Canadian Battlefields, and Other Poems

I shall never see thee more, Minnie Lee,
Minnie Lee with thy gold-brown hair,
And thy violet eyes, so sweet and pure,
And thy face so wondrous fair.
I’ve loved thee long and well, Minnie Lee,
But the dream was all, all in vain;
And the busy years that drift slow away
Have left but a ceaseless pain.

Do you remember a time, Minnie Lee,
When we wandered hand in hand
By a silv’ry stream in the warm sunlight,
That wound through a fair summerland?
The world was all glad and bright, Minnie Lee,
Mantled in wondrous bloom
Of beautiful foliage and flowers,
And laden with rich perfume.

The emerald fields stretched far away
In the mellow and rosy rays;
And the crown of the distant hills was lost
In a purple and golden haze.
And the soft south wind toyed with your hair,
And sighed among the flowers,
And wandering o’er the billowy lea,
Was lost in woodland bowers.

Sweetly and gladly the sweet songbirds sang,
Aye, thrillingly glad, and so free;
And gazing enrapt on thee, well I knew
That time was a heaven to me.
But the summer passed and changes came
O’er the face of the world so wide;
And an iron hand prest cold on my heart,
And banished me from thy side.

I shall never see thee more, Minnie Lee,
And I’m tired and sad to-day;
I am longing for rest, but finding none,
As the years drift slowly away.
And I bow my head while the tears fall fast,
And my soul is heavy with pain;
I can only see the gathering gloom,
My prayer was all, all in vain.

THE SOUL.

The soul is like unto a mighty ocean
In unfathomable sublimity;
In calm, or storm, or wild commotion,
And is measured but by eternity.

The body, its fitting earthly receptacle,
Must perish and dissolve beneath the sod;
It hath but a span to bloom and to fade,
But the soul is co-existent with God.

THE PRODIGAL SON.

The prodigal son had wandered
Far away in a foreign land,
And squandered the portion given him
By a father’s bountiful hand.
Alone, as the chill night was falling,
And all through the black dreary day,
The damp wind swept cold from the mountains,
And the sky was sodden and gray.

Famishing, weary, and forsaken,
Poor wanderer, thy ruin’s complete;
Thou fain wouldst have appeased thy hunger
With the mere husks the swine did eat.
Where now are the friends that lured thee
To scenes of mad folly and vice?—
False friends that thy wealth had purchased
At such grievous sacrifice.

Heavily the chill rain was beating
On his poor defenceless head;
None but the Heavenly Father knew
Of the repentant tears he shed.
“How many servants of my father
Have bread enough and to spare,
And I perish here of fierce hunger?”
His cry rang out on the air.

But list! he prays for deliv’rance
In very throes of despair;
His sobs pierce the night, and e’en heaven
Is moved by that passionate prayer.
And a holy voice whispered “Peace!
Thy sins are forgiven thee;
Henceforth let thy life be stainless;
Rise up, go forth, and be free.”

Then the rain ceased its dreary beating,
The wind sank to a gentle sigh;
The moon looked forth in her beauty,
Silvering earth and the vault on high.
And blest was that son worn and weary
As he sank to restful repose,
And in dreams his spirit wandered
To the land of the vine and rose.

And just as the sun lit the mountains,
And in glory shone on the lea,
He rose and returned to his father
Far over the wide rolling sea.
And oh, there were hearts filled with rapture
When that wayward son was forgiven;
Voices in prayer and thanksgiving
Ascended like incense to heaven.

AUTUMN RAIN.

All day I’ve sat and listened and watched
The drearily falling rain,
Driven by wearily sounding winds
Against my cold window pane.
The clouds drift low in the valley,
Obscured is the lonely sea;
Yet mournful tones from her bosom
Are borne on the winds to me.

All nature seems dead or dying,
Enshrouded as by a pall;
Mouldering leaves in eddies flying
Patter dank against the wall.
And all the day on my sensitive ear,
’Mid the sere grass and the flowers,
Beats the dreary rain like mourners’ tears,
Grieving sadly through the hours.

