Verses and Rhymes by the way | Page 4

untasted by, While jest, and mirth, and song went
round. There sat and jested, drunk and sung, The captain of an Erie
boat, With Erin's merry heart and tongue, A skilful captain when
afloat-- On shore a boon companion gay; The foremost in a tavern
brawl, To dance or drink the night away, Or make love in the servants'
hall. The merry devil in his eye Could well all passing round him spy.
Wanting picked men to man his boat, Eager to be once more afloat, His
keen eye knew the man he sought; At once he pitched upon Rajotte.
The bright, brown man, so silent there, He judged could both endure
and dare; He waited till he caught his eye. Then raising up his glass on
high, "Stranger, I drink your health," said he, "You'll sail the 'Emerald
Isle,' with me. "A smarter crew, a better boat, "Lake Erie's waves will
never float, "I want but one to fill my crew; "I wish no better man than
you; "High wage, light work, a jolly life "Is ours--no care, no fret, no
strife. "So come before the good chance pass, "And drown our bargain
in the glass." "Not so," Rajotte said with a smile, "Let others sail the
'Emerald Isle,' For I have been two years away, A trapper at the
Hudson's Bay; Two years is long enough to roam, I'm bound to see my
wife and home."
The captain shook his curly head, "Did you not hear the news?" he said,
"Last summer came from Hudson's Bay, A courier from York Factory.
He brought the news that you were dead-- Killed by a wounded grizzly
bear When trapping all alone up there-- Found you himself the fellow
said; And your wife mourned and wept her fill Refusing to be
comforted. But grief you know will pass away, She found new love as
women will; And married here the other day."
Not doubting aught of what he heard He sat, but neither spoke nor
stirred. His heart gave one great throb of pain, And stopped--then
bounded on again. His bronze face took an ashen hue, As his great woe
came blanching through, And stormy thoughts with stinging pain
Swept with wild anguish through his brain; But not a word he spoke.
They only saw his lips grow pale, But no word questioned of the tale.
You might have thought the captain bold, Had almost wished his tale
untold; But careless he of working harm When coveting that brave
right arm. At last the silence broke: "He who brought news that I was

dead, Is it to him my wife is wed? Was it? I know it must be so. It must
have been Antoine Vaiseau." "Yes," said the Captain, "'tis the same,
Antoine Vaiseau's the very name."
So ere the morrow's morn had come, Rajotte had turned his back from
home, And gone for ever more, Gone off, alone with his despair, While
his true wife and baby fair, Watched for him at the door.
The rough crew of the "Emerald Isle," Had one grim man without a
smile, So prompt to do, so wild to dare, Reckless and nursing his
despair. The merry light had left his glance, His foot refused to join the
dance. His heart refused to pray. "Oh to forget!" he oft would cry,
Forget this ceaseless agony, To fly from thought away." Woe spun her
white threads in his hair, And bitter and unblessed despair Ploughed
furrows in his face; Grief her dark shade on all things cast; None dared
to question of the past, His sorrow seemed disgrace.
When rumour rose of Indian war; Troops mustering for the west afar,
That wanted them a guide; Rajotte said "I'm the man to go." War's din
he thought would drown his woe, 'Twas well the world was wide. The
Black Hawk war began--went on: (Men dare not tell what men have
done-- The white's relentless cruelty O'ermastering Indian treachery;)
Rajotte, a stern determined man, Sought death, forever in the van On
many a fierce-fought battle plain; His life seemed charmed--he sought
in vain.
Spring came and went--the years went past; War ended, peace came
round at last; But war might go, and peace might come, Rajotte thought
not of turning home. Till, failing strength, and fading eye, He turned
him homeward just to die. Perhaps although he felt it not, In his fierce
wrestling with his lot, There was a drawing influence From the dear
home so far away; And faithful prayers had risen from thence, To Him
who hears us when we pray, Who watched the lonely waiting heart
That nursed its love and faith apart; And, pitying her well borne pain,
Ordained it should not be in vain.
PART III.
Now turn we to Plantagenet: