Rhymes of the Survey and Frontier

by George Blackstone Field

I dreamed that a land was in sore distress,
I dreamed of a great review,
And the frontiersmen from across the sea
Had gathered, a motley crew;
For the word had flown to the rolling stone
That perilled was England's name;
From the North and South, to the East and West
They listened, and then they came.

They came from the north, the Alaskan coast,
They came from the White Man's Grave,
The men of the ranch and the mounted police,
In company with the knave;
Forgetting it all at the nation's call,
Unmindful of aught beside,
They were needed there, there were none to spare,
In stemming disaster's tide.

Not a smile was seen, as the strange array
Was mustered, and still they came
From the Southern Cross and the midnight sun,
The desert and from the plain:
They came from the mountains and Grosvenor Square,
The trapper beside the knight,
The men of the jungle and Labrador,
In eagerness for the fight.

They came in detachments, they came alone,
They paid or they worked their way,
In moccasins, chaps, or in overalls,
The young with the old and grey:
Their law was the law of the Forty-four,
And grimly across the waves
They came, for the King was in need of them,
His men of the damn-fool trades.

They came from the mist of a future dawn,
The lands of to-morrow's sun;
The lands that in exile and weariness
Had awaited the man to come.
They came from the shade of a Moslem mosque,
The desert of long ago;
These men who had welcomed the Legion's call,
Their loyalty e'en to show.

They came from the shanty and lumber camp,
They came from a prairie shack,
The office and camp of the engineers,
The Irishman and the Mac;
They came from the land of the Golden Fleece,
And far from an Indian shore,
Obeying the word that was passed along,
The Frontiersman's call to war.

For the call had reached, God alone knew how,
And Britons beyond the seas
Caught its wailing cry, as it passed them by,
Borne on by the evening breeze;
In the fevered zone, or the Northern home,
O'er wilderness, dark and bare,
It spoke, and its note was o'er-pregnant,
With weariness, pain, and care.

Then I seemed to be in a land of strife,
With Britain against the wall,
Where the pride of an empire was falling
For ever beyond recall;
And the flag that had waved in its glory
Was drooping amid the gloom.
'Twas the end, and I fancied I heard it,
The song of Britannia's doom.

But its notes were hushed, as with, vengeance flushed,
In anger, the Legion came,
Like a surging sea, for a moment free,
Avengers of England's fame;
And the flag was saved, but the lonely graves
Recorded the price they paid,
Ere the work of the Legion was ended,
The doom of an Empire stayed.

And, then, thro' the mist of the cordite's gloom,
I saw them return again,
But many who gathered were missing now,
And others were streaked with pain:
For the desert would grieve for her children,
The plains would resound no more
With the voices of they who were sleeping
Afar on that awful shore.