There are lonely graves on the hillside,
And thoughts that are full of pain,
And dreams and regrets that are wakened
To-day by the autumn rain.
I listen in vain for a footfall,
And a voice that’s hushed and still,
Whose gentle, flute-like tones so tender
Could all my poor being thrill.

There is silence upon the uplands,
Save the sob of the wind and rain;
No dear note of the songbirds greet me
From forest or vale or plain.
They’re flown with the beautiful summer
To a clime by the south wind fanned,
With never a care nor a sorrow
In that far-off southern land.

And I would go hence in the gloaming,
Ere the light of the soul be dead;
I would rest where no earthly turmoil
Could disturb my lowly bed.
Perhaps at the heavenly dawning,
Far beyond the light of the spheres,
I may hear that voice and light footfall
Through eternity’s changeless years.

THE BATTLE OF THE CANARD RIVER.

Fought July, 1812. American Force under General Hull, 2,500. British and Indians under Colonel Proctor, about 400.

Hull crossed the strait at Sandwich
With near three thousand of the foe,
Occupied the site of Windsor,
And prepared to strike a blow
He believed would prove fatal
To our southwestern borderland;
Demanded instant full submission,
And the support of his command.

Ah! he knew not how Canadians
Loved the brave old Union Jack,
But scouted at the dauntless souls
That drove the foeman back.
He, with o’er-confidence and pride,
Formed his invading force once more,
And marched away that summer day
By the noble river’s shore;

Marched downward by the river
With banners bedight and gay,
To subjugate the British post
That held him there at bay.
Swiftly out from old Fort Malden
Proctor led his valiant band,
Formed beside the Canard River,
Taking a bold, intrepid stand.

A handful of British heroes,
With Indian allies fierce and brave,
Cunningly taking position
Our southwestern border to save,
In silence grim awaited
The clamorous march of the foe,
And the wind sighed in the foliage,
And the river made murmur low.

As the dead the British were silent
Till the American line drew near,
Then thundered on them a volley,
And defied them with cheer on cheer.
The advancing foe was staggered,
And confused by the deadly rain
That Proctor hurled from the Canard
In volleys again and again.

And all in vain Hull struggled
His wavering line to maintain;
His men were falling around him,
And the field he never could gain.
Proctor swept them from left to right
In confusion; Hull strove in vain,—
In sore defeat, and put to retreat,
He fled by the river again.

THE TAKING OF DETROIT.

August 16th, 1812. American Force, 2,500. British and Canadians,
700, and 600 Indians. American Army surrendered to General Brock
with Detroit and the whole State of Michigan.

’Twas summer, and over the lovely scene
The golden sun shone mild and serene.
Shimm’ring o’er the stream in murmuring flow,
And the whispering winds blew soft and low.
All nature at rest, peaceful, dreamful, bland,
Claspt tenderly our dear Canadian land.
But around o’er all is clamor and war;
Passion, destruction, are near and afar.
The murmuring stream, the foliage that stirred,
Nature’s subtle pleading, never are heard.

Hull with his army had recrossed the stream.
Baffled and beaten, his ambitious dream
Of conquest had ended in sore defeat;
From Proctor’s front he was forced to retreat.
Brock placed his guns by the riverside—
A gallant soldier with a soldier’s pride—
Protected his front there sternly and well,
Demanding the surrender of Fort Springwell.

Refused, Brock opened with thunder’s roar,
Shaking the trembling river and shore.
The Queen Charlotte and Hunter swept around,
And rent and ruined trench, moat and mound.
Covered by the guns, Brock crossed the stream,
And forming his little columns between
Flanks of Indians, moved forward once more
To storm the fort by the great river’s shore.

Hull’s courage failed, and his flag he hauled down,
Surrendering the State, fort, and the town;
And his beaten forces, guns, stores and all
Were included in that momentous fall.
All Canada rang with Brock’s deathless fame,
And every heart was all grandly aflame.
They raised the Old Flag o’er the conquered foe,
Where the stream goes by in murmuring flow.

