the home of early day."For though she loved the olden land with love that knew no change,With fuller life her sympathies found freer, broader range."The kind eyes closed, the busy hands were crossed on silent breast;And reverently her mourning sons conveyed her to her rest."Beside her first-born on the hill—and there I hope to lieWhen the blessed Lord doth summon me to meet her in the sky."He looked upon the tasseled corn, the richest crop all round,Then wistfully he gazed beyond to the now hallowed groundWhere slept his past; he faintly sighed, then bowed his agèd head;—The children strove to rouse him but—the loved grandsire was dead.No more he tells of struggle vast, or rest from labour won;He singeth in the psalms of peace 'neath an unsetting sun.No more he sees with vision dim; upon that other shoreThe Light of Life hath welcomed him to glory evermore.
Hesat 'neath the green verandah shade at cool of a sunbright day;And many a pleasant look he cast to the children at their play.
Though blanched his locks, though stooped his form, his heart no frosts might sere,For peacefully the shadows fall, where mind and soul are clear.
At length the noisy mirth is hushed for breathing space of rest,And gaily round the loved grandsire the merry group hath pressed.
There's gentle Effie, little Will, big Joe and sturdy Ben,Grandpa's namesake, "who sure will make his mark 'mongst mighty men."
"A story!" and the spectacles are moved from off the face,And carefully and kindly wiped ere slipped into their case.
"A story! well, it seems to me that all my tales are told;Both of these nigh, fast fleeting years, and long, long days of old."
Upwafted from the clover field, in fragrance on the wind,Came breathings from a former hour in freshness to the mind.
"Perchance you have not listed how one stroke from woman's handTransformed a forest dense and dim to fair and fruitful land.
"'Twas in a far back settlement, within a dusky wood,The rude hut of an immigrant on scanty clearance stood.
"Strong hands had reared the rooftree, and sowed the patch of ground,And bleating from the sheepfold broke the solitude around."From rim of rudely builded flue the hazy smoke-wreaths curled,To wander o'er the mighty vault which guards a sleeping world.
"Out of the widely opened door doth savory flavor stealAs, from gun of clever marksman, is prepared the evening meal.
"Beside the woodpile, which was hauled across last winter's snow,Sat the owner of the homestead, but his head was bending low.
"He had flung aside his hatchet and tired and care-oppressed,Sat down to muse and vex his mind, while he gave his body rest.
"His heart yearned o'er the byegone hours, on Scotia's bonny braes,When he chased among the yellow broom, or plucked the juicy slaes.
"He hears the plashing of the wave upon the sea-beat shore;He hears his mother's gentle step, as music on the floor.
"He sees the ivy-mantled church on yonder green hill sideWhere, in his earlier manhood, he claimed his girlish bride.
"But the past is passed forever, and in its place doth standThe certain fate of pioneer in our Canadian land.
"A match 'twixt strength of arm and will, of labor tough and keen,Affording slightest intervals for idleness, I ween,
"And nature in repellant mood; in roughest, homeliest guise;Of frowning features, fit to thwart the purpose from the prize.
"He conjured up his hardships in this new land of the West,And reasoned of returning to the land he loved the best.
"But within the cot was wanted fresh fuel for the flame;Impatient to the woodstack a trim young matron came.
"She steadied with her nimble foot the log late split in twain;She raised the axe, but action failed; her stroke descends in vain.
"It failed, yet failed not; it had touched one sad, desponding heart,And nerved his arm and urged him on to act the manlier part.
"Shame mantled o'er his sunbrowned cheek, and tinged his yet fair brow;The mists fell from his longing eyes; he faced the real now.
"He looked unto the forest with its miles of birch and pine,Its maple, and its tangled growth through which no sun might shine.
"He looked unto the forest with its giants great and tall;He looked unto the forest but—God ruleth over all."Through years of active industry, through perfect trust in Heaven,'Yond all the ups and downs of life complete success was given.
"I, for I was that laggard, by that stroke of woman's hand,Was started on the royal road which needs no wizard wand.
"We planned and worked together—my Effie dear and I,And quickly o'er our busy life the sunny years went by.
"For denseness of the solemn pine, came cheerful apple bloom;And gleeful shouts of buoyant hearts outrang the sighs of gloom.
"For screeching owl, and croaking frog, came lowing of the cows,As the merry bells went jingle, beyond the ample mows.
"Our boys grew up to help us; our boys—their mother's pride;And ne'er a cloud came o'er our joys until our first-born died.
"A village sprung up near the farm; steam engines whistled by;And the dusky serpent trailed its fumes along our placid sky.
"Then your father brought a fair young wife, our waning hours to cheer;Her face was sweet as daffodil, her voice as song-bird's clear.
