Nora Pembroke

PART I

Away up on the River aux Lievres,
    That is foaming and surging always,
And from rock to rock leaping through rapids,
    Which are curtained by showers of spray;

That is eddying, whirling and chasing
    All the white swells that break on the shore;
And then dashing and thundering onward,
    With the sound of a cataract's roar.

And up here is the Buckingham village,
    Which is built on these waters of strife,
It was here that the minister Babin,
    Stood and preached of the Gospel of Life,

Of the message of love and of mercy,
    The glad tidings of freedom and peace,
Of help for the hopeless and helpless,
    For all weary ones rest and relief.

Was his message all noise like the rapids?
    Was it empty an...

(CLARISSA HARLOW)


Seek not to calm my grief,
    To stay the falling tear;
Have pity on me, ye my friends,
    The hand of God is here.

She was my only one,
    Oh, then my love how great!
Now she is gone, my heart and home
    Are empty desolate

I thought not, in my love
    That we were doomed to part,
Now I am childless, and my fate
    Falls heavy on my heart

O Thou who gave the gift,
    Who took the gift away,
Who only can heal up the wound,
    Give answer while I pray!

Do Thou send comfort down,
    All goodness as Thou art,
Even in Thy last passion, Thou
    Didst soothe a mother's heart.

I would not take her back,
    From Thee, from Heaven and bliss,
Though yearning for her...

With noiseless footstep, like the white-robed snow,
    The old year with closed record steals away;
Record of gladness, suffering, joy, and woe,
    Of all that goes to make life's little day.

Here, in this bright and pleasant little town,
    As everywhere, a noiseless scythe hath swept;
The bright, the green, the flow'ret all cut down,
    For heart ties severed loving hearts have wept.

And some are gone we very ill can spare,
    And some we gladly would have died to save,
And the young blossom of the hearth, so fair;
    But all alike have passed thy gates, oh, grave!

We see so many sable signs of woe,
    Each, with mute voice, memento mori saith;
As if our town that erst has sparkled so
    Were passing through the vale and shade of ...

The rage for writing has spread far and wide,
Letters on letters now are multiplied,
And every mortal, who can hold a pen,
Aspires in haste to teach his fellow men.
Paper in wasted reams, and seas of ink.
Prove how they write who never learned to think;
Some who have talents--some who have not sense;
Some who to decency make no pretence;
But, skilled in arts which better men deceive,
They spread the slander which they don't believe.
A township turned to scribblers is a sight!
Venting their malice all in black and white,
And with, apparently, no other aim
Than merely to be foaming out their shame.
--My own, my beautiful, my pride,
I must lament where strangers will deride,
O'er thy degenerate sons whose strife and hate
Will make thee as a desert desolate

    Gather, oh gather! gather, oh gather
    On with the philabeg every man
And up with the bonnet and badge of your father,
    Belt on the plaid of the great Campbell clan
    From the heather clad hills of that island
    In whose straths and glens your fathers were born
They come, and so gather, ye hearts that are Highland,
    Welcome the Lord and the Lady of Lorne!
                            Gather, oh gather, &c.

    Ocean to ocean the welcome is ringing,
    Fair Indian summer, with blush and with smile,
O'er forests her right royal vesture is flinging
    To welcome the bride and heir of Argyle.
    Princess of Lorne, we rise to receive her,
    First royal lady our country has seen,
To this, the wide land of the maple and beaver,
    We we...

(P McD)


We waited for him, and the anxious days
    Melted to years and floated slowly by
We spoke of him kind words of lofty praise,
    Of yearning love and tender sympathy.

We laid by what was his with reverent care--
    Started in dreams to greet him coming home--
But hope deferred left no relief but prayer,
    And heart-sore longings breathed in one word--Come.

We never dreamed of murderous ambush laid
    By savage redskins greedy for the prey--
Of him, our darling, in the forest laid
    Alone, alone, ebbing his life away.

He who would not have harmed the meanest thing,
    Who carried gentleness to such excess
That, to the stranger and the suffering,
    His purse meant help, his touch was a caress.

Ah me! tha...

