Jean Blewett

“ The busy, bustling world to taste the sweets Of silence and of peace. We wish you well." In eager quest of what the hills might hide, Some valley of content, some spring of youth, Some deep, enchanted dell filled to the brim With subtle mysteries, allurement rare, We followed down a path, a little crooked, Wand'ring path that lost itself and found itself So oft we knew it for the playmate of the stream That went with us and sang a clamorous song— A never-ending song of flock and fold Of sea-mist and of sun—until at length We came into a valley warm and wide, A cradle 'mong the hills. ”

“ Spring, with a mantle made of the gold held close in a sunbeam's heart Thrown over her shoulders bonnie and bare—see the sap in the great trees start!
Where the hem of this flowing garment trails, see the glow, the color bright, A stirring and spreading of something fair—the dawn is chasing the night!
Spring, with all love and all dear delights pulsing in every vein, The old earth knows her, and thrills to her touch, as she claims her own again.
Spring, with the hyacinths filling her lap and violet seeds in her hair, With the crocus hiding its satin head in her bosom warm and fair ”

“ I'll tell you the sweetest thing, dear heart, I'll tell you the sweetest thing.
I'll tell you the saddest thing, dear heart, I'll tell you the saddest thing: 'Tis coming to one that we love full well, Some tender message to bring.
[235] And loitering, loitering, by the way— Held back by a foolish pride— Till it's all too late to say "Forgive!" When at length we reach her side.
For the ears are heavy and cannot hear, And the chill lips cannot move To whisper "Peace," though our hearts may break With longing, and pain, and love,
O this coming too late with our tenderness! ”

“ Each maid-in-waiting is most fair— Note well the graces she unfurls— The winds have tossed her fluffy hair, And left it in a thousand curls.
[192] And yonder quaint, old-fashioned one, Arrayed in palest lavender, Ah! few there are, when all is done, In beauty can compare with her.
The pink—I've seen at eventide A something very like to this, A cloud adrift upon the sky, All rosy from the sun's last kiss.
Without the court, the chill and gloom Of autumn twilight o'er the land; Within, the grandeur and the bloom Of queen, of prince, and courtiers grand. ”

“ The laughter in his eyes of gray, the sunshine in his hair; But a man's heart, true and gallant, beat beneath the tartan plaid, And a strong right arm he boasted, did this bonnie Highland lad. Oh, the battlefield is gruesome, with its dying and its dead, But 'twas to the field of battle that the drum and bugle led— Magersfontein—and the bullets biting fiercely left and right, And the lad in kilt and hose there in the thickest of the fight. Fearful odds, and none to help them, fight they boldly, undismayed, Gallant clansmen of the north land! ”

“ I built a castle in the air— A radiant thing made out of dreams; Love's dear desire its golden stair— Naught heavier than a hope was there— A thing of mist and rainbow gleams.
But when it fell—ah! when it fell, Though made o' dreams and mist and shine, The mystery of it who can tell? Its falling shook both heaven and hell, And ground to dust this heart of mine.
YOUTH AND JUNE.
I was your lover long ago, sweet June, Ere life grew hard; I am your lover still, And follow gladly to the wondrous tune You pipe on golden reeds to vale and hill. ”

“ Native born are we, are we, Canada, fair Canada! And the pride thrills through and through us, 'Tis our birthplace, Canada!
THE KING'S GIFT. TO E. S. R.
The new year coming to us with swift feet Is the King's gift, And all that in it lies Will make our lives more rounded and complete. It may be laughter, May be tear-filled eyes; It may be gain of love, Or loss of love; It may be thorns, or bloom and breath of flowers, The full fruition of these hopes that move— It may be what will break these hearts of ours, What matter? ”

“ Did you send your song to the gates of gold In the days of long ago? A song of sweetness and gladness untold, Till fain was my lady to have and to hold— Ah! my lady did not know.
'Tis love and joy make the soul of a song, If we only understood. Can each strain be tender, and true, and strong, When the days stretch out so weary and long, Dear little bird of the wood?
The sun came so boldly into your cell— 'Tis the springtime, pretty bird— And full sweet the story he had to tell Of doings in meadow and wood and dell, Till your longing grew and stirred. ”

“ In hunger of the heart, and pain, In loneliness, and longing vain, You pay the debt to-morrow!
Prince, let grim Fate take what she will Of treasures rare, of joys that thrill, Enact the cruel usurer's part, Leave empty arms and hungry heart, Take what she can of love and trust, Take all life's gladness, if she must, Take meeting smile and parting kiss— The benediction and the bliss. What then? The fairest thing of all Is ours, O Prince, beyond recall— Not even Fate would dare to seize Our store of golden memories. ”

“ But I know what I will love best of all To do at the end of the busy day, When the dusk comes down and the shadows play, And the wind sings low in the poplars tall.
I will love to get into my corner here, With the curtains drawn, and never a one To break the stillness—to sit here alone And dream of these happy days, my dear, And take my treasures from memory's hold— The tears, the laughter, the songs that were sung— O the friends we love when the heart is young Are the friends we love when the heart grows old! ”

“ To primrose, tulip, daffodil, The wind came piping gay and shrill:
"Wake up! wake up! while day is new, And all the world is washed with dew!"
[179]
GRACE. (June 13, 1899.)
So still you sleep upon your bed, So motionless and slender, It cannot be that you are dead, My maiden gay and tender!
You were no creature pale and meek That death should hasten after, The dimples played within your cheek, Your lips were made for laughter.
To you the great world was a place That care might never stay in, A playground built by God's good grace For glad young folks to play in. ”

