OREIKA.

Ah! the cruel rite is over And the fearful Spirit Lover Clasps the dear pearl of our race; Like the blushing summer flower, Or the clouds of sunset hour, She has pa.s.sed, and left no trace!

DOLBREKA.

Thou wast not there? Then listen, child, Unto a tale of sorrow wild, That has o'erwhelmed with gloom and grief Heart of warrior brave and chief: Rose from the banks the sound of song, Lights were gleaming the trees among, All were awaiting the hour of fate When the white canoe and precious freight From sh.o.r.e swept out and swiftly sped Into the boiling rapid dread--

OREIKA.

Ah me! in that last moment drear How looked she?

DOLBREKA.

Tranquil, without fear, But steered her course with quiet mien, And the stately grace of a maiden Queen.

Then rose beneath the moon's full rays Glad voices, blent in love and praise, Till, sudden as arrow from the bow, Flashed 'mid the rapid's dark, swift flow Another bark--it held--oh grief!

Tolonga, our brave, Beloved chief.

OREIKA.

What! her father, didst thou say?

Our chief--our Sachem?

DOLBREKA.

Aye!

'Neath his strong arm the bark swift flew; It soon o'ertook the _White Canoe_, And then, amid our outcries wild The eyes of father and of child Met in one long, last, loving look, That ne'er each other's glance forsook Till they glided o'er Niagara's steep, And plunged into the darkness deep.

_Final Chorus._

Ah! never since first with thundering roar Niagara shook the trembling sh.o.r.e, Hath earth bestowed him such offering bright, As he's clasped to his mighty breast to-night.

OUR CANADIAN WOODS IN EARLY AUTUMN.

I have pa.s.sed the day 'mid the forest gay, In its gorgeous autumn dyes, Its tints as bright and as fair to the sight As the hues of our sunset skies; And the sun's glad rays veiled by golden haze, Streamed down 'neath its arches grand, And with magic power made scene and hour Like a dream of Faerie Land.

The emerald sheen of the maple green Is turned to deep, rich red; And the boughs entwine with the crimson vine That is climbing overhead; While, like golden sheaves, the saffron leaves Of the sycamore strew the ground, 'Neath birches old, clad in shimmering gold, Or the ash with red berries crowned.

Stately and tall, o'er its sisters all, Stands the poplar, proud and lone, Every silvery leaf in restless grief Laments for the summer flown; While each oak and elm of the sylvan realm, In brilliant garb arrayed, With each other vie, 'neath the autumn sky, In beauty of form and shade

When wearied the gaze with the vivid blaze Of rich tints before it spread-- Gay orange and gold, with shades untold Of glowing carmine and red-- It can turn 'mid the scene to the sombre green Of the fir, the hemlock, the pine, Ever-keeping their hue, and their freshness, too, 'Mid the season's swift decline.

Though the bird's sweet song, that the summer long Hath flowed so sweet and clear Through the cool, dim shades of our forest glades, No longer charms the ear, A witching spell, that will please as well As his glad notes, may be found In the solemn hush, or the leaves' soft rush, As they thickly strew the ground.

For, though they tell of summer's farewell, Of their own decay and doom, Of the wild storm-cloud and the snow's cold shroud, And the days of winter's gloom, The heart must yield to the power they wield,-- Alike tender, soothing, gay-- The beauties that gleam and that reign supreme In our woods, this autumn day.

A CANADIAN SNOW-FALL.

Come to the cas.e.m.e.nt, we'll watch the snow Softly descending on earth below, Fairer and whiter than spotless down Or the pearls that gleam in a monarch's crown, Clothing the earth in its robe's bright flow; Is it not lovely--the pure white snow?

See, as it falls o'er the landscape wide, How kindly it seeks all blots to hide, Shrouding each black, unsightly nook, The miry banks of the little brook, Robing bare branches in ermine white, Making all lovely, spotless and bright.

In the farm-yard see with what magic skill Its marvels of beauty it works at will: The well-house now is a fairy hall, And the rough, rude fence is a marble wall; While gates and hillocks where barn fowl ranged To ramparts and bastions now are changed.

How softly it falls--nor breath, nor sound, Though four feet high it should pile the ground, Though it change the face of wood and field, With skill that no mortal could ever wield; Yet, as it falls, not a murmur low-- The noiseless, silent, white-winged snow!

See, in the rays of the morning bright, How it blushes beneath the sun's red light; How its diamond crystals gleam and shine, Clearer than those of Golconda's mine; Though the wintry winds may with anger blow, Surely all love the beautiful snow.

A CANADIAN SUMMER EVENING.

The rose-tints have faded from out of the West, From the Mountain's high peak, from the river's broad breast.

And, silently shadowing valley and rill, The twilight steals noiselessly over the hill.

Behold, in the blue depths of ether afar, Now softly emerging each glittering star; While, later, the moon, placid, solemn and bright, Floods earth with her tremulous, silvery light.

Hush! list to the Whip-poor-will's soft plaintive notes, As up from the valley the lonely sound floats, Inhale the sweet breath of yon shadowy wood And the wild flowers blooming in hushed solitude.

Start not at the whispering, 'tis but the breeze, Low rustling, 'mid maple and lonely pine trees, Or willows and alders that fringe the dark tide Where canoes of the red men oft silently glide.

See, rising from out of that copse, dark and damp, The fire-flies, each bearing a flickering lamp!

Like meteors, gleaming and streaming, they pa.s.s O'er hillside and meadow, and dew-laden gra.s.s, Contrasting with ripple on river and stream, Alternately playing in shadow and beam, Till fullness of beauty fills hearing and sight Throughout the still hours of a calm summer's night.

THE RECOLLECT CHURCH.*

[* In process of demolition when this poem was written.

The Recollect Friars purchased the ground on which the church in question was built in 1692, and on it they constructed a temporary chapel. The actual edifice, however, was not erected till about the year 1706. The order is now extinct. After the conquest their property was confiscated by the Government, and subsequently exchanged for St. Helen's Island, then belonging to Baron Grant. For a time the Recollect Church served as a place of worship for both Protestants and Catholics, and for many years was exclusively devoted to the use of the Irish Catholics.]

Quickly are crumbling the old gray walls, Soon the last stone will be gone, The olden church of the Recollects, We shall look no more upon; And though, perchance, some stately pile May rise its place to fill, With carven piers and lofty towers, Old Church, we shall miss thee still!

Though not like Europe's ancient fanes, Moss-grown and ivied o'er Bearing long centuries' darkened stains On belfry and turrets h.o.a.r-- A hundred years and more hast thou Thy shadow o'er us cast; And we claim thee in our country's youth As a land-mark of the past.

Thou'st seen the glittering Fleur-de-lys Fling out its folds on high From old Dalhousie's* fortress hill, Against the morning sky; And, later, the gleam of an English flag From its cannon-crowned brow,-- That flag which, despite the changing years, Floateth proudly o'er us now.

Thou'st seen the dark-browed Indians, too, Thronging each narrow street, In their garb so strangely picturesque, Their gaily mocca.s.sined feet; And beside them gentle helpmates stood, Dark-hued, with soft black eyes, In blanket robes, with necklets bright-- Large beads of brilliant dyes.