O thou wild rantin' wicked wit;
Are thy works, thy fame livin' yet?
Will thae daft people never quit
        An ne'er ha'e done
Disturbin' me in my black pit
        Wi' Burn's fun.

Though mony years ha'e fled away
Sin' thou wert buried in the clay,
Thy rhymes, unto this vera day,
        Are mair than laws;
Thy name's set up on ilka bra'
        Wi' great applause.

And yet, thou wonder-workin' chiel,
I'd let ye' charm Scotch bodies weel,
But that "Address unto the De'il"
        Made i' your sport,
Has raised a maist revengefu' squeel
        In my black court.

Still by the names you gi'e I'm greeted,
By every Lallan tongue repeated,
I canna turn but what I meet it,
        In toun or village;
My bluid, though h...

Oh Allumette, hemmed with thy fringe of pine,
    Watched over by thy mountains far away,
Thy waters have been troubled oftentime,
    Never before as they have been to day!

The red man on the war path, with light stroke,
    Hath cleaved thy waters moving stealthily;
Hunter and hunted deer thy surface broke
    With splash and struggle of the living prey.

Across thy bosom venturous Champlain
    And faithful Brule have pursued their way;
Seeking for distant golden Indian vain
    Finding Coulonge while searching for Cathay

The knights of industry the sons of toil,
    Trouble thy waters in the eager strife
To win success and wealth, the glittering spoil
    For which men daily peril more than life

'Twas a new motive from their homes to...

(Job iii. 26)


It was not that I lived a life of ease,
    Quiet, secure, apart from every care;
For on the darkest of my anxious days
    I thought my burden more than I could bear.
The shadow of a coming trouble fell
    Across my pathway, drawing very near;
I walked within it awestruck, felt the spell
    Trembled, not knowing what I had to fear.
The hand that held events I might not stay,
But creeping to His footstool I could pray.

With sad forebodings I kept watch and ward
    Against the dreaded evil that must come;
Of small avail, door locked or window barred,
    To keep the pestilence from hearth and home.
The dreadful pestilence that walks by night,
    Stepping o'er barriers, an unwelcome guest,
Came, and with scorching touch t...

We little children join to praise
The Holy Child of endless days.
The Lord of glory undefiled
Was once like us a little child.

Chorus.--
    "Sweetly, sweetly, sweetly singing,
    Let us praise him, praise him, praise him, bringing
    Happy voices, voices, voices ringing
    Like the songs of the angels round the throne."

He hears the ravens when they call,
He sees the little sparrows fall,
He heard the little children sing
Hosanna to the Saviour King.
        Sweetly, &c.

O Jesus, we sing to praise thee,
Who said let children come to me;
We gather round the mercy seat,
O let our songs to thee be sweet.
        Sweetly, &c.

Jesus, our Master, Lord and King,
Spread over us thy sheltering wing,
Keep us u...

(Noel.)


By the sad fellowship of human suffering,
    By the bereavements that are thine and mine,
I venture--oh, forgive me!--with this offering,
    I would it were to thee God's oil and wine

I too have suffered--is it then surprising
    If to thy sacred grief I enter in?
My spirit draws near thine all sympathising,
    Sorrow, like love, "makes aliens near of kin."

Thou'rt weeping for thy gathered blossoms, mother,
    The Lord had need of him, and called him soon,
In morning freshness ere the dews of heaven
    Were chased before the burning rays of noon.

Thy darling child, like to God's summer blossom,
    Was very fair and pleasant to the sight,
The sunny head that rested on thy bosom,
    The loving eyes that were thy hear...

The incident related in the following lines occurred thus:--At a meeting of Presbytery appointed to deal with the case of the Reverend David Macrae, of Gourock, Scotland, one of the members of the Court had stolen out to enjoy his pipe and the quiet of his own thoughts for a few minutes before engaging in the strife of debate, when he was accosted by a stranger, woefully dilapidated, who asked him with great earnestness if he would tell him where he could see Mr. Macrae, as he was most anxious to have some conversation with him. "Do you know, sir," said this poor, ruined one, "that on the doctrine of future punishment Mr. Macrae and I are in perfect accord, and I am very desirous to tender him my cordial sympathy and support. I esteem it my duty to do what I can to comfort and cheer this young and courageous minister of the Gospel, in the...

