Canada And Other Poems Part 15

No pennon stream'd from lofty mast, No ships were there, propell'd by steam, For then, instead of whistle blast, Was heard the lordly eagle's scream.

The light canoe of birchen rind, Sent o'er the waves by skilful oar, Express'd so plain the untrain'd mind-- Content with this, it wish'd no more.

No chimneys, tall and ma.s.sive made, Show'd where the white man ground his corn, For there no white man yet had stray'd, Where but the forest child was born.

And now, where s.p.a.cious mansions stand, Where grace and culture now reside, There clasp'd the Indian brave the hand Of his own war-won forest bride.

Where once the painted warrior wrote His thoughts in rudely pictur'd signs, A cultur'd language now we quote, And write and print, in graceful lines.

Where once the hieroglyphic bark Told when the warlike bow should tw.a.n.g, The torch of light with glowing spark, Is held aloft by faithful Strang.

But there is yet another flame, With pure and holy light to shed; And all revere that honor'd name, And all respect that rev'rend head.

That h.o.a.ry head, which, from the place Where mild religion's beams doth play, Hath warn'd, implor'd our fallen race, And pray'd, while years have pa.s.s'd away.

Beneficent and kind old man, Accept our humble tributes now, And when is run thine earthly span, May fadeless wreathes entwine thy brow.

VERSES WRITTEN IN AUTOGRAPH ALb.u.mS.

TO MISS ----

Youth is the time when all is bright; The mind is free from care; No thoughts of aught, save present joys, Can find an entrance there.

And, if a thought of future years Steal o'er the careless mind, That thought speaks of a happier time When years are left behind.

But when the years of youth have fled, And life is fill'd with pain, We think full oft of vanish'd years, And wish them back again.

And oft this wish will soothe our pain, And oft allay our woe, Oh, sweet to us is mem'ry then, When we think of long ago.

May thou live on till youth has pa.s.s'd, And feel but little pain, And may thou, in a blest old age, Live o'er your youth again.

TO A FRIEND.

With kindly thoughts full oft we've met, And bow'd at Friendship's sacred shrine; Oh, may we ne'er those thoughts forget, But may they still our hearts entwine.

May both retain those feelings long, Which prompt the words of friendly tongue, May I not fail to think of thee, Nor you to think of T. F. Young.

TO MISS ----

My friend of days, but not of years, With kindly heart these lines I trace, To tell you of a kindly wish, Which I upon this page would place.

It is that thou thro' future years May meet with very much of joy, And just a little grief, because Continued happiness will cloy.

And when, in future years, you read What I to you just now have sung, Let others praise or blame, do thou Think pleasantly of T. F. Young.

TO ----

These lines, which on this leaf I write, I trace with friendly thoughts of thee, And hope, when o'er this page you glance, You'll think a kindly thought of me.

And why should I this tribute ask?

Why crave from you this humble boon?

Because I knew you through life's morn, And hope to know you in its noon.

Because the path of life we trod, With youthful hearts so free from pain, When both together went to school, And wander'd gaily home again.

This, then, is why I ask of you, As on this little page you look, To think of me, with other friends, Whose names are written in your book.

TO A FRIEND.

In years to come, when looking o'er These lines I've penn'd for thee, I trust that thou shalt ne'er have cause To think unkind of me.

And if you have, let memory Try hard to blunt the dart, And tho' I may deserve the blame, Let kindness soothe the smart.

TO A FRIEND.

The youthful joys of vanish'd years, The joys e'en now we share, Have something of a sacred bliss, Which time can not impair.

For when the years of youth have gone, Its joys and hopes have flown, The mem'ry clings with fond embrace-- Those joys are still our own.

Then, as I write these words for you,-- This earnest wish I pen: That you may think but pleasant thoughts-- When life's liv'd o'er again.

May nought of sorrow, or of woe, Invade to wound or pain, And may the joys that we have shar'd Be bright in mem'ry's train.

TO MISS ----

In tracing here these lines, my friend, Which spring from friendly heart, I here record an earnest wish, For thee, before we part:

May health and happiness serene, Long, long with thee abide, May youthful joys no sorrow bring, Nor future woes betide.

And when thy youthful beauty leaves, And youthful thoughts thy breast, May thou in calm old age still live, In happiness and rest.

TO A LITTLE GIRL.

Go, little girl, your course pursue, On life's rough ocean safely glide, May want nor woe e'er visit you, Nor any other ills betide.

Improve the shining hours of youth, For soon, alas, they will be gone, Strive hard for learning, zeal and truth, For ev'ry soul must fight alone.

TO A FRIEND.

Within this little book of thine, Are thoughts of many a friendly mind, Express'd in words, on which you'll gaze In after years, with feelings kind.

And while you're scanning o'er each page, These lines I write, perchance you'll see, And tho' they're penn'd by careless hand, You'll know that they are penn'd by me.