Thoughts, Moods and Ideals: Crimes of Leisure.
by W.D. Lighthall.
THE CONFUSED DAWN.
YOUNG MAN What are the Vision and the Cry That haunt the new Canadian soul?
Dim grandeur spreads we know not why O"er mountain, forest, tree and knoll, And murmurs indistinctly fly.-- Some magic moment sure is nigh.
O Seer, the curtain roll!
SEER The Vision, mortal, it is this-- Dead mountain, forest, knoll and tree Awaken all endued with bliss, A native land--O think!--to be-- _Thy_ native land--and ne"er amiss, Its smile shall like a lover"s kiss From henceforth seem to thee.
The Cry thou couldst not understand, Which runs through that new realm of light, From Breton"s to Vancouver"s strand O"er many a lovely landscape bright, It is their waking utterance grand, The great refrain "A NATIVE LAND!"-- Thine be the ear, the sight.
(1882.)
NATIONAL HYMN.
To Thee whose smile is might and fame, A nation lifts united praise And asks but that Thy purpose frame A _useful_ glory for its days.
We pray no sunset lull of rest, No pomp and bannered pride of war; We hold stern labor manliest, The just side real conqueror.
For strength we thank Thee: keep us strong, And grant us pride of skilful toil; For homes we thank Thee: may we long Have each some Eden rood of soil.
O, keep our mothers kind and dear, And make the fathers stern and wise; The maiden soul preserve sincere, And rise before the young man"s eyes.
Crush out the jest of idle minds, That know not, jesting, when to hush; Keep on our lips the word that binds, And teach our children when to blush.
Forever constant to the good Still arm our faith, thou Guard Sublime, To scorn, like all who have understood, The atheist dangers of the time.
Thou hearest!--Lo, we feel our love Of loyal thoughts and actions free Toward all divine achievement move, Enn.o.bled, blest, ensured, by Thee.
CANADA NOT LAST.
AT VENICE Lo! Venice, gay with color, lights and song, Calls from St. Mark"s with ancient voice and strange: I am the Witch of Cities! glide along My silver streets that never wear by change Of years: forget the years, and pain, and wrong, And every sorrow reigning men among.
Know I can soothe thee, please and marry thee To my illusions. Old and siren-strong, I smile immortal, while the mortals flee Who whiten on to death in wooing me.
AT FLORENCE Say, what more fair, by Arno"s bridged gleam,[A]
Than Florence, viewed from San Miniato"s slope At eventide, when west along the stream, The last of day reflects a silver hope!-- Lo, all else softened in the twilight beam:-- The city"s ma.s.s blent in one hazy cream, The brown Dome midst it, and the Lily tower, And stern Old Tower more near, and hills that seem Afar, like clouds to fade, and hills of power, On this side, greenly dark with cypress, vine and bower.
AT ROME End of desire to stray I feel would come Though Italy were all fair skies to me, Though France"s fields went mad with flowery foam And Blanc put on a special majesty.
Not all could match the growing thought of home Nor tempt to exile. Look I not on ROME-- This ancient, modern, mediaeval queen-- Yet still sigh westward over hill and dome, Imperial ruin and villa"s princely scene Lovely with pictured saints and marble G.o.ds serene.
REFLECTION Rome, Florence, Venice--n.o.ble, fair and quaint, They reign in robes of magic round me here; But fading, blotted, dim, a picture faint, With spell more silent, only pleads a tear.
Plead not! Thou hast my heart, O picture dim!
I see the fields, I see the autumn hand Of G.o.d upon the maples! Answer Him With weird, translucent glories, ye that stand Like spirits in scarlet and in amethyst!
I see the sun break over you; the mist On hills that lift from iron bases grand Their heads superb!--the dream, it is my native land.
[Footnote A: "Sovra"l bel fiume d"Arno la gran villa."--_Dante._]
O DONNA DI VIRTU!
(DANTE--INFERNO, CANTO I.)
"_O mystic Lady; Thou in whom alone Our human race surpa.s.ses all that stand In Paradise the nearest round the throne!
So eagerly I wait for thy command That to obey were slow though ready done._"
How oft I read. How agonized the turning, In those my earlier days of loss and pain,-- Of eyes to s.p.a.ce and night as though by yearning-- Some wall might yield and I behold again A certain angel, fled beyond discerning; In vain I chafed and sought--alas, in vain, From spurring though my heart"s dark world returned To Dante"s page, those wearied thoughts of mine; Again I read, again my longing burned.-- A voice melodious spake in every line, But from sad pleasure sorrow fresh I learned: Strange was the music of the Florentine.
LINES ON HEINE.
I saw a crowded circus once: The fool was in the middle.
Loud laughed contemptuous Common-sense At every frisk and riddle.
I see another circus now-- (The world a circus call I),-- But in the centre laughs the sane; Round sit the sons of folly.
IMITATED FROM THE j.a.pANESE.
I have forgotten to forget."--j.a.panese Song.
Tr. by R.H. Stoddard.
The morning flies, the evening dies; The heat of noon, the chills of night, Are but the dull varieties Of Phoebus" and of Phoebe"s flight-- Are but the dull varieties Of ruined night and ruined day; They bring no pleasure to mine eyes, For I have sent my soul away.
I am the man who cannot love, Yet once my heart was bright as thine, The suns that rove, the moons that move, No longer make its chambers shine; No more they light the spirit face That lit my night and made my day; No maiden feet with mine keep pace For I have sent my soul away.
O, lost! I think I see thee stand, By Mary"s ivied chapel door, Where once thou stood"st, and with thy hand Wring pious pain, as once before.
Impatient, crude philosopher, I scorned thy gentle wisdom"s ray.
All vain thy moistened eyelids were; I sent my soul and thee away.
A causeless wrath, a mood of pride, Some tears of thine, and all was done; On alien plains I travelled wide And thou wert soon a veiled nun.
Not long a veiled nun, but soon Unveiled of linen and of clay; But I am March while thou art June, For I have sent my soul away.