THE DANDELION.

I was weary of toil and heartache,
And the ways of selfish men,
And wandered away through the woodlands,
By streamlet and lonely glen.
And soothing and sweet was the greeting
The grand old woods gave to me;
A whisper of angel voices,
And a glimpse of eternity.

And out where the green hills were smiling
In the sunlight’s mellow beams,
I wandered all enraptured
By subtly happy dreams.
The glad morning never was fairer,
A gracious and perfect day,
And the wondrous bloom of springtime
Had crowned the loveliest May.

And a thousand songsters warbled
In melody sweet and clear;
From nook and glade and wildwood bower
It ravished the list’ning ear.
And the soft skies never were bluer,
The breezes never more bland,
And a restful calm and peacefulness
Brooded sweetly o’er the land.

I turned my eyes from the fair blue skies
To the turf beneath my feet;
And it mantled the rolling landscape
In emerald waves complete.
I paused with a thrill of pure delight—
A gleam as of sunset bars
Shone from innumerable dandelions,
That twinkled like golden stars

By stream and mead and sun-crowned hills
As far as the eye could trace;
And the little busy honey bees
Sipped the dew from each golden face.
Ah, little life of a few sweet days,
Born when the world is in bloom,
Thou never wilt know the blight and chill
Of the winter’s dreary gloom.

Aye, a few sweet days to bloom and fade,
And gently to pass away;
Caressed by the sun and murmuring winds,
And the songbirds’ wild sweet lay.
Ah, spring and summer, ye fade too soon
With all your beautiful days;
Ye leave us in loneliness and tears,
Along life’s cold wintry ways.

THE DEATH OF SUMMER.

Where are now the gladsome summer,
Singing birds whose wild songs thrill,
Dark green foliaged waving wildwood,
Fragrant glade and rippling rill?
And the voice, as soft as angel’s,
Of the low caressing wind,
As it kisses earth’s warm beauties,
Wooing gently and so kind?

Where the whisper and the murmur
Of the sunlit, dancing sea?
The mysterious deep-toned music
Of the waves so grand and free?
Looking where the isles seem sleeping,
Gemmèd on the slumbering flood;
On and on through sunlit vistas
Fancy free our souls have trod.

And the hazy cloudlets floating
All the laughing sunlight through,
Mirrored on the glorious splendor
Of the sky’s infinite blue?
Leading up the vaulted highway
Of the planets’ centring spheres,
Till our souls are lost in wonder
’Mid ecstatic thoughts and fears.

Where the dreams we wooed at twilight?
Fairest time of all to me;
When the silver moon beams softly,
And the stars gem earth and sea.
Oh, the whispering, murmuring music!
Oh, the songs of summer night!
Unseen harps in tones of rapture,
Thrilling me with strange delight.

Ah, to die at close of even,
With the heart so strangely glad—
Blissful as a dream of heaven—
Death could not be drear or sad.
Fairest joys the soonest vanish;
Summer died but yesterday;
Chill and blight of autumn banished
All her loveliness away.

“BIG MIKE FOX.”

A Noted Character and Pioneer in the Eastern Part of Essex County,
Ontario.

Big Mike was a giant Canadian
Who never was known to do
A mean or unmanly action;
His great heart was kind and true.
He loved with a steadfast devotion
The friends of his early youth;
And he fearlessly did his duty,
And as fearlessly spoke the truth.

He was a terror to evil-doers,
But a friend to the poor and old:
Big Mike had a home of plenty,
And a heart as good as gold.
He was one of nature’s noblemen,
One of Canada’s pioneers;
A specimen grand of true manhood,
Honored by fulness of years.

He hewed him a home from the forest—
Who has heard not of Big Mike’s fame
As an axeman and famous hunter
Of the red deer and savage game?
Yet his was a kindly nature,
Tender and void of guile;
His friends and neighbors all loved him,
And sought his approving smile.

