Songs of the Prairie Part 2

Oh, I could not be mistaken, I would know him anywhere, With his father's mouth and forehead, and his mother's eyes and hair, And little arms outstretched to me that seemed to coax and say, "Come, Daddy, come and kiss me, for I'm going far away."

I flung the brake and throttle, and amid the hissing steam The vision grew, and waned away, and vanished as a dream!

My fireman was beside me: "Your nerve is going, Jack; Let's leave the engine here and take a walk along the track.

The exercise will do you good." I followed as he led, Until we reached the gorge about a hundred yards ahead: The night wind cooled my temples as we walked the bridge upon, Till we sudden stopped with a sudden gasp-- --THE CENTRE SPAN WAS GONE!

You may call it hallucination, as some of the others do, But I know that the Master took my boy that night at half-past two; And the prayers of a hundred pa.s.sengers had been offered up in vain Had his spirit, clad in his baby dress, not stood before my train. . . .

I know I cried in my window-seat, and was otherwise ill-behaved But the life that I lost was more to me than all the lives he saved.

GOING HOME

The village lights grew dim behind, the snow lay vast and white And silent as an icy shroud spread out upon the night; A wan moon struggled with the clouds and through the misty haze The trails that branched to left and right were tangled as a maze; The settler's horses plodded in the soft, uncertain snow; And, stealing cautiously behind, a Thing moved to and fro.

The trail was little travelled, and the pale, sad, sickly light Was hindrance, rather than a help, to read the road aright; A dozen miles lay stretched between the settler and his shack: He thought of many things that night--not once of turning back.

Above the crunching of the snow he heard the rising wind, But never looked--and never saw--the Thing that stole behind.

The trail was lost; the horses took their way across the plain; The settler strove to hold the course, but strove, alas, in vain; The fickle wind seemed scarce to stay a moment at a place-- Now howling in a real attack, now snapping at his face; And nearing, leering, peering, in the ghastly, ghostly light, The Thing came softly after as it followed in the night.

A light! a light! a welcome light gleamed friendly from afar: Oh, can it be--it cannot be--'tis surely not a star?

Nay, nay, it is more warm and near, a happy farmer's home That beckons to the wanderer, "You need no longer roam."

With eager hope they hastened on, and plied across the plain; As often as the horses fell they rose to plunge again.

The hours moved on, the miles moved on, they followed as a dream The waning light, the dying light, of that deceitful gleam, And when at last it seemed the place must almost be in sight, The light went out! Oh, perfidy! Oh, murderous, mocking light!

'Twas well the ears grew deaf before the howling of the wind, Nor heard the ghoulish chuckle of the gloating Thing behind.

The snow lay deep; the horses floundered with the heavy sleigh, Till, plunging in a sudden drift, they tore the tongue away; The sleepy driver knew it not, as through his nerveless hands His hold on life was slipping with the frozen leather bands.

The night was calm and beautiful, the frost had ceased to smart. . . .

_The Thing had lept upon him and was tearing at his heart!_

The room was warm and cosy, and the light was soft and low, Her presence seemed to radiate a tender, girlish glow, And when she placed her hand in his, the soft, caressing palm Was cure for every trouble, and for every pain a balm: And she whispered, "Sweet, my sweetheart, I'll be faithful, I'll be true; In the springtime, in the springtime, I will cross the sea to you." . . .

A little bed was fas.h.i.+oned in the fitful firelight glow; A little boy was murmuring a prayer of long ago; And mother-hands upon his head, that fondled in his hair, And sense of quiet comfort and respite from every care; And a pillow white and downy, and a bed so soft and deep, And tired lips were lisping, "Now I lay me down to sleep." . . .

Again the scene was changed: A flood of mellow, amber light, That filled the soul with ecstasy of infinite delight; While crystal-cadenced music tinkled through the yellow glow, The lullabies of childhood and the songs of long ago; The sea of G.o.d on every hand in silent silver lay: An atom fell: its circles spread through all eternity.

The Thing was gone; its work was done; a lump of lifeless clay Sat crouching, crouching, crouching in the dawning of the day; The frozen eyeb.a.l.l.s stared upon a wilderness of snow, And peered into the future, to the Place no man may know.

A she-wolf prowled about the spot, and sniffed below the sleigh, And howled a melancholy howl, and slunk in fear away.

JUST BE GLAD

Feelin' kind of all run down?

Mighty bad: Sick and tired o' life in town?

Don't be sad: What you're needing isn't rest: Square your shoulders, raise your chest; Pack your turkey; go out West-- Just be glad!

Gone astray in No-Man's-Land?

Silly lad!

Ought to have your carca.s.s tanned With a gad: Should ha' kept the narrow track: Never mind, you can't go back; Things may not be quite so black-- Just be glad!

Gone and blown in all your cash On a fad?

Livin' now on soup and hash?

Writin' Dad?

Don't you do it. Here's a tip; Keep a good stiff upper lip; Needn't fall because you slip-- Just be glad!

Friends refuse to help you out?

Don't get mad!

You would be a lazy lout If they had.

Do not envy place or pelf; Praise the Lord, you've got your health; Dig in! Be a man yourself-- Just be glad!

All the world may say or do, Good or bad, Isn't anything to you-- Just be glad!

Though you work at book or trade, Though you work with pen or spade, Hump yourself--you'll make the grade-- Just be glad!

THE CANADIAN ROCKIES

(_Lines suggested in the camp of the Alpine Club of Canada, Sherbrooke Lake, B. C., August, 1911._)

"I to the hills will lift mine eyes,"

Of old the Psalmist sung, And we who clutch the worldly prize, With Earth's distractions wrung, Still turn our fevered fancy's gaze Where snowy summits greet the day, Where Nature guards her mysteries, And Time becomes Eternity

Where, changeless in eternal change, The Rockies clip the clouds, And glacial lakes and granite range Sleep, in their snowy shrouds; Where silence hushes discontent, And petty fears are lost in s.p.a.ce, The Builder of the firmament Still meets His people, face to face!

O barren cares that bitter life, O hopes unwisely dear, O fruitless fallacy and strife, O social, sham veneer!-- I to the hills will lift mine eyes, Where mantling cloud or cornice clings, To catch a glimpse of paradise, And turn again--to little things!

A PRAIRIE HEROINE