Memories of Canada and Scotland, Speeches and Verses | Page 4

her, &c.
Inheritors of glory,
O countrymen! we swear
To guard the flag
whose story
Shall onward victory bear.
Where'er through earth's far
regions
Its triple crosses fly,
For God, for home, our legions
Shall
win, or fighting die!
Aye one with her, &c.
RIVER RHYMES
0. We have poled our staunch canoe Many a boiling torrent through;
Paddling where the eddies drew, Athwart the roaring flood we
flew.
Chorus--

Dip your paddles! make them leap,
Where the clear cold waters
sweep.
Dip your paddles! steady keep,
Where breaks the rapid
down the steep.
2. Where the wind, like censer, flings
Smoke-spray wider as it swings,
Hark! the aisle of rainbow rings

To falls that hymn the King of kings.
3. Lifting there our vessel tight,
Climbed we bank and rocky height,
Bore her through thick woods,
where light
Fell dappling those green haunts of Night.
4. O'er the rush of billows hurled,
Where they tossed and leaped and curled,
Past each wave-worn
boulder whirled,
How fast we sailed, no sail unfurled!
5. Laughs from parted lips and teeth
Hailed the quiet reach beneath,
Damascened in ferny sheath,
And
girt with pine and maple wreath.
6. Oh, the lovely river there
Made all Nature yet more fair;
Wooded hills and azure air
Kissed,
quivering, in the stream they share.
7. Plunged the salmon, waging feud
'Gainst the jewelled insect-brood;
From aerial solitude
An eagle's
shadow crossed the wood.
8. Flapped the heron, and the grey
Halcyon talked from cedar's spray,
Drummed the partridge far

away;--
Ah! could we choose to live as they!
LEGEND OF THE CANADIAN ROBIN
Is it Man alone who merits
Immortality or death?
Each created
thing inherits
Equal air and common breath.
Souls pass onward: some are ranging
Happy hunting-grounds, and
some
Are as joyous, though in changing
Form be altered, language
dumb.
Beauteous all, if fur or feather,
Strength or gift of song be theirs;
He
who planted all together
Equally their fate prepares.
Like to Time, that dies not, living
Through the change the seasons
bring,
So men, dying, are but giving
Life to some fleet foot or wing.
Bird and beast the Savage cherished,
But the Robins loved he best;

O'er the grave where he has perished
They shall thrive and build their
nest.
Hunted by the white invader,
Vanish ancient races all;
Yet no
ruthless foe or trader
Silences the songster's call.
For the white man too rejoices,
Welcoming Spring's herald bird,

When the ice breaks, and the voices
From the rushing streams are
heard.
Where the Indian's head-dress fluttered,
Pale the settler would recoil,

And his deepest curse was uttered
On the Red Son of the soil.
Later knew he not, when often
Gladness with the Robin came,
How
a spirit-change could soften
Hate to dear affection's flame:
Knew not, as he heard, delighted,
Mellow notes in woodlands die,

How his heart had leaped, affrighted
At that voice in battle-cry.

For a youthful Savage, keeping
Long his cruel fast, had prayed,
All
his soul in yearning steeping,
Not for glory, chase, or maid;
But to sing in joy, and wander,
Following the summer hours,

Drinking where the streams meander,
Feasting with the leaves and
flowers.
Once his people saw him painting
Red his sides and red his breast,

Said: "His soul for fight is fainting,
War-paint suits the hero best;"
Went, when passed the night, loud calling,
Found him not, but where
he lay
Saw a Robin, whose enthralling
Carol seemed to them to
say;
"I have left you! I am going
Far from fast and winter pain;
When
the laughing water's flowing
Hither I will come again!"
Thus his ebon locks still wearing,
With the war-paint on his breast,

Still he comes, our summer sharing,
And the lands he once possessed.
Finding in the white man's regions
Foemen none, but friends whose
heart
Loves the Robins' happy legions,
Mourns when, silent, they
depart.
WERE THESE THE FIRST DISCOVERERS OF AMERICA?
MILICETE LEGEND OF THE OUANGONDÉ, OR RIVER ST.
JOHN.
Though the ebbing ocean listens
To Ugondé's throbbing roar,
Calm
the conquering flood-tide glistens
Where the river raved before. [1]
[1] The Bay of Fundy tide rises to such a height that it flows up the St.
John River channel to some distance, silencing the roar of the Calls,
which pour over a great ledge of rock left by the ebbing sea. Taken
very literally from a tale in the "Amaranth Magazine," 1841.

So the sea-brought strangers, stronger
Than their Indian foes of old,

Conquered, till were heard no longer
War-songs through the forests
rolled.
Yet the land's wild stream, begotten
Where its Red Sons fought and
died,
With traditions unforgotten
Strives to stem Oblivion's tide;

Tells the mighty, who, like ocean,
Whelm the native stream, how
they
First in far dim days' commotion,
Wrestling, fought for
empire's sway.
Hear the sad cascade, ere ever
Sinks in rising tides its moan,
True
may be the tale, though never
By the victor ocean known.
Now the chant rings softly, finding
Freedom as the sea retires;

Loudly now, through spray-tears blinding
Throb and thunder silver
lyres;
Silenced when the strong sea-water
To its great' heart, limitless,

Rising, takes the valley's daughter,
Soothes the song of her distress.
UGONDÉ'S TALE.
For a while the salt brine leaves me
O'er my terraced rocks to fall,

And my broad swift-gliding waters
Olden memories recall.
Ere the tallest pines were seedlings
With my