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It is a fair

Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where 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

home again.
shaking,
As gadflies keep him waking.

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, thy 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 hand)

PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE.

may chide,

Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested 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 thee, 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 fliest 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-limbed and beautiful, farewell ; thou ’rt

from his view ? sold, my steed, thou 'rt sold.

When the dim distance cheats mine cye, 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,

brow;

CAROLINB ELIZABETH SARAH NORTON.

When last 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 'Tis 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 arched neck, and his nostril spread

SARA JANE LIPPINCOTT (Grace 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. rein,

Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
The strength to my spirit returneth again!
The bonds are all broken that fettered my mind, Soon as the woods on shore look dim,

Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. And my cares borne away on the wings of the We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.

wind; 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 ! Searce 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, and away! 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 ! O, 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 !

back!

THOMAS MOORE.

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.

The boat goes tilting on the waves;

The waves go tilting by ; There dips the duck, — her back she laves ;

O'erhead the sea-gulls fly.

THE SNOWS.*
OVER the Snows

Buoyantly goes
The lumberers' bark canoe :

Lightly they sweep,

Wilder each leap,
Rending the white-caps throngh.

Away! Away!
With the speed of a startled deer,

While the steersman true

And his laughing crew Sing of their wild career :

“Mariners glide

Far o'er the tide
In ships that are stanch and strong :

Safely as they

Speed we away,
Waking the woods with song."

Away! Away!
With the speed of a startled deer,

While the laughing crew

Of the swift canoe
Sing of the raftsmen's cheer :

“Through forest and brake,

O'er rapid and lake,
We're sport for the sun and rain;

Free as the child

Of the Arab wild,
Hardened to toil and pain.

Away! Away!
With the speed of a startled deer,

While our buoyant Alight

And the rapid's might Heighten our swift career.

Over the Snows

Buoyantly goes
The lumberers' bark canoe :

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.

CHARLES SANGSTER.

Now, like the gulls that dart for prey,

The little vessel stoops ;
Now, rising, shoots along her way,

Like them, in easy 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.

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 ;
Below, a cheek of lovely bloom.

Whose eyes look up to thee?

She smiles ; thou need'st must smile on her

And see, beside her face,
A rich, white cloud that doth not stir :

What beauty, and what grace !

THE PLEASURE-BOAT.
COME, hoist the sail, the fast let go !

They 're seated side by side ;
Wave chases wave in pleasant flow ;

The bay is fair and wide. . The name given to a foaming rapid on the Upper Ottawa River, la Canada.

And pictured beach of yellow sand,

And peaked rock and hill, Change the smooth sea to fairy-land;

How lovely and how still !

[blocks in formation]

Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks,

these mountains ! And peace still slumber by these purling foun

tains,
Which we may every year
Meet, when we come a-fishing here.

SIR HENRY WOTTON.

THE ANGLER.

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 ;

Other joys
Are but toys;

If the gun's excessive hoat

Make our bodies swelter,
To an osier hedge we get,
For a friendly shelter ;

Where, in a dike,
Perch or pike,
Roach or dace,
We do chase,
Bleak or gudgeon,

Without grudging ;
We are still contented.
Or we sometimes pass an hour

Under a green willow,
That defends us from a shower,
Making earth our pillow;

Where we may
Think and pray,
Before death
Stops our breath ;
Other joys

Are but toys,
And to be lamented.

JOHN CHALKHILL

Only this

Lawful is ;
For our skill

Breeds no ill,
But content and pleasure.

THE ANGLER'S WISH.

In a morning, up we rise,

Ere Aurora's peeping;
Drink a cup to wash our eyes,
Leave the sluggard sleeping ;

Then we go
To and fro,
With our knacks
At our backs,
To such streams

As the Thames,
If we have the leisure.

I in these flowery meads would be,
These crystal streams should solace me ;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise
I, with my angle, would rejoice,

Sit here, and see the turtle-dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love ;

When we please to walk abroad

For our recreation,
In the fields is our abode,
Full of delectation,

Where, in a brook,
With a hook,
Or a lake,
Fish we take ;
There we sit,

For a bit,
Till we fish entangle.

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 blackbird feed her 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 ;
Or, with my Bryan and a book,
Loiter long days near Shawford brook ;
There sit by him, and eat my meat ;
There see the sun both rise and set ;
There bid good morning to next day ;
There meditate my time away ;

And angle on; and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.

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
Use to swear :
Oaths do fray
Fish away ;
We sit still,

Watch our quill :
Fishers must not wrangle.

IZAAK WALTON.

• "Kenna," the name of his supposed mistress, seems to hara been formed from the name of his wife, which was Ken.

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