Memories of Canada and Scotland, Speeches and Verses | Page 5

all the band,?Fighting for some stones that glittered?Yellow on Ugond��'s sand.
Seeing axe and spear-head crimson,?Hope illumined doubt and dread,?And our land's despairing children?Called upon the mighty dead.
All the Northern night-air shaking,?Rose the ancients' bright array,?Burning lines of battle breaking?Darkness into lurid day.
But the stranger hearts were hardened,?Fearless slept they; then at last?Our Great Spirit heard, and answered?From his home in heaven vast.
For his waving locks were tempests,?And the thunder-cloud his frown;?Where he trod the earthquake followed,?And the forests bowed them down.
As his whirlwind struck the mountains,?Rent and lifted, swayed the ground;?Winged knives of crooked lightning?Gleamed from skies and gulfs profound.
Floods, from wonted channels driven,?Roared at falling hillside's shock;?What was land became the torrent,?What was lake became the rock.
Now the river and the ocean,?Whispering, say: "Our floods alone?See white skeletons slow-moving?Near the olden walls of stone."
Moving slow in stream and sea-tide,?There the stranger warriors sleep,?And their shades still cry in anguish?Where the foaming waters leap.
THE GUIDE OF THE MOHAWKS.
For strife against the ocean tribe?The Mohawks' war array?Comes floating down, where broad St. John?Reflects the dawning day.
A camp is seen, and victims fall,?And none are left to flee;?A maid alone is spared, compelled?A traitress guide to be.?The swift canoes together keep,?And o'er their gliding prows?The silent girl points down the stream,?Nor halt nor rest allows.
"Speak! are we near your fires? How dark?Night o'er these waters lies!"?Still pointing down the rushing stream,?The maiden naught replies.
The banks fly past, the water seethes;?The Mohawks shout, "To shore!?Where is the girl?" Her cry ascends?From out the river's roar.
The foaming rapids rise and flash?A moment o'er her head,?And smiling as she sinks, she knows?Her foemen's course is sped;
A moment hears she shriek on shriek?From hearts that death appals,?As, seized by whirling gulfs, the crews?Are drawn into the falls!
THE STRONG HUNTER.
There's a warrior hunting o'er prairie and hill,?Who in sunshine or starlight is eager to kill,?Who ne'er sleeps by his fire on the wild river's shore,?Where the green cedars shake to the white rapids' roar.
Ever tireless and noiseless, he knows not repose,?Be the land filled with summer, or lifeless with snows;?But his strength gives him few he can count as his friends, Man and beast fly before him wherever he wends,
For he chases alike every form that has breath,?And his darts must strike all,--for that hunter is Death!!?Lo! a skeleton armed, and his scalp-lock yet streams;?From this vision of fear of the Iroquois' dreams!
MON-DAW-MIN;
OR, THE ORIGIN OF THE INDIAN-CORN.
Cherry bloom and green buds bursting?Fleck the azure skies;?In the spring wood, hungering, thirsting,?Faint an Indian lies.
To behold his guardian spirit?Fasts the dusky youth;?Prays that thus he may inherit?Warrior strength and truth.
Weak he grows, the war-path gory?Seems a far delight;?Now he scans the flowers, whose glory?Is not won by fight.
"Hunger kills me; see my arrow?Bloodless lies: I ask,?If life's doom be grave-pit narrow,?Deathless make its task.
"For man's welfare guide my being,?So I shall not die?Like the flow'rets, fading, fleeing,?When the snow is nigh.
"Medicine from the plants we borrow,?Salves from many a leaf;?May they not kill hunger's sorrow,?Give with food relief?"
Suddenly a spirit shining?From the sky came down,?Green his mantle, floating, twining,?Gold his feather crown.
"I have heard thy thought unspoken;?Famous thou shall be;?Though no scalp shall be the token,?Men shall speak of thee.
"Bravely borne, men's heaviest burden?Ever lighter lies;?Wrestling with me, win the guerdon;?Gain thy wish, arise!"
Now he rises, and, prevailing,?Hears the angel say:?"Strong in weakness, never failing,?Strive yet one more day.
"Now again I come, and find thee?Yet with courage high,?So that, though my arms can bind thee,?Victor thou, not I.
"Hark! to-morrow, conquering, slay me,?Blest shall be thy toil:?After wrestling, strip me, lay me?Sleeping in the soil.
"Visit oft the place; above me?Root out weeds and grass;?Fast no more; obeying, love me;?Watch what comes to pass."
Waiting through the long day dreary,?Still he hungers on;?Once more wrestling, weak and weary,?Still the fight is won.
Stripped of robes and golden feather,?Buried lies the guest:?Summer's wonder-working weather?Warms his place of rest.
Ever his commands fulfilling,?Mourns his victor friend,?Fearing, with a heart unwilling,?To have known the end.
No! upon the dark mould fallow?Shine bright blades of green;?Rising, spreading, plumes of yellow?O'er their sheaves are seen.
Higher than a mortal's stature?Soars the corn in pride;?Seeing it, he knows that Nature?There stands deified.
"'Tis my friend," he cries, "the guerdon?Fast and prayer have won;?Want is past, and hunger's burden?Soon shall torture none."
THE ISLES OF HURON
Bright are the countless isles which crest?With waving woods wide Huron's breast,--?Her countless isles, that love too well?The crystal waters whence they rise,?Far from her azure depths to swell,?Or wanton with the wooing skies;
Nor, jealous, soar to keep the Day?From laughing in each rippling bay,?But floating on the flood they love,?Soft whispering, kiss her breast, and seek?No passions of the air above,?No fires that burn the thunder-peak.
Algoma o'er Ontario throws?Fair forest heights and mountain snows;?Strong Erie shakes the orchard plain?At great Niagara's defiles,?And river-gods o'er Lawrence reign,?But Love is