The green roads that end in the forest
Are strewn with white goose feathers this June,

Like marks left behind by some one gone to the forest
To show his track. But he has never come back.

Down each green road a cottage looks at the forest.
Round one the nettle towers; two are bathed in flowers.

An old man along the green road to the forest
Strays from one, from another a child alone.

In the thicket bordering the forest,
All day long a thrush twiddles his song.

It is old, but the trees are young in the forest,

Mrs Blue Dickey-bird, who went out a-walking with her six chickey birds: she carried a parasol and wore a bonnet of green silk.
The first little chickey bird had daisies growing out of his head, and wore boots because of the dirt.
The second little chickey bird wore a hat, for fear it should rain.
The third little chickey bird carried a jug of water.
The fourth little chickey bird carried a muff, to keep her wings warm.
The fifth little chickey bird was round as a ball.
And the sixth little chickey bird walked on his head, to save his feet.

There was an old person who said—
‘Do you think I've a very large head?’

The ship that spreads her sails to-day,
Like bird with snowy wings,
As glad a message bears away
As angel ever brings.

Should angel spread his wings above
To cleave the starlit deep
Between us and the Land of Love,
Where none may sin nor weep,

What better news from heaven could he
Bring us with heavenly breath,
Than that good ship bears o'er the sea
To lands of sin and death?

And should an angel's lips proclaim
The news, with winged words
All fragrant with celestial flame,
And musical as birds,

Onward! On for the Republic!
Live the Union evermore!
Down with traitors, down with rebels;
Quench the treason in its gore.
Hear it as the Lord's command,
As our fathers heard of yore,
Draw the sword for native land:
Live, Republic, evermore!

Up, and onward, to the rescue!
Let the serried traitors know
Loyal men in honest causes
Strike by far the heaviest blow.
While the heavens keep smiling on us,
And the rivers onward flow,
Freemen ne'er will turn their backs on
Freedom's haughty traitor-foe.

Up, and at them! To the rescue!

The sun has gone down in liquid gold
On the Ottawa's gleaming breast;
And the silent night has softly rolled
The clouds from her starry vest;
Not a sound is heard—
Every warbling bird
Has silenced its tuneful lay,
As with calm delight,
In the moon's weird light,
I noiselessly float away.

As down the river I dreamily glide—
The sparkling and moonlit river—
Not a ripple disturbs the glassy tide,
Not a leaf is heard to quiver;
The lamps of night
Shed their trembling light,
With a tranquil and silvery glory,

Hark , His chariot wheels are rolling,
Rolling onward in their might,
All the rage of hell controlling,
Jesus scatters death and night.

Speed ye heralds—sound His story,
Daunted not by pain or loss,
Offer grace—and point to glory,
Each the purchase of the Cross.

See—it falls—each Idol Dagon,
Prostrate at Jehovah's shrine,
And the poor benighted Pagan,
Feel and own the conquest thine.

Powers of darkness—boast no longer,
Captive souls are doubly free,
Ye were strong—but Jesus stronger,
His is now the victory.

Deck'd with the graces of the morn,
When first her beauties smil'd,
Of Charity the eldest born,
Her first and dearest child!

Oh Candour ! come, with all thy charms,
Those beaming eyes display,
Whose soothing softness Rage disarms.
And makes Dejection gay.

Come, like a Cherub from Above,
Those envious clouds dispel,
The joyous glow of social Love,
'Tis thou alone canst tell.

Whilst Slander in the fairest spot
Selects the weeds with care,
'Tis thine to seek the shade forgot,
And find the blossom there.

Children dear, was it yesterday
We heard the sweet bells over the bay?
In the caverns where we lay,
Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream,
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,

I lately saw, what now I sing,
Fair Lucia's hand displayed;
This finger graced a diamond ring,
On that a sparrow played.

The feathered plaything she caressed,
She stroked its head and wings;
And while it nestled on her breast,
She lisped the dearest things.

With chiselled bill a spark ill set
He loosened from the rest,
And swallowed down to grind his meat,
The easier to digest.

She seized his bill with wild affright,
Her diamond to descry:
'Twas gone! she sickened at the sight,
Moaning her bird would die.