Canada and Other Poems | Page 5

and brain, in gladsome strife,?Forget their dull and dark despair.
And what is love, if 'tis not wine,?Refin'd, distill'd from grossness, tho',?More potent than the juice of vine,?And bringing greater joy, and woe?
Does it not, too, refresh, revive,?And oft intoxicate the brain,?And make the being all alive?With keenest joy, or keenest pain?
And does it not when much indulg'd,?Or held by slack and yielding hand,?Lead on to woes oft undivulg'd,?To crimes unknown, throughout the land?
Oh! blessed woman, fruitful vine,?Inspiring and enchanting twain,?I pray that neither love nor wine,?May o'er my will, resistless reign.
They tell us, that the safest way?To 'scape from wine or woman's thrall,?Is to go on from day to day,?And never drink, or love, at all.
I could give up the cheering wine,?And never taste the siren cup,?But oh, thou woman, nymph divine,?I can not, will not give thee up.

HOW NATURE'S BEAUTIES SHOULD BE VIEWED.
Should man, with microscopic eye,?View the details of Nature's plan,?Into each nook and corner pry,?And needlessly the hidden scan?
Should he inspect each bud and flow'r,?With close, unmeant, uncall'd-for look,?And, by his analytic pow'r,?Dissolve each charm of vale or brook?
Should he resolve the rainbow's hues,?Into their prime and simple forms,?And thus the charm dispel, unloose,?Which gladdens us, amid the storms?
Should he, with keen, inquiring look,?Insist on knowing, seeing all,?Which nature made a sealed book?On this, our strange, terrestrial ball,
'Tis hard to draw the line, indeed,?When we should pry, and when refrain,?But science surely has its need?Of knowledge gain'd, and also pain.
The blooming flow'r, the flutt'ring leaf,?Have surely charms we all can tell,?And analysing brings to grief,?The charms we felt, and knew so well.
Th' untutor'd savage, roaming wild,?Could view the rainbow in the sky,?And, tho' in science but a child,?He saw with gladden'd heart, and eye.
And so, I apprehend, that we?Should oft restrain our thoughts and sight,?Nor delve too far, nor try to see,?With deeper, but more painful light.

NIAGARA FALLS.
Niagara, thou mighty flood.?I've seen thee fall, I've heard thee roar,?And on the frightful verges stood,?That overhang thy rocky shore.
I've sailed o'er surging waves below,?And view'd the rainbow's colour'd light,?And felt the spray, thy waters throw,?When leaping, with resistless might.
I've seen the rapids in their course,?Like madden'd, living things rush on,?With wild, unhesitating force,?To where thy mighty chasms yawn.
And there to take the awful leap,?And fall, with hoarse and sullen roar,?Into th' unfathomable deep,?Which rolleth on, from shore to shore.
Niagara, thou'rt mighty, grand,?Thou fill'st human souls with awe,?For thee, and for that mighty Hand,?Which maketh thee, by nature's law.
Thou'rt great, thou mighty, foaming mass?Of water, plunging, roaring down,?But so are we, yea, we surpass?Thee, and we wear a nobler crown.
Thy mighty head is crowned with foam,?And rainbows wreathe thy robes of blue;?Our earthly forms--our present home--?Are insignificant to you.
But look, thou mighty thund'rer, thou,?Tho' puny be our forms to thine,?These forms possess, yea, even now,?A spark, a ray of life divine.
Rush on, O waters! proudly hurl?Thyself to roaring depths below,?And let the mists of ages curl,?And generations come and go.
But know, stupendous wonder, know,?Thy rocks would crumble, at the nod?Of Him, who lets thy waters flow;?Thy Maker, but our Friend and God.
Thy rocks shall crumble, fall they must;?Thy waters, then, shall plunge no more,?But we shall rise, e'en from the dust,?To live upon another shore.

A SABBATH MORNING IN THE COUNTRY.
'Tis morning, and the meadows yet,?Are wet with gracious drops of dew.?Each blade of grass, and flow'r, is set?With sparkling gems of richest hue.?The sun, with rising glory, sheds?A radiance, that none divine,?Save those, who early leave their beds,?When glist'ning dew-drops briefly shine.
Just ere the rising sunbeams play,?From glorious orb, of rosy red,?There is no sound of life, no hum,?And but, seemingly, all things are dead.
But when the blessed, welcome beams,?Light up, and cheer, and warm the earth,?All things awaken from their dreams,?To celebrate Creation's birth.
The very fields are filled with life,?With hum of bee, and insect throng;?The woods are vocal, with the strife?Of friendly rivalry, in song.?But 'tis the Sabbath morn, and now?Are heard no sounds of industry,?Save milk-maid, calling to her cow,?Or buzzing of the toilsome bee.
Or save, perhaps, the gentle neigh?Of horses, answering the call,?For mother, father, child to-day?Must hear the holy words, that fall?From lips, that pray with them, and preach?To them, the old, old words of cheer.?They must receive the sounds, that teach?Those solemn truths, they love to hear.
But now, the sun's increasing heat?Hath dried the dew, and warm'd the air;?The feather'd songsters now retreat,?Fann'd by the sun's relentless glare.?The morning service now is o'er,?The pastor, kindly greeted too,?And, after greetings at the door,?They all their homeward way pursue.

JOHN AND JANE.
Said Jane to John, "Come, let us wed,?For know, dear John, I love you,?And, by the bright stars overhead,?There's none I place above you."
"I doubt it not," said John, "and I?Reciprocate the feeling,?And here, with one despairing cry,?I kneel, and love you, kneeling."
"Then why, dear John,