He loved “this Canada of ours,”
And the grand old “Union Jack;”
And traitors did well to keep shady
When Big Mike located their track.
With an ever unswerving purpose,
He never was known to fail;
In pursuit of a worthy object
He never relinquished the trail.

When rebellion was in our borders,
Prepared for the coming fray,
He shouldered his trusty rifle,
And to the frontier marched away.
And bravely he did his duty
With his manly breast to the foe;
He was every inch a soldier
In those days that tried men so.

Big Mike heard voices in nature
That appealed to his thoughtful soul—
The sounds of the winds in the night-time,
And the thunder’s mighty roll;
The drip of the rain, and the sunshine,
And the shadows that fall between
The golden sunset and twilight hours,
And the beauty of night serene.

The songs of birds, the humming of bees,
The flowers that bloom by the way,
And the awesome tones of the forest,
Through the distance dim and gray.
The rill, the streamlet, and river,
That murmuringly onward flow;
The hills, and the towering mountains,
Cloud-capped in eternal snow.

The splendor of the starry ways,
And the awful solitude,
The frightful voids and the spaces vast,
The mystery of infinitude!
And all things that God hath created,
From the sea to the tiniest flower,
Were a source of proof and assurance
Of divine and mighty power.

Being wedded to one he loved dearly,
Time’s changes could never destroy
Their mutual love for each other;
And ’twas ever a source of joy.
But the years that are swiftly going
Bear man’s joys and sorrows away,
And his youth and his manhood’s vigor,
Remorselessly to decay.

The summer to autumn was merging
When the wife took ill and died;
As by a tempest he was shaken,
Uncontrollably the strong man cried.
Somehow Big Mike was never the same
From that irreparable day;
And he strangely weary and silent grew,
And his look was far away.

Over the fields, by the nooks and ways
That had blest his early life so,
As in a dream with her so loved,
He silently went to and fro.
Sometimes with his trusty rifle
He sought for the lurking game;
But, lost forever the incentive,
The hunting was never the same.

And all aimlessly he wandered
Through the forest gray and dim,
Through the stately and awesome forest,
That was ever so dear to him.
The old friends, concerned for his welfare,
Said, “Why don’t you get wedded again?”
But Big Mike raised his stately head,
And a look as of nameless pain

Spread over his grand and honest face,
As he said (with voice full of tears),
“I loved my wife when she was but a child—
I have loved her all these years—
Aye, and I love her supremely still—
And far more precious to me
Is the grass that grows on her quiet grave
Than another can ever be.

“My heart is laid in her lonesome tomb,
And there will be no change in me;
Faithful in life and faithful in death,
And through all eternity.”
And there came a day when Big Mike sat
By the shore of the soundless sea;
There calmly waiting to launch away
Into endless eternity.

Then they laid him by his dear one’s side,
Where above them the grass doth grow;
And the sighing winds, and the sobbing rain,
And the seasons that come and go
Are all unheeded by Big Mike now.
Ah! ’tis seldom his like is seen;
Put a fadeless wreath on his silent brow,
Keep his mem’ry ever green.

WINTER TIME.

I’m tired to-night of the winter time,
Its dreariness, moan, and woe,
The lonesome wind, the sleet and snow,
That continually come and go.
And the chill white robe that enfoldeth
The earth in a cold embrace—
Just as we shrouded the form we loved,
And covered the pale dead face.

The blast rolls down from an icy zone,
Where the lonely Arctic sea
Hath stormed and raged through infinite years
In terrible, desolate glee.
The trees are rocked and the hills are swept,
And the vales are pent with snow,
By the furious sweep of the icy winds,
That ceaselessly come and go.

The trees are bare and the hills are dead,
And the vales are shorn of their bloom;
Where all was joy ere the summer died
Is now but a mocking tomb.
The stream is hushed, and the river stilled,
And the sky is dark as doom,
And the merciless swirl of the driving snow
Makes deeper the dismal gloom.

