The Song of the Exile-A Canadian Epic Part 15

XXVI.

But each creation, when it first reveals Itself to man, impresses him anew With G.o.d's omnipotence, and so he feels New cause for adoration in each view.

Himself though greatest, these creations each Their own great lessons to his spirit teach.

XXVII.

And ye, great mountains, have your lessons, ye Have mighty truths to teach the heart of man Of G.o.d's omnipotence and majesty, Which, if he will to learn from ye, he can.

But many blindly grope upon their way, Refusing all the light of Nature's ray.

XXVIII.

A mountain tarn, with waters still and blue, Here nestles, open to the heavens whence It seemingly derives its azure hue.

Here, has this little tarn pre-eminence, For 'mid such mighty works appearing less, It must attract us by its littleness.

XXIX.

'Tis small; but, like the cloud that servant saw Whose master bade him look for rain, it grows To greater bulk; for hence the streamlets draw Their first supplies; and each one onward flows, With speed increasing, down the mountain side, And rolls, a river, in the ocean tide.

x.x.x.

So great from little things evolve; and as Man looks upon this tarn and cannot see The mighty river flowing hence, but has To hear report of its immensity; So faith should teach him patiently to wait While little things of life lead on to great.

x.x.xI.

But I must leave ye now; I cannot stay, Great mountains, in your midst. Regretfully Must I be borne upon my Westward way, And leave ye far behind me. Yet, should ye No more delight my eye, it cannot be That I shall e'er forget your majesty.

x.x.xII.

A quiet voice within me whispering, Advises me to tarry not, nor spend Unneedful hours in westward travelling; For peace awaits me at my journey's end.

Alas! 'tis but the mountain solitude That thus has calmed and soothed my weary mood.

x.x.xIII.

I would it _were_ a voice intuitive To say that all my suffering should be Now swept away; that henceforth I should live In peace and quiet happiness; that she Whose love alone can s.h.i.+ne upon my life With healing light, could be my loving wife.

x.x.xIV.

Ah no! It cannot be. Such happiness Is not for me. Yet will I haste me on As best I may. Kind fortune yet may bless The man on whom her smile has never shone.

No more I'll linger here, no more delay My steps, but haste with speedy gait away.

x.x.xV.

With rapid flight I pa.s.s the mountains through, Nor pause to rest upon my hurried way Till, like a picture, burst upon my view The unsung beauties of Vancouver's Bay.

Nor here I pause, and, onward speeding fast, Victoria appears in view at last.

x.x.xVI.

Here Nature's gifts, all lavishly displayed, Make this a spot most fair and beautiful.

Utopia's scene could here be fitly laid.

These wooded heights, these straits so clear and cool, The distant mountain's--In the poet's eyes What, more than this, could be earth's Paradise?

x.x.xVII.

But beauties physical cannot combine Alone to make an earthly Paradise; But where the lamps of Love most brightly s.h.i.+ne, There, there the happiness of Heaven lies, And bitter hatred, by its cursed spell, Will make a very Paradise a h.e.l.l.

x.x.xVIII.

I wander through the city; there is nought Of beauty or attractiveness here shown.

Nature, and Nature only, here has brought Adornment. But that little man has done Which bare necessity compelled him do; And nothing tasteful meets my weary view.

x.x.xIX.

I pa.s.s the city through, and onward, till A pleasing view awakens me, I stray.

Here, standing on a high and wooded hill, Imposing is the view that I survey.

Afar, across the straits, the mountains rise In sunlit mightiness before my eyes.

XL.

So near they seem that I could almost be There, at their feet, before the noon of day.

And yet I know the mountains, seemingly So near, in truth are many miles away.

The air, so pure and undefiled, brings near The view, which else far distant would appear.

XLI.

Thus is it with our cherished hopes. We see, Not seeming far, a life of happiness Before us; and so close it seems to be, That present grief and trouble pain us less Than otherwise they would. More cheerfully We bear our trials for their brevity.

XLII.

But, as the days of pain roll slowly by, And lengthen them to weary months and years, And all our hopes of happiness still lie Unfructified, these almost yield to fears; And faith alone will give us strength to bear Affliction's heavy scourge without despair.

XLIII.