PREFACE.
I introduce the following poetical attempts to the public, with great diffidence. I am not sure but a direct apology would be in better taste, but the strength derived from the purpose I had in view, in writing and publishing them, sustains me without saying anything further by way of excuse. Like Burns, I wished to do something for my country, and chose this method of doing it.
The literature of this country is in its infancy. It must not always remain so, or the expectations we have in regard to making it a great nation, will never be fulfilled. Literature gives life to a nation, or rather it is the reflection of a nation's life and thought, in a mirror, which cheers, strengthens and ennobles those who look into it, and study what is there displayed. Literature must grow with our nation, and, when growing, it will aid the latter's progress in no small degree.
Pedantic critics may find fault with my modest productions, and perhaps justly, in regard to grammatical construction, and mechanical arrangement, but I shall be satisfied, if the public discern a vein of true poetry glittering here and there through what I have just written. The public are the final judges of compositions of this sort, and not the writer himself, or his personal friends. It is they, therefore, who must decide whether these humble attempts of my 'prentice hand, shall be numbered with writings that have been forgotten, or whether their author shall be encouraged to strike his lyre in a higher key, to accompany his Muse, while she tries to sing in a loftier strain.
In passing an opinion on my literary venture, of course the youthful state of our country will be taken into consideration, for it is a state which necessarily tinges all of our productions, literary or otherwise, with a certain amount of crudity. Consequently, reasonable men will not expect that felicity of expression, and that ripeness and happiness of thought, which would be expected in the productions of an older country, although they may be aware that true poetry is not the result of education, or even the refinements of a nation long civilized.
With these words by way of introduction and explanation, I dedicate this little book of mine to the Canadian public, hoping that whatever they may think of me as a poet, they will not forget that I am a loyal Canadian, zealous in behalf of anything that may tend to refine, instruct and elevate my country, and anxious to see her take an honourable stand among the other nations of the earth.
THE AUTHOR.
PORT ALBERT, March, 1887.
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CONTENTS
Canada
Youthful Fancies
Sunrise
Christmas
New Year's Day
Happiness
Love
Hate
Display
Thought
Purity
Is There Room for the Poet
Ireland
David's Lamentation over Saul and Jonathan
A Virtuous Woman
The Tempest Stilled
Nature's Forces Ours
Man
Life
Ode to Man
The Reading Man
Man and His Pleasures
Lines in Memory of the Late Archdeacon Elwood, A.M.
Thomas Moore
Robert Burns
Byron
Goderich
Kelvin
Niagara Falls
Autumn
A Sunset
Farewell
By the Lake
The Teacher
Grace Darling
The Indian
Lines on the North-West Rebellion
Louis Riel
Ye Patriot Sons of Canada
A Hero's Decision
John and Jane
The Truant Boy
A Swain to his Sweetheart
The Fisherman's Wife
The Diamond and the Pebble
Temptation
Slander
Woman
Sympathy
Love and Wine.
How Nature's Beauties Should be Viewed
To a Canary
The School-Taught Youth
A Dream
A Snow Storm
To Nova Scotia
The Huntsman and His Hound
The Maple Tree
The Pine Tree
A Sabbath Morning in the Country
Catching Speckled Trout
A Protestant Irishman to his Wife
Memories of School Days
Verses Written in Autograph Albums
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POEMS.
* * * * *
NEW YEAR'S DAY.
Hail! joyous morn. Hail! happy day,
That ushers in another year,
Fraught with what sorrow, none can say,
Nor with what pain, to mortals here.
Another year has roll'd away,
With all its sorrows, joys and fears,
But still the light of hope's glad ray,
Yet beams within our heart, and cheers.
One year, one span of time has pass'd,
So swift to some, to others slow;
But it has gone, and we should cast
Along with it, remorse and woe.
Of things we've done, or only thought,
'Tis useless now the bitter tear,
Of actions unavailing wrought,
Let them repose upon their bier.
We should, indeed, e'en yet atone
For what our reason says we can,
But never let remorse's groan
Degrade us from our state as man.
Let us discharge the debts we owe,
But still some debts will be unpaid;
But we, if we forgive, also,
Should ne'er, despairing, feel afraid.
The future is before us still,
And to that future we should gaze,
With hope renew'd, with firmer will,
To tread life's weary, tangl'd maze.
We ne'er should let the gloomy past,
Bow down our heads in dark despair,
But we should keep those lessons fast,
Which e'en our follies taught us there.
Experience, so dearly bought,
By folly, or by ignorance,
Should, in our inmost system wrought,
Our daily life improve, advance.
Then let us press towards the goal,
The common goal of all mankind,
Go on, while seasons onward roll,
Nor cast one fainting look behind.
And, as we journey through this year,
Let us in watchfulness beware
Of all that brings remorseful tear,
Or future terror and despair.
Let us with thoughtful vision scan
Each step we take, each act we do,
That we may meet our brother man,
With no unrighteous thing to rue.
A happy, happy, bright New Year,
I wish to all the sons of men,
With happy hearts, and merry cheer,
Till it has roll'd its round again.
* * * * *
TO A CANARY.
Imprison'd songster, thou for me
Hath warbl'd many a cheerful lay,
Thy songs, so sweetly glad and free,
Revive my heart, from day to day.
The frost is keen, the wind is cold,
No wild-bird twitters from the spray,
But, still resounding as of old,
Thy voice thrills forth, and seems to say:
"Wake up! O sadden'd mortal, wake!
Shake off that anxious, careworn frown,
Thy hopes renew, fresh courage take,
Nor let your troubles weigh you down.
"See, I am happy all alone,
And, kept behind the prison bars,
I sing, and shouldst thou ever moan?
—A mortal free, beneath the stars.
"I fly around my narrow cage,
I sing the song that gladdens you,
But carking care thy thoughts engage,
While walking free, 'neath heaven's blue.
"My heart might faint, my spirit die,
Far from my kind, and from my home,
But cheerfully I sing and fly,
Beneath my narrow prison's dome.
"Oh, list, sad mortal to my song,
And, while thou hearest, mark it well,
And go thy cheerful way along,
Nor pray to know, what none can tell.
"I'll sing my song each day for thee,
And live the moments as they fly,
With gladden'd heart, with sounding glee,
And thou shouldst do the same as I."
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