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It is a fair
Shall I gallop through the desert paths, whoro And goodly sight to see the antlered stag
we were wont to be ; With the long sweep of his swift walk repair Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the To join his brothers; or the plethoric bear
sandy plain Lying in some high crag,
Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me With pinky eyes half closed, but broad head
Yes, thou must go ! the wild, free breeze, the
brilliant sun and sky, And these you see,
Thy master's house, — from all of these my And, seeing them, you travel to their death
exiled one must fly ; With a slow, stealthy step, from tree to tree, Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, this Noting the wind, however faint it be.
step become less fleet, The hunter draws a breath
And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy mas. In times like these, which, he will say, repays him ter's hand to meet. For all care that waylays him.
Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye, glan
cing bright; A strong joy fills
Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm
and light ; (A joy beyond the tongue's expressive power) My heart in Autumn weather —— fills and thrills! And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or And I would rather stalk the breezy hills
cheer thy speed, Descending to my bower
Then must I, starting, wake to feel, -thou 'rt Nightly, by the sweet spirit of Peace attended, sold, my Arab steed! Than pine where life is splendid.
Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hanı
PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE.
Till foam-wreaths lie, like cresteil waves, along
thy panting side : THE ARAB TO HIS FAVORITE STEED. And the rich blood that's in thee swells, in thy
indignant pain, My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest Till careless eyes, which rest on thec, may count meekly by,
each starting vein. With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and Will they ill-use thee? If I thought – but no, dark and fiery eye,
it cannot be, Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed ; so gentle, winged speed ;
yet so free : I may not mount on thee again, – thou 'rt sold, And yet, if haply, when thou 'rt gone, my lonely my Arab steed!
heart should yearn, Fret not with that impatient hoof, - snuff not Can the hand which casts thee from it now comthe breezy wind,
mand thee to return ? The farther that thou Miest now, so far am I behind;
Return! alas ! my Arab steed! what shall thy The stranger hath thy bridle-rein, thy master
master do, hath his gold,
When thou, who wast his all of joy, hast vanished Fleet-lin bed and beautiful, farewell ; thou 'rt
from his view ? sold, my steed, thou 'rt sold.
When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and
through the gathering tears Farewell! those free, untired limbs full many a Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false mile must roam,
mirage appears ; To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds Slow and unmounted shall I roam, with weary the stranger's home ;
step alone, Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou
oft hast borne me on ; Thy silky mane, I braided once, must be another's And sitting down by that green well, I'll pause care !
and sadly think, The morning sun shall dawn again, but never. “It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last more with thee
I saw him drink !”
and bed prepare,
CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH NORTON.
When lasl I saw thee drink ! — Away ! the fevered | Now a glen dark as midnight – what matter? dream is o'er,
we ’ll down, I could not live a day, and know that we should Though shadows are round us, and rocks o'er us meet no more !
frown; They tempted me, my beautiful ! - for hunger's The thick branches shake as we're hurrying power is strong,
through, They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have And deck us with spangles of silvery dew!
loved too long Who said that I had given thee up? who said What a wild thought of triumph, that this girlish that thou wast sold !
hand 'T is false, —'t is false, my Arab steed! I Aling Such a steed in the might of his strength may them back their gold !
command ! Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back, and scour the What a glorious creature! Ah! glance at him distant plains ;
now, Away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee As I check him a while on this green hillock's for his pains !
How he tosses his mane, with a shrill joyous
neigh, And paws the firm earth in his proud, stately
play! THE HORSEBACK RIDE.
Hurrah ! off again, dashing on as in ire, When troubled in spirit, when weary of life,
Till the long, finty pathway is flashing with fire ! When I faint ’neath its burdens, and shrink from Ho! a ditch ! Shall we pause ? No; the bold its strife,
leap we dare, When its fruits, turned to ashes, are mocking my Like a swift-winged arrow we rush through the air! taste,
0, not all the pleasures that poets may praise, And its fairest scene seems but a desolate waste, Not the 'wildering waltz in the ball-room's blazı, Then come ye not near me, my sad heart to Nor the chivalrous joust, nor the daring race, cheer
Nor the swift regatta, nor merry chase, With friendship’s soft accents or sympathy's tear. Nor the sail, high heaving waters o’er, No pity I ask, and no counsel I need,
Nor the rural dance on the moonlight shore, But bring me, 0, bring me my gallant young Can the wild and thrilling joy exceed steed,
Of a fearless leap on a fiery steed! With his high archèd neck, and his nostril spread
SARA JANE LIPPINCOTT (Grau Greenwood) wide, His eye full of fire, and his step full of pride ! As I spring to his back, as I seize the strong
A CANADIAN BOAT-SONG.
Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
Our voices keep tunc, and our oars keep time. And my cares borne away on the wings of the We'll
sing at St. Ann's our parting bymn. My pride lifts its head, for a season bowed down, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past !
Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast, And the queen in my nature now puts on her crown!
Why should we yet our sail unfurl ?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl. Now we 're off — like the winds to the plains But when the wind blows off the shore, whence they came;
0, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar ! And the rapture of motion is thrilling my frame !
Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast, On, on speeds my courser, scarce printing the sod, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past ! Starce crushing a daisy to mark where he trod ! On, on like a deer, when the hound's early bay Utawa's tide! this trembling moon Awakes the wild echoes, away,
y ! Shall see us float over thy surges soon. Still faster, still farther, he leaps at my cheer, Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers, Till the rush of the startled air whirs in my ear! 0, grant us cool heavens and favoring airs ! Now 'long a clear rivulet lieth his track, Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast, See his glancing hoofs tossing the white pebbles The rapids are near, and the daylight's past !
THE SNOWS. *
The ripples lightly tap the boat ;
Loose! Give her to the wind ! She shoots ahead ; they 're all afloat ;
The strand is far behind.
No danger reach so fair a crew!
Thou goddess of the foam, I'll ever pay thee worship due,
If thou wilt bring them home.
Fair ladies, fairer than the spray
The prow is dashing wide, Soft breezes take you on your way,
Soft flow the blessed tide.
O, might I like those breezes be,
And touch that arching brow, I'd dwell forever on the sea
Where ye are floating now.
OVER the Snows
Lightly they sweep,
Wilder each leap,
While the steersman true
And his laughing crew Sing of their wild career :
Far o'er the tide In ships that are stanch and strong:
Safely as they
Speed we away,
While the laughing crew
Of the swift canoe
“Through forest and brake,
O'er rapid and lake,
Free as the child
Of the Arab wild,
While our buoyant light
And the rapid's might Heighten our swift career.”
The boat goes tilting on the waves ;
The waves go tilting by ;
O'erhead the sea-gulls fly.
The little vessel stoops ;
Like them, in casy swoops.
The sunlight falling on her sheet,
It glitters like the drift, Sparkling, in scorn of summer's heat,
High up some mountain rift.
The winds are fresh ; she's driving fast
Upon the bending tide ; The crinkling sail, and crinkling mast,
Go with her side by side.
Over the Snows
Lightly they sweep,
Wilder each leap, Tearing the white-caps through.
Away ! Away! With the speed of a startled deer.
There's a fearless crew
In each light canoe To sing of the raftsmen's cheer.
Why dies the breeze away so soon ?
Why hangs the pennant down? The sea is glass ; the sun at noon. —
Nay, lady, do not frown ;
For, see, the winged fisher's plume
Is painted on the sea ;
up to thee?
She smiles ; thou need'st must smile on her
And see, beside her face,
What beauty, and what grace !
Come, hoist the sail, the fast let go!
They're seated side by side ; Wave chases wave in pleasant flow ;
And pictured beach of yellow sand,
And peaked rock and hill, Change the smooth sea to fairy-land ;
How lovely and how still !
The bay is fair and wide. • The name given to a foaming rapid on the Upper Ottawa River,
Here's no fantastic mask or dance,
Nor wars are seen,
Unless upon the green
And wounds are never found,
Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Have you met the honey-bee, Circling upon rapid wing,
Round the angler's trysting-tree ? Up, sweet thrushes, up and see ! Are there bees at our willow-tree ?
Birds and bees at the trysting-tree? Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing !
Are the fountains gushing free ?
Through the angler's trysting-tree ?
Here are no entrapping baits
Unless it be
The fond credulity
Nor envy, 'less among
Sing, sweet thrushes, forth and sing!
Wile us with a merry glee
To the angler's trysting-tree.
Go, let the diving negro seek
We all pearls scorn
Save what the dewy morn
THOMAS TOD STODDARD.
IN PRAISE OF ANGLING.
QUIVERING fears, heart-tearing cares,
Fly, Ay to courts,
Blest silent groves, O, may you be,
May pure contents
Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks,
these mountains ! And peace still slumber by these purling foun
SIR HENRY WOTTON.
O THE gallant fisher's life,
It is the best of any ! 'T is full of pleasure, void of strife, And 't is beloved by many ;
Breeds no ill,
If the sun's excessive boat
Make our bodies swelter,
Where, in a dike,
Under a green willow,
Where we may
Are but toys,
THE ANGLER'S WISH.
In a morning, up we rise,
Ere Aurora's peeping;
Then we go
As the Thames,
When we please to walk abroad
For our recreation,
Where, in a brook,
For a bit,
I in these flowery meads would be,
Sit here, and see the turtle dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love ; Or, on that bank, feel the west-wind Breathe health and plenty ; please my mind, To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers, And then washed off by April showers ;
Here, hear my Kenna* sing a song :
There, see a black bird feed lıer young, Or a laverock build her nest; Here, give my weary spirits rest, And raise my low-pitched thoughts above Earth, or what poor mortals love.
Thus, free from lawsuits, and the noise
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice ;
And angle on ; and beg to have
We have gentles in a horn,
We have paste and worms too ; We can watch both night and morn, Suffer rain and storms too ;
None do here
Watch our quill :
." Kenna," the name of his supposed mistress, seems to have been formed from the name of his wife, which was Ken.