Part 10 (1/2)

CANADIAN BORN

(The following poems are from the author's second book, ”Canadian Born,” first published in 1903.)

CANADIAN BORN

We first saw light in Canada, the land beloved of G.o.d; We are the pulse of Canada, its marrow and its blood: And we, the men of Canada, can face the world and brag That we were born in Canada beneath the British flag.

Few of us have the blood of kings, few are of courtly birth, But few are vagabonds or rogues of doubtful name and worth; And all have one credential that ent.i.tles us to brag-- That we were born in Canada beneath the British flag.

We've yet to make our money, we've yet to make our fame, But we have gold and glory in our clean colonial name; And every man's a millionaire if only he can brag That he was born in Canada beneath the British flag.

No t.i.tle and no coronet is half so proudly worn As that which we inherited as men Canadian born.

We count no man so n.o.ble as the one who makes the brag That he was born in Canada beneath the British flag.

The Dutch may have their Holland, the Spaniard have his Spain, The Yankee to the south of us must south of us remain; For not a man dare lift a hand against the men who brag That they were born in Canada beneath the British flag.

WHERE LEAPS THE STE. MARIE

I

What dream you in the night-time When you whisper to the moon?

What say you in the morning?

What do you sing at noon?

When I hear your voice uplifting, Like a breeze through branches sifting, And your ripples softly drifting To the August airs a-tune.

II

Lend me your happy laughter, Ste. Marie, as you leap; Your peace that follows after Where through the isles you creep.

Give to me your splendid das.h.i.+ng, Give your sparkles and your splas.h.i.+ng, Your uphurling waves down cras.h.i.+ng, Then, your aftermath of sleep.

HARVEST TIME

Pillowed and hushed on the silent plain, Wrapped in her mantle of golden grain,

Wearied of pleasuring weeks away, Summer is lying asleep to-day,--

Where winds come sweet from the wild-rose briers And the smoke of the far-off prairie fires;

Yellow her hair as the goldenrod, And brown her cheeks as the prairie sod;