“ O the gladdest thing on earth, With his piping and his chirping, is the cricket on the hearth!
[205]
EARTH TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY.
You cannot take from out my heart the growing, The green, sweet growing, and the vivid thrill. "O Earth," you cry, "you should be old, not glowing With youth and all youth's strength and beauty still!"
Old, and the new hopes stirring in my bosom! Old, and my children drawing life from me! Old, in my womb the tender bud and blossom! Old, steeped in richness and fertility! ”

“ I cannot echo the old wish to die at morn, as darkness strays! We have been glad together greeting some new-born radiant days, The earth would hold me, every day familiar things Would weigh me fast, The stir, the touch of morn, the bird that on swift wings Goes flitting past. Some flower would lift to me its tender tear-wet face, and send its breath To whisper of the earth, its beauty and its grace, And combat death. It would be light, and I would see in thy dear eyes The sorrow grow. Love, could I lift my own, undimmed, to paradise And leave thee so! ”

“ Not a fault could I remember—she'd been perfect all her days, With her sweetness and her laughter, her tender womanly ways. Dead—dead in her fresh young beauty—oh, I had an anguished heart At thought of the quarrel ending in our agreeing to part!
When two people love each other, I'll tell you the wisest way, 'Tis to think before speaking harshly, for there surely will come a day When one will sleep on so soundly that he or she will not wake, The other sit in the stillness and cry with a great heart-break. ”

“ Until we feel the gleam and glow Of summer pulsing through our veins, And hear the patter of the rains, And watch the green things sprout and grow.
[190] You sing of joy, and we do mark How glad a thing is life, and dear; Of sorrow, and we seem to hear The sound of sobbing in the dark.
The subtle power to sway and move, The stamp of genius strong and true, This, friend, was heaven's gift to you, This made you great and won you love.
Your song goes ringing clear and sweet— Though on earth's bosom, bare and brown, All willingly you laid you down, The music is not incomplete. ”

“ THE LAKE SHORE ROAD.
'Tis noon, the meadow stretches in the sun, And every little spear of grass uplifts its slimness to the glow To let the heavy-laden bees pass out.
A stream comes at a snail's pace through the gloom Of shrub and fern and brake, Leaps o'er a wall, goes singing on to find The coolness of the lake.
A wild rose spreads her greenness on a hedge, And flings her tinted blossoms in the air; The sweetbriar neighbors with that porcupine Of shrubs, the gooseberry; with parasol Of white the elderberry shades her head And dreams of purple fruit and wine-press chill. ”

“ Youth shone within her eyes, where God had set All steadfastness, and high resolve, and truth; Youth flushed her cheek, dwelt on the smooth white brow Whereon the heavy golden circlet lay.
The ashes of dead kings, the history of A nation's growth, of strife, and victory, The mighty past called soft through aisle and nave: "Be strong, O Queen; be strong as thou art fair!" A virgin, white of soul and unafraid, Since back of her was God, and at her feet A people loyal to the core, and strong, And loving well her sweetness and her youth. ”

“ We steal the children's laughter shrill, We steal their joys e'er they can taste, "Why skip like young lambs on a hill? Go, get ye to your task in haste." No matter that they droop and tire, That heaven cries out against the sin, The gold, red gold, that we desire Their dimpled hands must help to win.
[222] A cheque for missions, if you please— Great God, forgive our charities!
We steal the light from lover's eyes, We hush the tale he has to tell Of pure desire, of tender ties— No man can serve two masters well. ”

“ What is the grandest thing of all— Is it winning Heaven some day? No, and a thousand times say no; 'Tis making this old world thrill and glow With the sun of love till each shall know Something of Heaven here below, And God's well done for our pay.
[146]
STRENGTH.
Write on Life's tablet all things tender, great and good, Uncaring that full oft thou art misunderstood. Interpretation true is foreign to the throng That runs and reads; heed not its praise or blame. Be strong! Write on with steady hand, and, smiling, say, "'Tis well!" If when thy deeds spell Heaven The rabble read out Hell. ”

“ A woman in her youth, but lost to all The joys of innocence. Love she had known, Such love as leaves the soul filled full of shame. Passion was hers, hate and impurity, The gnawing of remorse, the longing vain To lose the mark of sin, the scarlet flush Of fallen womanhood, the envy of The spotless, the desire that they might sink Low in the mire as she. ”

“ While life and growth within me glow and flourish, While in the sunshine and the falling rain I, the great Mother, do bring forth and nourish The springtime blossom and the harvest grain?
March on, O Century, I am safe holden In God's right hand, the garner-house of truth— The hand that holds the treasure rare and golden Of life, and sweetness, and eternal youth! ”

“ The "keepsake charm"—I have it yet— A thing of guile and blarney; Each green leaf dares me to forget Fair Eileen o' Killarney.
SLANDER.
He does the devil's basest work, no less, Who deals in calumnies—who throws the mire On snowy robes whose hem he dare not press His foul lips to. The pity of it! Liar, Yet half believed by such as deem the good Or evil but the outcome of a mood. That one who, with the breath lent him by Heaven, Speaks words that on some white soul do reflect, Is lost to decency, and should be driven Outside the pale of honest men's respect. ”

“ SPRING.
O the frozen valley and frozen hill make a coffin wide and deep, And the dead river lies, all its laughter stilled within it, fast asleep.
The trees that have played with the merry thing, and freighted its breast with leaves, Give never a murmur or sigh of woe—they are dead— no dead thing grieves.
No carol of love from a song-bird's throat; the world lies naked and still, For all things tender, and all things sweet, have been touched by the gruesome chill. ”