John Campbell

Among white peaks a rock, hewn altar-wise,
Marks the long frontier of our mighty lands.
Apart its dark tremendous sculpture stands,
Too steep for snow, and square against the skies.
In other shape its buttressed masses rise
When seen from north or south; but eastward set,
God carved it where two sovereignties are met,
An altar to His peace, before men's eyes.
Of old there Indian mystics, fasting, prayed;
And from its base to distant shores the streams
Take sands of gold, to be at last inlaid
Where ocean's floor in shadowed splendour gleams.
So in our nations' sundered lives be blent
Love's golden memories from one proud descent!

[This Province was called after the Princess, one of whose Christian names is Alberta.]

In token of the love which thou hast shown
For this wide land of freedom, I have named
A province vast, and for its beauty famed,
By thy dear name to be hereafter known.
Alberta shall it be! Her fountains thrown
From alps unto three oceans, to all men
Shall vaunt her loveliness e'en now; and when,
Each little hamlet to a city grown,
And numberless as blades of prairie grass,
Or the thick leaves in distant forest bower,
Great peoples hear the giant currents pass,
Still shall the waters, bringing wealth and power,
Speak the loved name,--the land of silver springs--
Worthy the daughter of our English kings.

Best beloved of ancient stories
Are our Diarmid's woes to me.
Like a mist, by breezes broken,
So this tale of olden glories
Floats in fragments, as a token
Of the song of Ireland's sea.

Through long centuries repeated
Lived the legend told in Erse,
But a change comes swift or slowly
Fades the language, and defeated
Flies the faith, once counted holy,
Old-world ways, and oral verse.

Not from men of note or learning
May we gather now these tales,
Heard beneath the cotter's rafter,
Or where smithy sparks are burning,
Or at sea, when hushed the laughter
Of the breeze on hull and sails.

Then with Ossian's rhythmic Measure
Comes upon the fancy's sight,
One with golden locks; resplendent,
Great and strong with eyes of azure,...

A moment's pause before we play our parts,
To speak the thought that reigns within your hearts.--
Now from the Future's hours, and unknown days,
Affection turns, and with the Past delays;
For countless voices in our mighty land
Speak the fond praises of a vanished hand;
And shall, to mightier ages yet, proclaim
The happy memories linked with Dufferin's name.

Missed here is he, to whom each class and creed,
Among our people lately bade "God speed;"
Missed, when each Winter sees the skater wheel
In ringing circle on the flashing steel;
Missed in the Spring, the Summer and the Fall,
In many a hut, as in the Council Hall;
Where'er his wanderings on Duty's hest
Evoked his glowing speech, his genial jest.
We mourn his absence, though we joy that now
Old E...

O fortress city, bathed by streams
Majestic as thy memories great,
Where mountains, floods, and forests mate
The grandeur of the glorious dreams,
Born of the hero hearts who died
In founding here an Empire's pride;
Prosperity attend thy fate,
And happiness in thee abide,
Pair Canada's strong tower and gate!

May Envy, that against thy might
Dashed hostile hosts to surge and break,
Bring Commerce, emulous to make
Thy people share her fruitful fight,
In filling argosies with store
Of grain and timber, and each ore,
And all a continent can shake
Into thy lap, till more and more
Thy praise in distant worlds awake.

Who hath not known delight whose feet
Have paced thy streets or terrace way;
From rampart sod or bastion grey
Hath m...

1.

We have poled our staunch canoe
Many a boiling torrent through;
Paddling where the eddies drew,
Athwart the roaring flood we flew.

Chorus
Dip your paddles! make them leap,
Where the clear cold waters sweep.
Dip your paddles! steady keep,
Where breaks the rapid down the steep.

2.

Where the wind, like censer, flings
Smoke-spray wider as it swings,
Hark! the aisle of rainbow rings
To falls that hymn the King of kings.

3.

Lifting there our vessel tight,
Climbed we bank and rocky height,
Bore her through thick woods, where light
Fell dappling those green haunts of Night.

4.

O'er the rush of billows hurled,
Where they tossed and leaped and curled,
Past each wave-worn boulder whirle...

