William M. MacKeracher

“ When Peace and Joy seem wrapt in sable shrouds,
And young Hope's heaven is black with lowering clouds
'Tis then thy vision comes before my view,
'Tis then I see those beaming eyes of blue,
And hear thy gentle voice in accents kind,
And see thy cheerful smile before my mind;
And taking heart, I battle on anew;
And thank my God for sending to my soul
His own blest, soothing balm of peace again,
Who sometimes still as in the days of old
By angels sends His blessings down to men. ”

“ And that manly bosom, that throbbed with the sway
Of a heart true and noble, is silent for aye.
Yet he looks like a prince, as he lies in repose
On his marble-white tomb, and o'er-wreathed with snows.
The snow too is thy shroud, and thy funeral chant
Is the wail of a maiden lamenting thy want.
O Ronald, so generous, noble, and true,
How unworthy thy loved one! how deeply I rue
My pride, my caprice, and the preference shown—
But now thou art dead, and the damned one is flown.
How deeply he loved! and how zealously wooed!
My God! 'tis beside where our cottage late stood! ”

“ Thine inborn virtue shines divinely forth.
Thy sparkling eyes of bright cerulean blue,
Rich sapphire gems, flash with Arcadian artlessness,
Impelling Cupid's arrows, passion-fraught,
Discharged from bow of myrtle 'gainst my heart,
Which throbs and flutters, quivering from the thrust.
To an Umbrella.
Thou art the belonging blest
Of the maid I love the best:
Gardened in some tropic grove,
Nurtured by the powers above,
Was thy wood so rich and rare
For her hand so small and fair ”

“ Omnipotent, Thy name; and love, Thine attribute!
God in Nature.
We see our Father's hand in all around;
In summer's sun, and in cold winter's snow,
In leafy wood, on grassy-covered ground,
In showers that fall and icy blasts that blow.
And when we see the light'ning's flash, and hear
The thunder's roar, majestically grand,
A heavenly voice says, "Christian, do not fear,
'Tis but the working of thy Father's hand."
Reflections of a Jacobite.
Mourn, mourn, ye spirits of the brave, for glories passed away;
Mourn that the sceptre of your king should own a stranger's sway ”

“ The tree, with its leaves in luxuriance shading
My path in the tune-yielding time of the year,
Now sighs in its dirge, while its foliage, fading,
Descends to its sepulchre withered and sere.
And yet I regard it with feelings the fonder,
With feelings of mingled compassion and pain,
As in pity I gaze on its branches, and ponder
Of once fragrant beauty what fragments remain.
For that barren tree with adornment so fleeting,
That blows in the autumn wind bleak and forlorn,
Bespeaks the sad state of a heart that is beating,
Bereft of the pleasures that once it has borne. ”

“ The wild west wind had ta'en thee for its lyre.
Hope.
Oh! why should sorrow wound the heart,
And rob the soul of rest?
Why is misfortune's bitter dart
Allowed to pierce the breast?
We dare not ask; 'tis heaven's decree,
While faring here below,
Man's bark is tossed upon the sea
Of trouble, grief and woe. ”

“ The snow lies pure and peaceful on the ground,
Serenely smiles the azure sky o'erhead:
The Sabbath spirit dwells on all around,
And weekly toils and discords all are fled.
But, ah! my soul is filled with worldly thought,
My God, 'tis filled with thoughts of self and sin:
With seeming care and trouble it is fraught,
And peaceless discontentment reigns within. ”

“ When I saw thee, saw and loved thee on that fatal eve of yore;
And anon it has been living,
And a blissful sadness giving
While with thee,—
Mingled bliss and sadness giving
While with thee;
But, ah! now its woful waging,
Laying waste with cruel raging
This my heart, as with a vulture gnawing at its very core! ”

“ And discoloured with blood in his couch in the snow.
*****
My father! my father! Why here dost thou lie?
Arouse thee, dear father, arouse thee, 'tis I!
Why dost thou not answer? My God! it is so!
And his lips are as cold and as white as the snow.
Thou wilt lead not again in the field or the chase,
Nor clasp thy dear Janet in loving embrace.
Ah! dreary and barren life's desert to me!
Kind heavenly Father, O take me to Thee.
*****
And, O heaven for strength! ”

“ So that now to still the beating of my heart I stood repeating
"'Tis some prank they are repeating that they played the night before,
"Sewn, perchance, my couch's covering, firmly fixed my chamber door,
"Effigy upon my floor."
Then toward my chamber turning, for my wonted slumber yearning,
Straightway I could hear them laughing somewhat louder than before;
"Surely," said I, "surely that is ominous, foreboding that is,
"Let me see, then, what the rat is, and this mystery explore—
"I'll discover what the rat is, and this mystery explore;
"For methinks 'tis something more." ”

“ With the other to vie in regaling them most,
By the hand of the stranger, the wolf in the fold,
When the feasting is over lies lifeless and cold.
And the youth that had cheerfully led in the chase,
Whose mind never dreamed of dishonour so base,
And who weary that night had retired to rest,
Awoke with the treacherous steel in his breast. ”

“ The fever burns from morn till eve;
I toss upon my bed;
And none but heavy hands relieve
My aching, heated head.
Harsh voices of hard-hearted men
Attempt to sympathize;
But sympathy is worthless when
Love gives it not its rise. ”

“ And, jealous ever for thy country's fate,
Her virtues to preserve inviolate.
Much to thy power the platform, pulpit owes,
Thy pen has held the Right and quelled her foes:
A man withal thou art, and truly great. ”

“ DEDICATED
TO
MY FATHER.
Motive
Worthless, the man who works—he knows not why,
Whom naught inspires to his puny plan,
Who seeming plays his part instinctively:
Soulless, and falsely designated "man." ”

“ And the wretches, unremitting, still are sitting, still are sitting—
Sitting each successive session on the freshmen as of yore:
Who, with burning indignation, and with angry imprecation,
Undergo initiation to this school of modern lore,
And the rackets now resounding through this school of life; and lore
Shall be silenced—nevermore.
Tomakewaw,—A Parody.
"Give me of your fruit, banana!
Of your yellow fruit, banana!
Growing on the tropic islands,
Fertile islands in the ocean ”