Classic Poem

I mused one day beside the Ocstall River
Where trailing mists went drifting softly by;
And waterfalls in thunderous voices calling,
Their vaporous breath raised to a burdened sky.

What mystic spell? what strange compelling passion
Did hold the sons of Britain toiling there?
What charm was there in that great lonely region
Enticing them from distant lands, more fair?

Fantastic cloud wreaths draped a sea of mountains:
Forest and muskeg in the vales held sway;
To win a fortune from those wild surroundings
Men came, then could not from them break away.

They tried the lands where everlasting sunshine
Caressed lush fruits and kissed the waves at play;
But no place gripped them like this western outpost
Where men with large ambitions hewed their way.

It was the challenge to the daring spirit
Of vast resources in their native state.
It was the lure of gold, romance of action,
The chances of success where stakes were great.