Читать книгу The Lions' Gate and Other Verses - Lily Alice Cooke Lefevre - Страница 4
ОглавлениеTHE LIONS’ GATE AND OTHER VERSES.
THE LIONS’ GATE.
[The two highest peaks of the mountains that overlook the harbour of Vancouver bear a strong resemblance in outline to the lions of Trafalgar Square.]
In the northern sky we couchant lie
On guard by the western seas,
Where the cliffs draw back from the narrow track
Of the tide and the ocean breeze,
Stern and grim on the mountain’s rim
We crouch in our cloudy lair,
Behind the veil of the snow mist pale
We are waiting and watching there.
When the foam flies fast as the gale rides past
Outside on the rolling bay,
Our challenge roars on the rocky shores
At the foot of our ramparts grey,
The waves retreat with a sullen beat
For they dare not pass us by,
And the Inlet’s breast is a dream of rest
Where the white sails folded lie.
We calmly rise on the amber skies
When the sun and the sea have kissed,
And the glory fills all the circling hills
That glow in a rainbow mist,
When the radiance falls on our granite walls
And the purple peaks unfold,
We fling to the sky from our fortress on high
Cloud banners of crimson and gold.
And far below where the waters flow
The stately ships sail through,
For the fair surprise of a city lies
Where the forest giants grew,
She holds the key of an Empire free
Whose glory has but begun,
The nations meet at Vancouver’s feet,
The East and the West are one.
We gaze afar to the last faint star
Ere its light in the dawning dies,
And a vision breaks ere the morn awakes
To our clear and steadfast eyes,—
Like the flocking wings that the autumn brings
When the sea-gulls gathering fly,
To their haven of rest on the harbor’s breast
Shall the fleets of the world sweep by!
The sap that stirs in our mighty firs
Fed by the northern dew,
Though chilled by death, in carven wreath
Shall bud and bloom anew,
Barbaric kings where the bulbul sings
Shall couch ’neath the polished beams
Whose mossy mould once slowly rolled
Down far Canadian streams.
And deep within our forests dim
The Spirit of Beauty dwells,
Where the long moss sways thro’ the woodland ways
O’er the foxglove’s fairy bells,
To the dawn she springs on the starry wings
That were folded in darkness long,—
The glorious theme of the artist’s dream,
The soul of the poet’s song!
Through our open gate shall the land await
The Orient’s fragrant spoil,
And the golden grain shall flow forth again
To the millions who starve and toil;
Forest and field their wealth shall yield
To men who are strong and brave,
And still on high in Canadian sky
Shall the banner of Freedom wave.
We sentry stand by Heaven’s command
At the portal of her sway,
No threatening foe dare pass below
While her Lions guard the way!
Stern and grim on the mountain’s rim
We crouch in our cloudy lair,
Behind the veil of the snow mist pale
We are waiting and watching there.