Wet, cheerless was our bivouac last eve, but still we spoke
Of fighting and of winning, to-morrow, when day broke:
That day the thundering echoes of cannon in our front
Had louder grown until around had raged the battle's brunt
At last the carnage ended, and our regiment's retreat
Was marked by many wounded, who shrieked beneath our feet!
But here in closer order rides past a Lancer Troop--
They had but late been charging like falcons when they swoop.
How few there are remaining! Now the river's bank is gained;
The Trumpeter's white charger with blood on neck is stained.
His snowy flanks are heaving; he shudders on the brink,
Then, gently urged, he halts again, and stoops his head to drink.
He cannot ford the river, for lost are strength and speed:
The Trumpeter, dismounted,...

Grey-cowled monk, whose faith so earnest
Guides these Indians' childlike hearts,
As their hands to toil thou turnest,
Teaching them the Builder's arts,
Speak thy thought! as now they gather
Round the white walls on the plain,
Rearing them for God the Father,
And the glory of New Spain.

"Thou, St. Gabriel, knowest only
Why thy holy bells I raise,
To no turret proud and lonely,
There to sound the hours of praise;--
Why I keep them close beside me,
Framed within the church's walls,
Here where heathen lands shall hide me
Until death to judgment calls."

Then St Gabriel in high heaven
Told the saints this mortal's lot,
As the Angelus at even
Rose to day that dieth not;
And from out the nightly wonder
Of the darkened world would f...

[Note: The Gaelic spelt as by Dewar.]

Do reir beulaithris ann an linn Righ Artair bhi ann an Duneidean,
bha Triath urramach Eirinneach a chuir tigh dìdean air
a chraig ris an abairte Aill-séid-chuan, agus ghoid e na braighde
rìomhfhinne uasal, agus thug e i do'n Dun a thog e air Aill-séid-chuan,
s bha e ga gleidh an sin na braighde. Bha Righ Artair
latha anns a bheinn a sealg, luidh e a' leigeadh a sgìtheas dheth,
chaidil e agus bhruadair e air an rìmhfhinne a bha ann am braighdeanas,
agus ghabh e toil a cuir saor, ach cha robh fios aige c'aite
an robh i. Ghabh sir Bhalbha os laimh dol g'a h iarraidh na'm
faigheadh e long o'n Righ. Thug an Righ long dh'a, agus sheol
sir Bhalbha gus gun d'fhuair e air thuileamus i, agus thug e
dh'ionnsaidh Righ Airteir i, agus b'ann do'n chù...

Here Rose and Magnolia
Our dearest enshrine,
The prayer of the south wind
Is thine and is mine,
For Child and for Mother
Here sweetly twice isled,
Brave Seamen are praying
For Mother and Child.

Where State must surround them
Beneath the Great Keep,
And green oaks of Windsor
Shade River and Steep,
For Child and Queen-Mother
The choristers aisled,
With armed men are chanting
For Mother and Child.

Away where the Heather
Blooms far o'er the Pine,
The Highlander's blessing
Is mine and is thine,
For Child and for Mother
Beloved and mild;
What heart does not bless them,
Dear Mother and Child.

Not home to land and kindred wast thou brought,
Nor laid 'mid trampled dead of battle won,--
Nor after long life filled with duty done
Was thine such death as thou thyself had'st sought!
No, sadder far, with horror overwrought
That end that gave to thee thy cruel grave
Deep in blue chasms of some glacier cave,
When Cervins perils thou, the first, had'st fought
And conquered, Douglas! for in thee uprose
In boyhood e'en a nature noble, free,--
So gently brave with courtesy, that those
Old Douglas knights, the "flowers of Chivalry,"
Had joyed to see that in our times again
A link of gold had graced their ancient chain!

An ancient cannon, finely cast.
Of bronze, all smooth and green with age,
A by-gone actor on the stage,
Yet fit to take, as in the past
A role in war, and be the last
Dread argument of kings!

The daisies grew around, and brought
The homage of young spring to praise
This stately relic of old days,
When France with Spain for mastery fought;
And Philip over England sought
To spread the Papal wings.

Initialed with King Francis' name,
With Gallic lilies sculptured o'er,
Above the vent the metal bore
A Salamander crowned, in flame;
The massive breech could even claim
A sheath of lotos bloom.

