The Ontario Readers: Fourth Book Part 34

'Tis here we part;--for other eyes The busy deck, the fluttering streamer, The dripping arms that plunge and rise, The waves in foam, the s.h.i.+p in tremor, The kerchiefs waving from the pier, The cloudy pillar gliding o'er him, The deep blue desert, lone and drear, With heaven above and home before him!

His home!--the Western giant smiles, And twirls the spotty globe to find it;-- This little speck the British Isles?

'Tis but a freckle,--never mind it!

He laughs, and all his prairies roll, Each gurgling cataract roars and chuckles, And ridges stretched from pole to pole Heave till they crack their iron knuckles!

But Memory blushes at the sneer, And Honour turns with frown defiant, And Freedom, leaning on her spear, Laughs louder than the laughing giant: "An islet is a world," she said, "When glory with its dust has blended, And Britain keeps her n.o.ble dead Till earth and seas and skies are rended!"

Beneath each swinging forest-bough Some arm as stout in death reposes,-- From wave-washed foot to heaven-kissed brow Her valour's life-blood runs in roses; Nay, let our brothers of the West Write smiling in their florid pages, One-half her soil has walked the rest In poets, heroes, martyrs, sages!

Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp, From sea-weed fringe to mountain heather, The British oak with rooted grasp Her slender handful holds together; With cliffs of white and bowers of green, And Ocean narrowing to caress her, And hills and threaded streams between;-- Our little mother isle, G.o.d bless her!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

FOOTNOTES: [4] Robert Burns

G.o.d IS OUR REFUGE

G.o.d is our refuge and strength, A very present help in trouble.

Therefore will we not fear, though the earth do change, And though the mountains be moved in the heart of the seas; Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, Though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof.

THE LORD OF HOSTS IS WITH US; THE G.o.d OF JACOB IS OUR REFUGE.

There is a river, the streams whereof make glad the city of G.o.d, The holy place of the tabernacles of the Most High.

G.o.d is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: G.o.d shall help her at the dawn of morning.

The nations raged, the kingdoms were moved: He uttered his voice, the earth melted.

THE LORD OF HOSTS IS WITH US; THE G.o.d OF JACOB IS OUR REFUGE.

Come, behold the works of the LORD, What desolations he hath made in the earth.

He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; He breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; He burneth the chariots in the fire.

Be still, and know that I am G.o.d: I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.

THE LORD OF HOSTS IS WITH US; THE G.o.d OF JACOB IS OUR REFUGE.

Psalm XLVI.

A good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things. But I say unto you that every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.

St. Matthew, XII.

INDIAN SUMMER

By the purple haze that lies On the distant rocky height, By the deep blue of the skies, By the smoky amber light Through the forest arches streaming, Where Nature on her throne sits dreaming, And the sun is scarcely gleaming Through the cloudless snowy white,-- Winter's lovely herald greets us, Ere the ice-crowned giant meets us.

A mellow softness fills the air,-- No breeze on wanton wings steals by To break the holy quiet there, Or make the waters fret and sigh, Or the yellow alders s.h.i.+ver, That bend to kiss the placid river, Flowing on and on forever; But the little waves are sleeping, O'er the pebbles slowly creeping, That last night were flas.h.i.+ng, leaping, Driven by the restless breeze, In lines of foam beneath yon trees.

Dressed in robes of gorgeous hue, Brown and gold with crimson blent.

The forest to the waters blue Its own enchanting tints has lent;-- In their dark depths, lifelike glowing, We see a second forest growing, Each pictured leaf and branch bestowing A fairy grace to that twin wood, Mirrored within the crystal flood.

'Tis pleasant now in forest shades; The Indian hunter strings his bow, To track through dark entangling glades The antlered deer and bounding doe, Or launch at night the birch canoe, To spear the finny tribes that dwell On sandy bank, in weedy cell, Or pool, the fisher knows right well-- Seen by the red and vivid glow Of pine torch at his vessel's bow.

This dreamy Indian summer-day, Attunes the soul to tender sadness; We love--but joy not in the ray-- It is not summer's fervid gladness, But a melancholy glory, Hovering softly round decay, Like swan that sings her own sad story, Ere she floats in death away.

The day declines; what splendid dyes, In fleckered waves of crimson driven, Float o'er the saffron sea that lies Glowing within the western heaven!

Oh, it is a peerless even!

See, the broad red sun has set, But his rays are quivering yet Through Nature's vale of violet Streaming bright o'er lake and hill, But earth and forest lie so still, It sendeth to the heart a chill; We start to check the rising tear-- 'Tis beauty sleeping on her bier.

Susanna Moodie

So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

Bryant

THE SKYLARK

Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and c.u.mberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place-- Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud, Far in the downy cloud; Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing away!

Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms, Sweet will thy welcome, and bed of love be!

Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place-- Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

James Hogg

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