Canada and Other Poems | Page 5

rill.
One cutting word of ours can wilt,
Or blast the young heart's fairest
flow'r,
And tumble down air castles built,
By this unseen affection's
pow'r.
That man is brave, who acts his part,
'Mid comrades faithful,
known and brave,
But braver far is he, whose heart
Upholds itself
upon the wave.
For men have shrunk with coward fright,
At terrors which they ne'er
might feel,
Had Sympathy's strange, magic might
Inspir'd their
hearts to face the steel.

LOVE AND WINE.
'Tis wine that cheers the soul of man,
With subtle and seductive flow;

It warms the heart, as naught else can,
And banishes regret, and
woe.
It keeps alive the flick'ring flame,
Which strives to burn with feeble
force
Within the heart, so dull and tame,
But still of life, the present
source.
It warms up this fount of life,
And sends life's fluid here and there;

And nerves and brain, in gladsome strife,
Forget their dull and dark
despair.
And what is love, if 'tis not wine,
Refin'd, distill'd from grossness,
tho',
More potent than the juice of vine,
And bringing greater joy,
and woe?

Does it not, too, refresh, revive,
And oft intoxicate the brain,
And
make the being all alive
With keenest joy, or keenest pain?
And does it not when much indulg'd,
Or held by slack and yielding
hand,
Lead on to woes oft undivulg'd,
To crimes unknown,
throughout the land?
Oh! blessed woman, fruitful vine,
Inspiring and enchanting twain,
I
pray that neither love nor wine,
May o'er my will, resistless reign.
They tell us, that the safest way
To 'scape from wine or woman's
thrall,
Is to go on from day to day,
And never drink, or love, at all.
I could give up the cheering wine,
And never taste the siren cup,

But oh, thou woman, nymph divine,
I can not, will not give thee up.

HOW NATURE'S BEAUTIES SHOULD BE VIEWED.
Should man, with microscopic eye,
View the details of Nature's plan,

Into each nook and corner pry,
And needlessly the hidden scan?
Should he inspect each bud and flow'r,
With close, unmeant,
uncall'd-for look,
And, by his analytic pow'r,
Dissolve each charm
of vale or brook?
Should he resolve the rainbow's hues,
Into their prime and simple
forms,
And thus the charm dispel, unloose,
Which gladdens us,
amid the storms?
Should he, with keen, inquiring look,
Insist on knowing, seeing all,

Which nature made a sealed book
On this, our strange, terrestrial ball,
'Tis hard to draw the line, indeed,
When we should pry, and when
refrain,
But science surely has its need
Of knowledge gain'd, and

also pain.
The blooming flow'r, the flutt'ring leaf,
Have surely charms we all
can tell,
And analysing brings to grief,
The charms we felt, and
knew so well.
Th' untutor'd savage, roaming wild,
Could view the rainbow in the
sky,
And, tho' in science but a child,
He saw with gladden'd heart,
and eye.
And so, I apprehend, that we
Should oft restrain our thoughts and
sight,
Nor delve too far, nor try to see,
With deeper, but more
painful light.

NIAGARA FALLS.
Niagara, thou mighty flood.
I've seen thee fall, I've heard thee roar,

And on the frightful verges stood,
That overhang thy rocky shore.
I've sailed o'er surging waves below,
And view'd the rainbow's
colour'd light,
And felt the spray, thy waters throw,
When leaping,
with resistless might.
I've seen the rapids in their course,
Like madden'd, living things rush
on,
With wild, unhesitating force,
To where thy mighty chasms
yawn.
And there to take the awful leap,
And fall, with hoarse and sullen roar,

Into th' unfathomable deep,
Which rolleth on, from shore to shore.
Niagara, thou'rt mighty, grand,
Thou fill'st human souls with awe,

For thee, and for that mighty Hand,
Which maketh thee, by nature's
law.
Thou'rt great, thou mighty, foaming mass
Of water, plunging, roaring

down,
But so are we, yea, we surpass
Thee, and we wear a nobler
crown.
Thy mighty head is crowned with foam,
And rainbows wreathe thy
robes of blue;
Our earthly forms--our present home--
Are
insignificant to you.
But look, thou mighty thund'rer, thou,
Tho' puny be our forms to
thine,
These forms possess, yea, even now,
A spark, a ray of life
divine.
Rush on, O waters! proudly hurl
Thyself to roaring depths below,

And let the mists of ages curl,
And generations come and go.
But know, stupendous wonder, know,
Thy rocks would crumble, at
the nod
Of Him, who lets thy waters flow;
Thy Maker, but our
Friend and God.
Thy rocks shall crumble, fall they must;
Thy waters, then, shall
plunge no more,
But we shall rise, e'en from the dust,
To live upon
another shore.

A SABBATH MORNING IN THE COUNTRY.
'Tis morning, and the meadows yet,
Are wet with gracious drops of
dew.
Each blade of grass, and flow'r, is set
With sparkling gems of
richest hue.
The sun, with rising glory, sheds
A radiance, that none
divine,
Save those, who early leave their beds,
When glist'ning
dew-drops briefly shine.
Just ere the rising sunbeams play,
From glorious orb, of rosy red,

There is no sound of life, no hum,
And but, seemingly, all things are
dead.

But when the blessed, welcome beams,
Light up, and cheer, and
warm the earth,
All things awaken from their dreams,
To celebrate
Creation's birth.
The very fields are filled with life,
With hum of bee, and insect