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

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 OUANGOND��, OR RIVER ST. JOHN.
Though the ebbing ocean listens?To Ugond��'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.
UGOND��'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 life-stream these were blent;?As a father's words, like arrows?Straight to children's hearts are sent,
So my currents speeding downwards,?Ever passing, sing the same?Story of the days remembered,?When the stranger people came.?Men of mighty limbs and voices,?Bearing shining shields and knives,?Painted gleamed their hair like evening,?When the sun in ocean dives.
Blue their eyes and tall their stature,?Huge as Indian shadows seen?When the sun through mists of morning?Casts them o'er a clear lake's sheen.
From before the great Pale-faces?Fled the tribes to woods and caves,?Watching thence their fearful councils,?Where they talked beside the waves.
For they loved the shores, and fashioned?Houses from its stones, and there?Fished and rested, danced at night-time?By their fire and torches' glare.
Sang loud songs before the pine-logs?As they crackled in the flame,?Raised and drank from bone-cups, shouting?Fiercely some strange spirit's name.
Turning to the morning's pathway,?Cried they thus to gods, and none?Dared to fight the bearded giants,?Children of the fire and sun.
From their bodies fell our flint-darts,?Yet their arrows flew, like rays?Flashing from the rocks where polished?By the ice in winter days.
Then the Indians prayed the spirits?Haunting river, bank, and hill,?To let hatred, like marsh vapour,?Rise among their foes and kill.
And they seemed to heed, for anger?Often maddened