The winter snows had vanished and the spring was growing late,
When Lord Landseeker came again to view his real estate,
And he drove out in a buggy to where his section lay,
And his heart was very happy as he smoked along the way
Till the section burst upon them, and he scarce believed his sight,
For the land lay in the sunshine, flashing back a snowy white . . . . .
And His Lordship stooped and felt it, and he heaved a little sigh,
As the knowledge dawned upon him that his land was—alkali!
His Lordship did some thinking as they journeyed back to town,
And his wonted happy features were o'ershadowed with a frown;
But he neither crawled nor blustered, neither bluffed nor swore nor kicked,
(For the men from little England never know when they are licked),
But he advertised for tenders for construction on the land,
And the buildings he erected were the best he could command;
With a hundred rooms for students, and quarters for the staff,
And the workmen often wondered what made His Lordship laugh!
In the papers of Old England there appeared a little ad,
For the benefit of parents whose sons were going bad;
"Teach your boys the art of farming in the great Canadian West;
Our instruction is unrivalled, our curriculum the best;
There's a grate in every chamber and a bath in every hall,
And a full dress-suited dinner every ev'ning, free to all;
There is tennis, polo, marksmanship, and half the day in bed,
And we make them into farmers for a hundred pounds a head."
* * * * * * * His Lordship's college prospers and is crowded to the doors
With "students" playing poker while the "servants" do the chores;
What they do not know of farming they make up in other lines
They are judges of tobacco and connoisseurs of wines;
They are experts at the races and at sundry other games—
Though they couldn't tell the breeching of the harness from the hames—
Though they're far from home and kindred they occasion no alarm,
That was what their parents wanted when they sent them out to farm.
We have heard the night wind howling as we lay alone in bed;
We have heard the grey goose honking as he journeyed overhead;
We have smelt the smoke-wraith flying in the hot October wind,
And have fought the fiery demon that came roaring down behind;
We have seen the spent snow sifting through the key-hole of the door,
And the frost-line crawling, crawling, like a snake, along the floor;
We have felt the storm-fiend wrestle with the rafters in his might,
And the baffled blizzard shrieking through the turmoil of the night.
We have felt the April breezes warm along the plashy plains;
We have mind-marked to the cadence of the falling April rains;
We have heard the crash of water where the snow-fed rivers run,
Seen a thousand silver lakelets lying shining in the sun;
We have known the resurrection of the Springtime in the land,
Heard the voice of Nature calling and the words of her command,
Felt the thrill of springtime twilight and the vague, unfashioned thought
That the season's birthday musters from the hopes we had forgot.
We have heard the cattle lowing in the silent summer nights;
We have smelt the smudge-fire fragrance—we have seen the smudge-fire lights—
We have heard the wild duck grumbling to his mate along the bank;
Heard the thirsty horses snorting in the stream from which they drank;
Heard the voice of Youth and Laughter in the long, slow-gloaming night;
Seen the arched electric, splendor of the Great North's livid light;
Read the reason of existence—felt the touch that was divine—
And in eyes that glowed responsive saw the End of God's design.