Читать книгу Canadian Battlefields, and Other Poems - J. R. Wilkinson - Страница 5

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What shall I sing, I prithee, O Muse?

For song burns my bosom to-day;

And it flows o’er me like a wave o’ the sea,

A dream-wrought, subtle melody.

Shall’t be of the wondrous present,

This scientific, restless age;

Or cull from the field the centuries yield

Rich gems from history’s page?

Shall it be of stern war and the cause

For which millions of men are slain,

And heroic days with glory ablaze,

Dear freedom and honor to gain?

Shall I sing of the stars of heaven

That forever their orbits keep—

Beautiful, serene stars of heaven,

Gemming the eternal deep?

Shall it be of the grand old ocean,

And its bright isles far away,

With life all free as th’ unbounded sea,

A subtle and golden day?

Shall I tell of the glory of sunset,

And the twilight soft on the lea,

The murmuring winds, through foliage and vines,

And the moon that silvers the sea?

Shall it be a lay of the seasons,

That fade like a dream away?

The spring so fair, and the perfumed air,

And the songsters that trill so gay?

And the summer robed in splendor,

Serene as a spirit dream,

Her throbs and sighs and cerulean skies

Would I make my soul’s bright theme?

Shall ’t be of the autumn’s fading,

And the winds that sob and sigh,

And the leaves of gold, drifting fold on fold,

And the flowers that droop and die;

The birds that trill us a last farewell,

Tenderly, sorrowfully sweet,

Saddening the heart, doomed ever to part,

And life’s work so incomplete?

Shall I tell of the white-robed winter

Sweeping down from icy zones,

And the frozen streams, and the pale, cold gleams,

And its desolate sobs and moans?

Ah! shall it be of home and mother,

And the years that have flown away,

And the loved of old, like a tale that’s told

From childhood’s dear happy day?

Shall ’t be of the innocent children,

Believing of such is heaven?

Their prattle and glee’s a joy unto me,

And care from the heart is driven.

Shall I sing of our lovèd country,

And these bright, fair homes of ours?

So happy and free from sea unto sea,

Guard well thy bulwarks and towers.

And the grand “Old Flag” floating o’er us,

Proudly ruling the boundless sea,

Ever unfurled, encircling the world,

Hath glory enough for me!

Shall I sing of man’s joys and sorrows?

Of woman’s undying love?

Of the ransomed that wait at the “pearly gate”

Of the “city of gold” above?

I would sing of all things beautiful,

The heroic and the true,

With a quenchless flame and a deathless fame

To brighten the whole world through.

A resurrection and a rising

To a grander, nobler life,

In brighter spheres, where the golden years

Exclude all of storm and strife.