Canada and Other Poems.

by T.F. Young.

PREFACE.

I introduce the following poetical attempts to the public, with great diffidence. I am not sure but a direct apology would be in better taste, but the strength derived from the purpose I had in view, in writing and publishing them, sustains me without saying anything further by way of excuse. Like Burns, I wished to do something for my country, and chose this method of doing it.

The literature of this country is in its infancy. It must not always remain so, or the expectations we have in regard to making it a great nation, will never be fulfilled. Literature gives life to a nation, or rather it is the reflection of a nation's life and thought, in a mirror, which cheers, strengthens and enn.o.bles those who look into it, and study what is there displayed. Literature must grow with our nation, and, when growing, it will aid the latter's progress in no small degree.

Pedantic critics may find fault with my modest productions, and perhaps justly, in regard to grammatical construction, and mechanical arrangement, but I shall be satisfied, if the public discern a vein of true poetry glittering here and there through what I have just written.

The public are the final judges of compositions of this sort, and not the writer himself, or his personal friends. It is they, therefore, who must decide whether these humble attempts of my 'prentice hand, shall be numbered with writings that have been forgotten, or whether their author shall be encouraged to strike his lyre in a higher key, to accompany his Muse, while she tries to sing in a loftier strain.

In pa.s.sing an opinion on my literary venture, of course the youthful state of our country will be taken into consideration, for it is a state which necessarily tinges all of our productions, literary or otherwise, with a certain amount of crudity. Consequently, reasonable men will not expect that felicity of expression, and that ripeness and happiness of thought, which would be expected in the productions of an older country, although they may be aware that true poetry is not the result of education, or even the refinements of a nation long civilized.

With these words by way of introduction and explanation, I dedicate this little book of mine to the Canadian public, hoping that whatever they may think of me as a poet, they will not forget that I am a loyal Canadian, zealous in behalf of anything that may tend to refine, instruct and elevate my country, and anxious to see her take an honourable stand among the other nations of the earth.

THE AUTHOR.

PORT ALBERT, March, 1887.

POEMS.

NEW YEAR'S DAY.

Hail! joyous morn. Hail! happy day, That ushers in another year, Fraught with what sorrow, none can say, Nor with what pain, to mortals here.

Another year has roll'd away, With all its sorrows, joys and fears, But still the light of hope's glad ray, Yet beams within our heart, and cheers.

One year, one span of time has pa.s.s'd, So swift to some, to others slow; But it has gone, and we should cast Along with it, remorse and woe.

Of things we've done, or only thought, 'Tis useless now the bitter tear, Of actions unavailing wrought, Let them repose upon their bier.

We should, indeed, e'en yet atone For what our reason says we can, But never let remorse's groan Degrade us from our state as man.

Let us discharge the debts we owe, But still some debts will be unpaid; But we, if we forgive, also, Should ne'er, despairing, feel afraid.

The future is before us still, And to that future we should gaze, With hope renew'd, with firmer will, To tread life's weary, tangl'd maze.

We ne'er should let the gloomy past, Bow down our heads in dark despair, But we should keep those lessons fast, Which e'en our follies taught us there.

Experience, so dearly bought, By folly, or by ignorance, Should, in our inmost system wrought, Our daily life improve, advance.

Then let us press towards the goal, The common goal of all mankind, Go on, while seasons onward roll, Nor cast one fainting look behind.

And, as we journey through this year, Let us in watchfulness beware Of all that brings remorseful tear, Or future terror and despair.

Let us with thoughtful vision scan Each step we take, each act we do, That we may meet our brother man, With no unrighteous thing to rue.

A happy, happy, bright New Year, I wish to all the sons of men, With happy hearts, and merry cheer, Till it has roll'd its round again.

TO A CANARY.

Imprison'd songster, thou for me Hath warbl'd many a cheerful lay, Thy songs, so sweetly glad and free, Revive my heart, from day to day.

The frost is keen, the wind is cold, No wild-bird twitters from the spray, But, still resounding as of old, Thy voice thrills forth, and seems to say:

"Wake up! O sadden'd mortal, wake!

Shake off that anxious, careworn frown, Thy hopes renew, fresh courage take, Nor let your troubles weigh you down.

"See, I am happy all alone, And, kept behind the prison bars, I sing, and shouldst thou ever moan?

--A mortal free, beneath the stars.

"I fly around my narrow cage, I sing the song that gladdens you, But carking care thy thoughts engage, While walking free, 'neath heaven's blue.

"My heart might faint, my spirit die, Far from my kind, and from my home, But cheerfully I sing and fly, Beneath my narrow prison's dome.

"Oh, list, sad mortal to my song, And, while thou hearest, mark it well, And go thy cheerful way along, Nor pray to know, what none can tell.

"I'll sing my song each day for thee, And live the moments as they fly, With gladden'd heart, with sounding glee, And thou shouldst do the same as I."

AUTOGRAPHS.

TO A LITTLE GIRL.

E ach wish, my fairest child, I pen, F or thee I write with earnest heart; F or who shall say, that ere, again, I shall behold thee; when we part E 'en now the time is near, I start.

H ere are my wishes, then, sweet child, A long life's pathway may thou go, R ob'd white, as now, in virtue mild, R etaining pure, thy virtue's snow.

I wish thee this, and wish thee more,-- S o long as thou on earth hath life, O h! may thy heart be never sore, N or vex'd with anxious care or strife!

TO A YOUNG LADY.

Short is the time, my friend, since I First heard thy voice, first saw thy face, And yet, the days in gliding by, Have left within my mind a trace-- A friendly trace of thee and thine, Which I am sure will long remain Within my heart, to cheer and shine With other joys, to lessen pain.

It is my hope, also, that thou May, in thy heart, and on thy tongue, Have thoughts and words for him, who now Is yours so friendly, T. F. Young.

KELVIN.

While poets sing in lofty strain, And ask where Rome and Carthage are, This humble village on the plain, To many hearts is dearer far.

Then to these hearts I'll sing my lay, With humble Kelvin for my theme; My song shall be of life to-day, And not a retrospective dream.