Sonnets and Other Verse Part 3

THE COMING OF CHAMPLAIN.

(From the prose of Parkman.)

Up the St. Lawrence with well-weather'd sails A lonely vessel clove its foaming track.

None hail'd its coming; the white floundering whales Disported in the Bay of Tadoussac; The wild duck div'd before its figured prow; The painted savage spied it from the sh.o.r.e, And dream'd not that his reign was ended now,-- That that strange ship a new Aeneas bore,

Whose pale-fac'd inconsiderable band Were pioneers of an aggressive host Of thousands, millions, filling all the land, And 'stablishing therein from coast to coast This civil state, with cities, temples, marts, Schools, laws and peaceful industries and arts.

THE MONTAGNAIS AT TADOUSSAC.

(From the prose of Parkman.)

The lodges of the Montagnais were there, Who reaped the harvest of the woods and rocks-- Skins of the moose and cariboo and bear, Fur of the beaver, marten, otter, fox.

From where the shivering nomad lurks among The stunted forests south of Hudson's Bay They piloted their frail canoes along By many a tributary's devious way;

Then between mountains stern as Teneriffe Their confluent flotillas glided down The Saguenay, and pa.s.s'd beneath the cliff Whose s.h.a.ggy brows athwart the zenith frown, And reach'd the Bay of Trinity, dark, lone, And silent as the tide of Acheron.

CHAMPLAIN'S FIRST WINTER AND SPRING IN QUEBEC.

(From the prose of Parkman.)

I. THE WINTER.

September bade the sail of Pontgrave G.o.dspeed, and smil'd upon the infant nation; October deckt the sh.o.r.es and hills with "gay Prognostics of approaching desolation."

Ere long the forest, steep'd in golden gloom, Dropt rustling down its shrivel'd festal dress, And chill November, sombre as the tomb, Sank on the vast primeval wilderness.

Inexorable winter's iron vice Gript hard the land, funereal with snow; The stream was fill'd with grinding drifts of ice; A fell disease laid twenty Frenchmen low In death, and left the dauntless leader eight With whom to hold the New World's fortress gate.

II. THE SPRING.

The purgatory pa.s.s'd--the stalact.i.tes That fring'd the cliffs fell crashing to the earth; With clamor shrill the wild geese skimm'd the heights, In airy navies sailing to the north; The bluebirds chirrup'd in the naked woods, The water-willows donn'd their downy blooms, The trim swamp-maple blush'd with ruddy buds, The forest-ash hung out its sable plumes.

The shad-bush gleam'd a wreath of purest snow, The white stars of the bloodroot peep'd from folds Of rotting leaves, and in the meadows low Shone saffron spots, the gay marsh-marigolds.

May made all green, and on the fifth of June A sail appeared, with succor none too soon.

IDLENESS.

The street was brisk, an animated scene, And every man was on some business bent, Absorbed in some employment or intent, Pre-occupied, intelligent and keen.

True, some were dwarf'd and some were pale and lean.

But to the sorriest visage Labor lent A light, transfiguring with her sacrament The abject countenance and slavish mien.

But one--he shambled aimlessly along Asham'd, and shrunk from the abstracted ken Of pa.s.sers-by with conscience-struck recoil, A pariah, a leper in the throng, An alien from the commonwealth of men, A stranger to the covenant of toil.

SUCCESS.

What is success? In mad soul-suicide The world's vain spoils rapaciously to seize, To pamper the base appet.i.te of pride, And live a lord in luxury and ease?

Is this success, whereof so many prate?-- To have the Midas-touch that turns to gold Earth's common blessings? to acc.u.mulate, And in acc.u.mulation to grow old?

Nay, but to see and undertake with zest The good most in agreement with our powers, To strive, if need be, for the second best, But still to strive, and glean the golden hours, With eyes for nature, and a mind for truth, And the brave, loving, joyous heart of youth.

THE EXCLUSION OF ASIATICS.

Is our renown'd Dominion then so small As not to hold this new inhabitant?

Or are her means so pitiably scant As not to yield a livelihood to all?

Or are we lesser men, foredoom'd to thrall?

Or so much better than the immigrant That we should make our hearts as adamant And guard against defilement with a wall?

Nay, but our land is large and rich enough For us and ours and millions more--her need Is working men; she cries to let them in.

Nor can we fear; our race is not the stuff Servants are made of, but a royal seed, And Christian, owning all mankind as kin.

THE PEOPLE'S RESPONSE TO HEROISM.

Our hearts are set on pleasure and on gain.

Fine clothes, fair houses, more and daintier bread; We have no strivings, and no hunger-pain For spiritual food; our souls are dead.

So judged I till the day when news was rife Of fire besieging scholars and their dames, And bravely one gave up her own fair life In saving the most helpless from the flames.

Then when I heard the instantaneous cheer That broke with sobbing undertones from all The mult.i.tude, and watched them drawing near, Stricken and mute, around her funeral pall In grief and exultation, I confest My judgment erred,--we know and love the best.

AN ARISTOCRAT.

Her fair companions she outshone, As this or that transcendent star Makes all its sister orbs look wan And dim and l.u.s.treless and far.

Her charm impressed the fleeting glance, But chiefly the reflective mind; A century's inheritance, By carefull'st nurture still refined.

Devotions, manners, hopes that were, Ideals high, traditions fine, Were felt to culminate in her, The efflorescence of her line.