Verses and Rhymes By the Way Part 4

We've bitter cups to drain--but his is dry; Burdens of care--but care has left his breast; Tears--but they never more shall dim his eye; Labour,--but he has entered into rest.

Oh, to be with him, toil and care all past, Sleeping, dear mother earth, within thy breast, I, too, could lay my hand in thine, O death, And gladly enter where the weary rest.

ORSON'S FAREWELL.

(ORSON GROUT),

_One of the victims of the Southern Prisons._

Sit by me comrade, thou and I have stood Shoulder to shoulder on the battle-field, And bore us there like men of British blood, But comrade this is death, and I must yield.

You have been leal, my friend, and true and tried In battle, in captivity of me; Since we went up to wors.h.i.+p side by side O'er the green hills I never more shall see.

From this dread prison pen, thou shalt go forth; But I, I know it, never more shall rise, Nor see my home in the cool pleasant North, Nor see again my wife's dark mournful eyes.

Nor see my children, every s.h.i.+ning head And merry eye, for what know they of grief; 'Twill still their play to know that I am dead; But childhood's woe, thank G.o.d, is always brief.

Try to cheer Annie in her widowed woe; Let her hear words of comfort at thy mouth; But, friend, I charge thee, do not let her know Aught of the tender mercies of the South.

Tell her that I have never been alone, One like the Son of Man was by my side; The Everlasting arms were round me thrown Of my dear Lord who for our freedom died.

I don't regret, that though of British birth, I have been true to the cause unto death; 'Tis not alone the Union, or the North, It is the people's cause o'er all the earth.

And it shall prosper, and this slaughter pen Shall be a monument of Southern chivalry Before the world;--thus proving to all men Slave power begets and sanctions cruelty.

From here went up for years the bondman's cry; In the same glaring sun and rotting dew, The white war-prisoners' cry of agony To the great G.o.d of Battles rises too.

And He, who was by suffering perfected, Watches the nation's life, the captive's pain; And from the strife, beside her martyred dead, With s.h.i.+eld blood-cleansed from slavery's broad stain,

Columbia shall arise renewed, and wear Her coronet of stars, and round her fold Her robe of stripes, by righteousness made fair, Which still exalts the nations as of old.

But I shall rest upon the other side, Rest in that place of which no tongue can tell, And thitherward my wife and babes He'll guide; Friend, life's for thee, and death for me, Farewell'

DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN.

In the Capitol is mourning, Mourning and woe this day, For a nation's heart is throbbing-- A great man has pa.s.sed away

It was yester'even only Rejoicing wild and high, Waving flags and shouting people Proclaimed a victory

For our G.o.d had led our armies, In the cause of truth and right, It was, therefore, the brave Southren Had bowed to Northern might.

Then flashed o'er the land the tidings, The flush of joy to quell, Fallen is the people's hero, As William the Silent fell.

The stealthy step of the panther, The tiger's cruel eye; A flash--and the wail of a nation Rang in that terrified cry.

Shame falls on the daring Southren, Woe on the Southren land, The stars and bars are quartered With the murderer's b.l.o.o.d.y hand

Well--he stood to his duty firmly, Rebellion's waves rolled high, He dared to be true and simple To battle a gilded lie

And the life has died out of treason, Died with oppression and wrong, The shame is wiped from the nation Worn as a jewel so long

But he, in the hour of triumph Who wise and firmly stood Planning for them large mercies, Lies weltering in his blood.

For a cause so vile meet ending, To set with a murder stain, The "sum of human villainy"

Should die with the brand of Cain

Lay him down with a nation's weeping, Lay him down with the heart's deep prayer That the mantle of the martyr Fall on the vacant chair

ADDRESSES.

TO HON. MALCOM CAMERON.

By many a bard the Cameron clan is sung, Their march, their charge, their war cry, their array; Their laurels that from b.l.o.o.d.y fields have sprung, Where they have kept the sternest foes at bay.

The flowing tartan and the eagle plume, The gathering, and the glories of the clan, Let others sing, we will not so presume, We bring our humble tribute to the man.

The man with heart benevolent and kind, The man with earnest and persuasive tongue; Would there were many like him heart and mind To combat with this fas.h.i.+onable wrong;

Who longs to remedy these human ills, Feeling G.o.d made of one blood all the earth; Whose sympathies have pa.s.sed his native hills, And spread beyond the clan that gave him birth.

Is it not sad when in high places so No sense of honour or of shame remains; Men who make laws while reeling to and fro, Statesmen with swaying step and muddled brains!

For scenes disgrace our new-built palace walls, And Canada on some reformer waits; Shall vice within the Legislative Halls Be rampant as the lions on the gates?

Oh for a man of action and of prayer, Who feels this sin a national disgrace; A man who has the strength to do and dare The pluck and courage of the Celtic race.

If thou art he, thou'rt welcome to the van, To battle for the right in time of need; To win fresh laurels for the Cameron clan, And thousands bid thee heartily G.o.d speed.

ERIN'S ADDRESS

TO THE HON. THOMAS D'ARCY McGEE.