He stood up in the house to speak,
    With calm unruffled brow,
And never were his burning words
    More eloquent than now

Fresh from the greatest victory
    That mortal man can win
The triumph against fearful odds.
Over besetting sin

'Twas this gave to his eloquence
    That thrilling trumpet tone
Moving all hearts with those bright thoughts
    Vibrating through his own

Thoughts strong, and wise, and statesmanlike,
    Warm with the love of Right
That gave his wit its keenest edge,
    His words their greatest might

He little thought his last speech closed,
    That his career was o'er,
That those who hung upon his words
    Should hear his voice no more.

He walked home tranquilly and slow,
    Secure...

(Mr Norman Dewar, commission merchant, a native of Glengarry, Canada who had been assisting Captain McCabe as commissary of the Memphis Relief Committee, died of yellow fever after three days illness A brave and gentle nature, he was loved by a host of friends and will long be remembered as among the noblest of the band of gallant men who during this fearful epidemic died at the post of duty)


Far away from stricken Memphis
    Came the tidings sad and sure
That among the many fallen,
    Fell the clansman Norman Dewar

There are eyes unused to weeping
    With the tears of sorrow dim,
Hearts with nature's anguish heaving,
    Yet 'tis wrong to weep for him

None who fell in glorious battle,
    In the shock of meeting steel,
Fell more bravely, died more nobly

In the Capitol is mourning,
    Mourning and woe this day,
For a nation's heart is throbbing--
    A great man has passed away

It was yester'even only
    Rejoicing wild and high,
Waving flags and shouting people
    Proclaimed a victory

For our God had led our armies,
    In the cause of truth and right,
It was, therefore, the brave Southren
    Had bowed to Northern might.

Then flashed o'er the land the tidings,
    The flush of joy to quell,
Fallen is the people's hero,
    As William the Silent fell.

The stealthy step of the panther,
    The tiger's cruel eye;
A flash--and the wail of a nation
    Rang in that terrified cry.

Shame falls on the daring Southren,
    Woe on the Southren land,
The sta...

We came to the dividing line,
    Then he passed over and I am here,
Sad and sore is this heart of mine
    That has no power to shed a tear,
For, like one who rises and walks in sleep,
I am lost in a dream--I cannot weep.

Yet he was good and fair to see
    I know in my heart he loved me well,
What separated him from me,
    I cannot tell, oh! I cannot tell,
For the blow came sudden, and sharp, and sore,
And I am alone now for evermore.

I thought to walk through all our time
    Together, linked to a lofty aim;
With sudden wrench I'm left behind--
    My heart is slain! oh, my heart is slain!
And the ghost of my heart within me cries,
Why, alas! was I made a sacrifice?

My royal eagle ordained to soar--
    Breast to the storm,...

I have not wept for Edgar, as a mother
    Weeps for the tender lamb she lays to rest;
And yet it cannot be that any other
    Baby like him shall lie upon my breast;
For he was with us but a passing guest,
A birdling that belonged not to the nest.

Looking upon his large dark eyes so tender,
    Filled with the solemn light of Paradise,
I knew that word would soon come to surrender,
    My babe, not mine, but native to the skies;
As the sweet lark that ever upward flies,
He would be taken from my longing eyes.

For from the first he looked to be earth-weary,
    And clung to me with no desire to play;
He never laughed and crowed with spirit cheery
    Like my earth babies; but from day to day
Seemed ever yearning for the far-away,
And well I kn...

A Prize Poem.


I know Canada is fair to see, and pleasant; it is well
On the banks of its broad river 'neath the maple trees to dwell;
But the heart is very wilful, and in sorrow or in mirth,
Mine will turn with sore love-longing to the land that gave me birth;
And I wish that, oh but once again! my longing eyes might see
The green island that lies smiling on the bosom of the sea;
That is fed with heaven's dew and the fatness of the earth,
Fanned by wild Atlantic breezes that sweep over it in mirth.

Its green robe is starred with daisies; it is brilliant fresh and fair,
With a verdure that no other spot of earth affords to wear.
It has banks of pale primroses that like bits of moonlight glow;
There are hawthorn hedges blossomed out like drifts of perfumed snow,