"But one morn there came a message,—Joe! you remember all;And grandma heard it cheerfully, and answered to the call.
"My love! who loved me ever, from morn till gloaming grey,Dear heart! who never murmured o'er the home of early day.
"For though she loved the olden land with love that knew no change,With fuller life her sympathies found freer, broader range.
"The kind eyes closed, the busy hands were crossed on silent breast;And reverently her mourning sons conveyed her to her rest.
"Beside her first-born on the hill—and there I hope to lieWhen the blessed Lord doth summon me to meet her in the sky."
He looked upon the tasseled corn, the richest crop all round,Then wistfully he gazed beyond to the now hallowed ground
Where slept his past; he faintly sighed, then bowed his agèd head;—The children strove to rouse him but—the loved grandsire was dead.
No more he tells of struggle vast, or rest from labour won;He singeth in the psalms of peace 'neath an unsetting sun.
No more he sees with vision dim; upon that other shoreThe Light of Life hath welcomed him to glory evermore.
[Decoration]
Raisehigh the royal standard!Shame not thy royal birth;The prestige of thy might sustain,Thou noblest of the earth!Great Canada! thou fair, free land!A world looks forth to thee;No alien hand thy hand shall lead;Thou'lt bow no servile knee.Then rally round the olden flag!The loved red, white and blue;Let traitors scheme, or boasters brag,To Canada prove true.Float on, Oh flag of Empire vast!Long may thy colors waveO'er many a blood-bought heritage;O'er many a hero's grave.The grandeur of thy fame doth lightThe fields our fathers won;The noblest gift which valiant sireCould e'er bequeath his son.Droop not, Oh peerless standard!Oh loyal hearts and true!Forget not ye the olden landThough cherishing the new.Forget not hearts and hopes are one,From Britain's sea-girt IslesTo where, beyond the Rocky steep,The broad Pacific smiles.Wave on, Oh flag of Empire vast!O'er mountain, rock and stream;Where wholesome fealty rests secure,Beneath thy fervent gleam.For, should the tramp of hostile feetArouse our peaceful shore,Britannia's conquering sword would flashThrough Canada once more.Then rally round the olden flag!The loved red, white and blue;Let traitors scheme, or boasters brag,To Canada prove true.
Raisehigh the royal standard!Shame not thy royal birth;The prestige of thy might sustain,Thou noblest of the earth!Great Canada! thou fair, free land!A world looks forth to thee;No alien hand thy hand shall lead;Thou'lt bow no servile knee.Then rally round the olden flag!The loved red, white and blue;Let traitors scheme, or boasters brag,To Canada prove true.Float on, Oh flag of Empire vast!Long may thy colors waveO'er many a blood-bought heritage;O'er many a hero's grave.The grandeur of thy fame doth lightThe fields our fathers won;The noblest gift which valiant sireCould e'er bequeath his son.Droop not, Oh peerless standard!Oh loyal hearts and true!Forget not ye the olden landThough cherishing the new.Forget not hearts and hopes are one,From Britain's sea-girt IslesTo where, beyond the Rocky steep,The broad Pacific smiles.Wave on, Oh flag of Empire vast!O'er mountain, rock and stream;Where wholesome fealty rests secure,Beneath thy fervent gleam.For, should the tramp of hostile feetArouse our peaceful shore,Britannia's conquering sword would flashThrough Canada once more.Then rally round the olden flag!The loved red, white and blue;Let traitors scheme, or boasters brag,To Canada prove true.
Raisehigh the royal standard!Shame not thy royal birth;The prestige of thy might sustain,Thou noblest of the earth!Great Canada! thou fair, free land!A world looks forth to thee;No alien hand thy hand shall lead;Thou'lt bow no servile knee.
Then rally round the olden flag!The loved red, white and blue;Let traitors scheme, or boasters brag,To Canada prove true.
Float on, Oh flag of Empire vast!Long may thy colors waveO'er many a blood-bought heritage;O'er many a hero's grave.The grandeur of thy fame doth lightThe fields our fathers won;The noblest gift which valiant sireCould e'er bequeath his son.
Droop not, Oh peerless standard!Oh loyal hearts and true!Forget not ye the olden landThough cherishing the new.Forget not hearts and hopes are one,From Britain's sea-girt IslesTo where, beyond the Rocky steep,The broad Pacific smiles.
Wave on, Oh flag of Empire vast!O'er mountain, rock and stream;Where wholesome fealty rests secure,Beneath thy fervent gleam.For, should the tramp of hostile feetArouse our peaceful shore,Britannia's conquering sword would flashThrough Canada once more.
Then rally round the olden flag!The loved red, white and blue;Let traitors scheme, or boasters brag,To Canada prove true.
[Decoration]
IDYLLS OF THE YEAR.