Relentless winter! thy iron clasp
And withering icy breath
Earth’s fragrant loveliness have slain—
Thou art but a type of death.
And phantom hands seem beckoning me,
And voices as from the dead—
Dear spirit voices of long ago—
As I bow my stricken head.

My heart is full and the tears will fall,
And my thoughts are heavy with pain;
I’m weary of loss and loneliness,
And this wild, dark winter plain.
I long, so long, for the summer time,
With its birds and fairest flowers,
The sun-crowned hills, the song of the sea,
The meads and the greenwood bowers.

The murmuring rills and soft twilight,
The sigh of the wandering breeze,
Caressing the sea, and dying away
To a whisper among the trees.
But as I dream and the snow falls fast,
Comes this thought with glad surprise:
There’ll be no grievous loss nor death,
No winter in paradise.

I SAW HER FACE TO-DAY.

I saw her fair face to-day,
After the flight of years;
I saw, and my eyes grew dim
With a mist of weary tears.
Lost, when the summer faded
Into sad autumn time,
And the winds grew melancholy—
A tender and sad repine.

Sad and silent we lingered
As the twilight crept away,
And the shadows nearer drew
Through the stillness soft and gray.
We’d loved with a love as holy
As mortal heart e’er knew,
But we severed the tie and parted,
Into lonesome night withdrew.

Wandering, and never at rest,
After the long flight of years,
To look on her face again
Through a mist of weary tears.
The sun of life is falling
Low down the pale, wan west;
The twilight draweth nearer,
The time for peace and rest.

THE FLIGHT OF TIME.

CHAPTER I.—THE CREATION.

The flight of Time! how strange, aye, how strange thy story!
Thou wast when vast creation’s wondrous glory
Lighted up the weird inanimate universe,
And bade the intense darkness and the gloom disperse.
Aye, when the earth was shrouded in Plutonian gloom,
All without form, and void, and lifeless as the tomb,
’Twas then God said, “Let there be light, and there was light,”
Establishing divisions of the day and night;
’Twas then the boding shadow of thy mighty wing
Fell on the brooding sea and every earthly thing;
And when the lighted spheres stood forth sublime,
Commenced thy inexorable flight, O Time!

And wast thou amazed at that momentous hour?
Didst veil thy face to God’s stupendous power?
Thou heardst the song the planetary systems sung,
As o’er the deeps and through the starry heights it rung.
And earth was glad with sunshine, and her lovely hills
Bloomed fair beside the rivers and the rills;
And waves of melody rolled down from hill and vale;
Sweet breath of flowers was borne upon the gale.
Created man rejoiced in Eden’s innocence,
His every want supplied without recompense;
He dwelt with fair Eve in ever blooming bowers,
A man and woman, unconscious of their powers.
And thou wast there when lovely Eve, the tempted, fell,
And man was hurled from thence to verge of hell!
Then was vice and death and carnage ushered in,
And vile deceit, and cunning, by the scourge of sin.
Man became an outcast, with a curse upon his head,
Doomed to toil and drudgery for his daily bread.
Leaving lovely Eden and innocence behind,
With sore tempted and troubled heart, and all blind
With remorseful tears, and vague dread of the unknown,
Clasping the hand of Eve, they faced the world alone!

Wast thou moved to pity, O remorseless Time?
For ne’er was scene more pitiful or more sublime.
Oh, momentous, measureless, sad, and direful fall!
A covert sin, an act, that sorely smote us all,
Making man’s feverish life a battle all the way,
From earliest morn unto his latest day;
Beset by every evil, no rest is given—
A lost and ruined soul, with scarce a hope of heaven!

