BY ALAN SULLIVAN
TORONTO:
THE J. E. BRYANT CO. (LTD.)
1891.
The White Canoe
And other Verse.
There's a whisper of life in the grey dead trees,
And a murmuring wash on the shore,
And a breath of the South in the loitering breeze,
To tell that a winter is o'er.
While free, at last, from its fetters of ice
The river is clear and blue,
And cries with a tremulous quivering voice
For the launch of the White Canoe.
Oh, gently the ripples will kiss her side,
And tenderly bear her on;
For she is the wandering phantom bride
Of the river she rests upon;
She is loved with a love that cannot forget,
A passion so strong and true,
That never a billow has risen yet
To peril the White Canoe.
So come when the moon is enthroned in the sky,
And the echoes are sweet and low,
And Nature is full of the mystery
That none but her children know;
Come, taste of the rest that the weary crave,
But is only revealed to a few:
When there's trouble on shore, there's peace on the wave,
Afloat in the White Canoe.
To-night, sweetheart, when all about me lay
In shadow deep the wood,
I felt my soul within me reel and sway
And pulse my sluggish blood,
As when along a quiet land-locked bay
Swells some resistless flood.
My spirit leapt from out its earthly prison,
Higher and ever higher,
Until it reached those barriers Elysian
Where the eternal fire
Creates one great impassable division
Twixt us and our desire.
Up, till it left the regions of the night,
Of sorrow and of fear,
Emerging into that soft mellow light,
That radiance pure and clear,
Where Love reigns all supreme, and all is bright
If only Love be near.
There through sweet meadows, on by brimming streams,
Wandered my soul at will,
And saw such forms as haunt our loveliest dreams
And, waking, haunt us still;
Voices like music, smiles like sunny beams
Lost in a rippling rill.
But ah! my soul saw one supremely fair,
One form the most divine,
One face enhaloed all with golden hair,
In beauty most benign,
Surpassing all the perfect beauty there:
Heart of my heart, 'twas thine!
My soul went forth, but all grew strange and dim—
Meadow and stream were gone—
I heard a sound as of a far-off hymn
By night winds softly blown;
Then all around me seemed to sink and swim,
And I am here alone.
Pale Moon, whose tranquil orb resplendent sails
The ethereal main; thy curved prow
For ever braving the celestial gales,
Serene and slow:
Myriads of Stars, that ever dot the blue
Great vault of heaven: eyes that keep
Eternal watch, unshaken, strong, and true,
Yet never sleep:
Ye southern Zephyrs, redolent with balm
Of myrtle, orange, and the rose;