This goodly weapon, forged where Seine
By Fontainebleau and Paris flows,
And many a painted Palace shows
These emblems of the Valois' ...

I.

Where the snow-world of the mountains
Fronts the sea-like world of sward,
And encamped along the prairies
Tower the white peaks heavenward;
Where they stand by dawn rose-coloured
Or dim-silvered by the stars,
And behind their shadowed portals
Evening draws her lurid bars,
Lies a country whose sweet grasses
Richly clothe the rolling plain;
All its swelling upland pastures
Speak of Plenty's happy reign;
There the bison herds in autumn
Roamed wide sunlit solitudes,
Seamed with many an azure river
Bright in burnished poplar woods.


II.

Night-dews pearled the painted hide-tents,
"Moyas" named, that on the mead
Sheltered dark-eyed women wearing
Braided hair and woven bead.
Never man had seen their lodges,
...

For strife against the ocean tribe
The Mohawks' war array
Comes floating down, where broad St. John
Reflects the dawning day.

A camp is seen, and victims fall,
And none are left to flee;
A maid alone is spared, compelled
A traitress guide to be.

The swift canoes together keep,
And o'er their gliding prows
The silent girl points down the stream,
Nor halt nor rest allows.

"Speak! are we near your fires? How dark
Night o'er these waters lies!"
Still pointing down the rushing stream,
The maiden naught replies.

The banks fly past, the water seethes;
The Mohawks shout, "To shore!
Where is the girl?" Her cry ascends
From out the river's roar.

The foaming rapids rise and flash
A moment o'er her head,
And smil...

Now of the hard strait of the Feinne this legend's verse shall tell:
When Fionn's men had fought and won, and all with them was well,
And victory on Erin's shores had given spoil which they
Alone could win whose swords of old were mightiest in the fray:
For in those days the bravest hand, and not the craftiest brain,
Got gold, and skill in gallant fight was found the surest gain.
Great Fionn's wont it was to give, when foes had bled and broke,
A feast to nobles and to chiefs and all the humble folk:
Upon the plain they sat, and ate the meat which smoking came
From layers of stone, well laid on pits half filled with charcoal flame,
Where 'neath the covering roof of turf that kept the heat aglow.

The boar was quickly roasted whole, with many a stag and roe.
And while the feas...

Look not for me at eventide,
I cannot come when work is done;
I go to wander far and wide,
For 'tis not here that gold is won.
Perchance where'er I go, these hands
May find me what I need to live;
Whate'er they win, if house, or lands,
I'd yield for what they cannot give.

For who can turn away his face
From home and kin and be at rest?
What country e'er can take the place
That Ireland fills within my breast?
More kindly smile the distant skies,
They say, beyond yon angry sea;
I know not what they mean, mine eyes
Have never seen these frown on me.

To me these hills beside the wave
With every year have dearer grown;
Is it so great a thing to crave
To call my native land, mine own?
But why these useless plaints renew?
Farewell...

"They sow in tears who reap in joy,"
Was truly said of old:
We wandered far, but round us still
Stretched God Almighty's fold.

'Twas He who led us forth; our grief
Discerned His chastening hand,
And saw not, though before our eyes
Shone bright His promised land.

O bless Him for the love that made
The parting greeting sore,
But for the bold heart that He gave
We bless our God yet more!

He gave us hope, He gave us strength;
For us His prairies smile,
The new world's untouched soils for us
Spread boundless, mile on mile.

The richest heritage on earth
For us His mercy saved;
For ages Nature's harvests here
Unknown, ungathered, waved.

Ours now the grain which decks the plains,
Ours all their wondrous yield;

Bright are the countless isles which crest
With waving woods wide Huron's breast,--
Her countless isles, that love too well
The crystal waters whence they rise,
Far from her azure depths to swell,
Or wanton with the wooing skies;

Nor, jealous, soar to keep the Day
From laughing in each rippling bay,
But floating on the flood they love,
Soft whispering, kiss her breast, and seek
No passions of the air above,
No fires that burn the thunder-peak.

Algoma o'er Ontario throws
Fair forest heights and mountain snows;
Strong Erie shakes the orchard plain
At great Niagara's defiles,
And river-gods o'er Lawrence reign,
But Love is king in Huron's isles.