But the world was peopled, and from every plain
Rose cities grand that gained an envious fame;
And the ships of commerce whitened every sea,
And men and nations all strove for the master;
And war and cruel bloodshed was the common lot
Of nations, who supremacy and conquest sought;
The centuries were marred by pomp and pride,
And servility and wrong was rife on every side.
And through the grinding cycles of corroded years
Thy tireless pinions swept through seas of blood and tears
Of nations, and of peoples, who rose up and fell—
Many nations, who unto death fought brave and well
For country and their loved country’s deathless fame,
For tempting martial glory and a deathless name;
Nations, who in pride and lust of power forgot
God and justice, and only aggrandizement sought.

CHAPTER II.—THE EXODUS.

Imperial Tanis in the setting sun did gleam,
Reflected in the gliding Nile’s majestic stream,
Egypt’s famed metropolis. In glory shone
Her palaces, vast temples, minaret and dome.
Proud Pharaoh strode perplexed his palace home.
His stern, unbending iron will had harder grown,
And would not bow to heaven’s diviner will;
The scourge must fall again, and Egypt suffer still.

And calm had grown soft evening’s closing hour;
The fading light fell weird on wall and tower,
And cooler winds breathed tender, soft and light,
And deeper, denser grew the lonesome shades of night.
Strange stillness brooded o’er the unhallowed place,
A look of awesome fear filled every face.

Stealthily the Hebrews withdrew to watch and pray
In their habitations unto the dawn of day;
Listening intently through the boding night
For the destroying angel on his dreaded flight.
Stern warning had been given to Israel’s watching host,
And sprinkled with lamb’s blood was every entrance post.
Well knew they that their deliverance was at hand,
That they should turn their faces to the promised land.

Hark to that awful cry just at the dawn’s pale day!
Up, Israel! up! and with the Lord’s own help away!
Every first-born of Egypt that dreadful night was slain,
And lamentations rose from city, hill and plain.
On, Israel! on! seize this momentous hour;
Have faith, and thou shalt see thy God’s protecting power.

And out from Rameses they poured along the way,
Filled with thoughts of freedom through the anxious day.
Pharaoh was obdurate and with revenge embued,
And with his fiery hosts the Israelites pursued.
But God was with Israel, and set before their sight
A pillar of cloud by day, and one of fire by night—
A guide to lead them in their sore and troubled flight
By which they may escape Pharaoh and his might.

The sea is now before them, the enemy in rear,
Hemmed in on every side, their hearts are filled with fear.
But Moses is with them, they hearken to his word:
“Stand still,” he said, “and see the salvation of the Lord:
The Egyptians ye shall see no more forever.
Look up to God and pray mightily together.”
Then he stretched his mystic rod out o’er the sea,
And the waters were divided, and Israel was free.
And as they passed through safely to the other shore,
Joy beamed on every brow—they were slaves no more.

But the Egyptians pursued them with chariot and spear.
Beset by deadly danger, they grow pale with fear.
Ha! the waters are upon them—no hand can save;
They sink! they sink to death in one pent, dreadful grave!

Didst thou hear it, O Time, that swelling, joyful song
Of great deliverance from Israel’s grateful throng?
Art thou glad when ravening tyrants meet their fall,
And freedom’s cause is lifted up high over all?

CHAPTER III—BELSHAZZAR’S FEAST.

Stern Time, thou wast at proud Belshazzar’s sumptuous feast,
When the pomp and splendor of the sensuous East,
Robed in gold and crimson, graced the banquet hall,
And ’mid revelry saw the hand write on the wall;
Thou mark’st the look of horror on each frozen face,
And the deadly silence that fell upon the place
Of infamous lewdness, aflame with light and bloom;
Thou knew’st the hand was writing Belshazzar’s doom!
The vessels of the Lord had been ushered in,
And desecrated by debauchery and sin;
Stained by impious draughts to the gods of gold,
Of silver, brass, and iron, in defiance bold.

Hark! hark! What means that ominous and boding sound?
’Tis the march of a million feet that shake the ground.
’Tis the Medes and Persians thundering at the walls,
And before whose impetuous rush proud Babylon falls.
And ere the dawn’s pale light falls soft o’er all again,
Her proud and impious king is like a wild wolf slain.