Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR.

OUT and in the river is winding
The links of its long, red chain
Through belts of dusky pine-land
And gusty leagues of plain.

Only, at times, a smoke-wreath
With the drifting cloud-rack joins,——
The smoke of the hunting-lodges
Of the wild Assiniboins!

Drearily blows the north wind

From the land of ice and snow;
The eyes that look are weary,
And heavy the hands that row.

And with one foot on the water,
And one upon the shore,
The Angel of Shadow gives warning

That day shall be no more.

Is it the clang of wild-geese?
Is it the Indian's yell,

That lends to the voice of the north wind
The tones of a far-off bell?

The voyageur smiles as he listens
To the sound that grows apace;
Well he knows the vesper ringing
Of the bells of St. Boniface.

The bells of the Roman Mission,
That call from their turrets twain,

To the boatman on the river,

To the hunter on the plain!

KENOZA LAKE.

Even so in our mortal journey
The bitter north winds blow,
And thus upon life's Red River

Our hearts, as oarsmen, row.

And when the Angel of Shadow
Rests his feet on wave and shore,
And our eyes grow dim with watching
And our hearts faint at the oar,

Happy is he who heareth
The signal of his release
In the bells of the Holy City,
The chimes of eternal peace!

KENOZA LAKE.

As Adam did in Paradise,

To-day the primal right we claim : Fair mirror of the woods and skies, We give to thee a name.

Lake of the pickerel !-let no more

The echoes answer back "Great Pond,"

But sweet Kenoza, from thy shore

And watching hills beyond,

Let Indian ghosts, if such there be
Who ply unseen their shadowy lines,
Call back the ancient name to thee,
As with the voice of pines.

The shores we trod as barefoot boys,
The nutted woods we wandered through,

To friendship, love, and social joys

We consecrate anew.

381

Here shall the tender song be sung,
And memory's dirges soft and low,
And wit shall sparkle on the tongue,
And mirth shall overflow,

Harmless as summer lightning plays
From a low, hidden cloud by night,
A light to set the hills ablaze,
But not a bolt to smite.

In sunny South and prairied West

Are exiled hearts remembering still, As bees their hive, as birds their nest, The homes of Haverhill.

They join us in our rites to-day;
And, listening, we may hear, ere long,
From inland lake and ocean bay,

The echoes of our song.

Kenoza! o'er no sweeter lake

Shall morning break or noon-cloud sail,No fairer face than thine shall take

The sunset's golden veil.

Long be it ere the tide of trade

Shall break with harsh-resounding din

The quiet of thy banks of shade,
And hills that fold thee in.

Still let thy woodlands hide the hare,
The shy loon sound his trumpet-note;
Wing-weary from his fields of air,
The wild-goose on thee float.

Thy peace rebuke our feverish stir,
Thy beauty our deforming strife;
Thy woods and waters minister
The healing of their life.

TO G. B. C...

And sinless Mirth, from care released,
Behold, unawed, thy mirrored sky,
Smiling as smiled on Cana's feast
The Master's loving eye.

And when the summer day grows dim,
And light mists walk thy mimic sea,
Revive in us the thought of Him
Who walked on Galilee!

383

TO G. B. C.

So spake Esaias: so, in words of flame,
Tekoa's prophet-herdsman smote with blame
The traffickers in men, and put to shame,
All earth and heaven before,

The sacerdotal robbers of the poor.

All the dread Scripture lives for thee again,
To smite with lightning on the hands profane
Lifted to bless the slave-whip and the chain.
Once more th' old Hebrew tongue

Bends with the shafts of God a bow new-strung!

Take up the mantle which the prophets wore; Warn with their warnings,-show the Christ once

more

Bound, scourged, and crucified in his blameless poor;

And shake above our land

The unquenched bolts that blazed in Hosea's hand!

Not vainly shalt thou cast upon our years
The solemn burdens of the Orient seers,
And smite with truth a guilty nation's ears.
Mightier was Luther's word

Than Seckingen's mailed arm or Hutton's sword!

THE SISTERS.

A PICTURE BY BARRY.

THE shade for me, but over thee
The lingering sunshine still;
As, smiling, to the silent stream
Comes down the singing rill,

So come to me, my little one,-
My years with thee I share,
And mingle with a sister's love
A mother's tender care.

But keep the smile upon thy lip,
The trust upon thy brow;

Since for the dear one God hath called

We have an angel now.

Our mother from the fields of heaven

Shall still her ear incline;

Nor need we fear her human love
Is less for love divine.

The songs are sweet they sing beneath
The trees of life so fair,

But sweetest of the songs of heaven
Shall be her children's prayer.

Then, darling, rest upon my breast,
And teach my heart to lean
With thy sweet trust upon the arm
Which folds us both unseen!

« AnteriorContinuar »