Fires of Driftwood Part 5

Another generation, and this Scot, Whose longing for the hills is ne'er forgot, Shall rear a son whose eye will never be Dim with a craving for that distant sea, Those barren rocks, that heather's purple glow-- The ache, the burn that only exiles know!

This Irishman, who, when he sees the Green, Turns that his shaking lips may not be seen, He, too, shall bear a son who, blythe and gay, Sings the old songs but in a cheerier way!

Who has the love, without the anguish sharp, For Erin dreamingly by her golden harp!

All these and many others, patient, wait Before our ever-open prairie gate And, filing through with laughter or with tears, Take what their hands can glean of fruitful years.

Here some find home who knew not home before; Here some seek peace and some wage glorious war.

Here some who lived in night see morning dawn And some drop out and let the rest go on.

And of them all the years take toll; they pa.s.s As shadows flit above the prairie gra.s.s.

From every land they come to know but one-- The kindly earth that hides them from the sun-- But, in their places, children live, and they Turn with glad faces to a common day.

Of every land, they too, but one land claim-- The land that gives them place and hope and name-- Canadians, they, and proud and glad to be A part of Canada's sure destiny!

What if within their hearts deep memories hide Of lands their fathers grieved for, till they died?

The bitterness is gone and in its stead New understanding and new hopes are bred, With wider vision which may show the world Its cannon dumb, its battle-flags close furled!

--Dreams? We may dream indeed, with heart elate, While a new Nation clamors at our gate!

Vale*

LONE Voyager! Thy s.h.i.+p of Dreams Spreads its free sail and slips away Into the distant visioning That lies behind the end of day.

The restless tide's impatient wave In from the broad Pacific rolls And sunset marks a mystic way To the far-s.h.i.+ning Port of Souls.

We, watching on the darkening sh.o.r.e, Wave you farewell, and strain our eyes Till that bright speck which is your sail Is lost in the enfolding skies.

Brave Heart, Sweet Singer! Speed you well To those dim islands of the blest, Far--far--and ever farther, till The end of distance brings you rest!

* For Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake.)

The Way to Wait

O WHETHER by the lonesome road that lies across the lea Or whether by the hill that stoops, rock-shadowed, to the sea, Or by a sail that blows from far, my love returns to me!

No fear is hidden in my heart to make my face less fair, No tear is hidden in my eye to dim the brightness there-- I wear upon my cheek the rose a happy bride should wear.

For should he come not by the road, and come not by the hill And come not by the far seaway, yet come he surely will-- Close all the roads of all the world, love's road is open still!

My heart is light with singing (though they pity me my fate And drop their merry voices as they pa.s.s the garden gate) For love that finds a way to come, can find a way to wait!

The Pa.s.ser-By

WE are as children in a field at play Beside a road whose way we do not know, Save that somewhere it meets the end of day.

Upon the road there is a Pa.s.ser-By Who, pausing, beckons one of us--and lo!

Quickly he goes, nor stays to tell us why.

One day I shall look up and see him there Beckoning me, and with the Pa.s.ser-By I, too, shall take the road--I wonder where?

First Love

BY the pulse that beats in my throat By my heart like a bird I know who pa.s.sed through the dusk Though he spoke no word!

I cannot move in my place, I am chained and still; I pray that the moon pause not By my window-sill.

I have hidden my face in my hair And my eyes are veiled-- Not even a star must know How my lips have paled--

Was ever a night so quick 'Neath a moon so round?

I hear the earth as it turns-- And my heart's low sound!

Sad One, Must You Weep

"SAD one, must you weep alway?

Youth's ill wedded with despair; Ringless hand and robe of grey Mock the charms which they declare."

Sad and sweetly answered she, "What are comely robes to me?

I would wear a gra.s.s green dress, Dew pearls for my gems--no less Now can comfort me."

"Sweet, the s.h.i.+ning of your hair (All forgotten and undone) Squanders 'neath the veil you wear Gold whose loss bereaves the sun."

Very sad and low said she, "What is s.h.i.+ning hair to me?

When from out the rain-wet mold Kingcups borrow of its gold Sweet and sweet 'twill be."

"Love, O Love! your hand is chill As a snowflake lost in spring, Wild it flutters--then lies still As a bird with prisoned wing!"

Sad and patient answered she, "As a bird I would be free; As the spring I would find birth In the sweet, forgetful earth-- Pray you, let it be!"

Joseph