On Beacon Hill
B RITISH C OLUMBIA .
1
P RONE on a grassy knoll where runs the sea
In from the North Pacific, deep and blue,
Whose tide-ript waters many a century
But parted for the painted war-canoe,
Till Juan de Fuca and his swarthy crew
Sail'd on a treasure cruise to regions cold,
Idle I dream'd a summer evening through,
Watching the ruddy Western Sun enfold
The snowy-peaked Olympians in transient gold.
2
Our air hath yet some tang of Spanish days,
Some glow of stories fading from the past
Of pioneers, and wreckt and curious strays
From distant lands along this coast up-cast,
Since brave Vancouver, from his eager mast,
Beheld the island of his lasting fame,
And, veering to its pleasant shore, made fast
To raise our flag in George's royal name,
While group'd around his brawny tars gave loud acclaim.
3
Across the rocky harbor-mouth still fall
Echoes to tell of England's easy crown,
And timely bugles from the barracks call
A challenge to the careless little town
That lies like a pretty maid in tatter'd gown
'Mid tangled gardens, tempting one to halt
Where gnarled oaks, with ivy overgrown,
Are all accord with her one charming fault —
So drowsy nigh the hidden guns of Esquimalt.
4
And nonchalant lay I that afternoon,
The air a scent of wild white-clover bore,
And I could hear the tumult and the tune
Of tumbling waves along the pebbled shore;
Such gipsy joys to me were ever more
Than chase of gold or fame; but yet withal
I felt the first fine tremor o'er and o'er
Of some vast traffic without interval
To traverse soon these waterways imperial.
5
Where now some tug-boat leaves a smoky trail
To pencil on the air a coiling blot
Athwart the lighthouse, or the infrequent sail
Of some slow lumber-bark, or vagrant yacht, —
Where glides some British cruiser, grimly wrought,
Beside the schooners from the Bering seas, —
To largely feed the crowded world methought
Here soon shall pass great annual argosies
Full-freighted with the yield of prairie granaries.
6
And musing thus upon that gentle mound,
Far down the reach of waters to the right
I saw an Empress liner inward bound,
Speeding thro' the Narrows, trim and white,
And every moment growing on my sight,
Like something clear unfolding in a dream;
Her very motion was a clean delight,
That woke the sapphire sea to curl and cream
Smoothly off her curving prow and snowy beam.
7
And easily as up the Straits she roll'd,
My fancy rambled over her to see,
Bulging richly 'gainst her steely hold,
Bales of flossy silk stow'd solidly
With matted rice and tons of fragrant tea;
Or else, her quainter cargo fain to scan,
Wee China toys in silver filagree,
And cunning ivories of old Japan,
Pack'd with iris-woven rugs from Ispahan.
8
All hail to her! the white forerunner sent
From out the lavish West to rouse the old
Lethargic portals of the Orient,
Till all its stolid habitants be told
Of quick new modes of life, and manifold
Swift engines of exchange, and how by these
To run their times within a finer mould,
And from the rut of Chinese centuries
To reach for wider joys and soother luxuries.
9
O sure it is no small thing to be said
That under us the East and West have met!
And our red route shall yet be perfected
Around the World, and our old flag shall yet
Much vantage o'er its younger rivals get,
Whether it wave from Windsor's kingly pile,
Or on the farthest verge of Empire set,
'Bove fearless towns, whose heart-strings all the while
Shall thrill to every chord from their old Mother-isle.
10
We feel the centre now, where'er we stand,
And touch community in everything,
Since Science, with her patient, subtle hand,
Hath snar'd the Globe as in a witch's ring,
And set all elements a-quivering
To our desire. What marvels more she'll show —
What new delights from Nature conjuring —
Small wit have I to guess, but this I know,
That more and more the scattered World as one must grow.
11
Then closer blend for empire — that is power:
No thing of worth e'er came of feebleness,
And union is the genius of the hour.
The virtues that by master-craft and stress
Wrought hugely on primeval palaces,
And 'stonish'd Egypt and great Babylon
With monuments of admirable excess,
Seem once again from out Oblivion drawn
To lighten o'er the Earth in unexampl'd dawn.
12
We front the threshold of a giant age,
Foremost still, but others follow fast;
We may not trust o'ermuch the written page,
Or measure with the measures of the past.
For all our millions, and our regions vast,
And arm'd array, in boastful numbers told,
To keep the treasures that our sires amass'd,
Hath need of statesmen lion-like to hold,
And still forestall the changing times alert and bold.
13
The impulse of a thousand centuries
Strikes upward now in our united race,
Not for a Roman triumph, but to ease
The intercourse of nations and to place
The social fabric on a happier base;
The very enginry of war abhorr'd,
So soon as may, is bended to erase
The stain and bloody ravage of the sword;
The vanquish'd now are all to equal right restor'd
14
But cry contempt upon that sickly creed
That would not fire a shot to save its own,
Whose piety perverse doth only feed
The hope of leaner nations, bolder grown,
To tread the path that we have hewn alone:
'Twas not for them we found that path so hard —
'Twas not for them the Earth so thick was sown
With British dead! Nay, rather let us guard
The barest rock that flies our flag at all hazard.
15
And e'en for the sake of rich and plenteous peace,
Let mastery in arms be honor'd still!
So only shall the fear of foemen cease.
For this is naked truth, say what they will,
That when a people lose the power to kill
They count for naught among the sons of men;
Nor tongue, nor pen, nor art, nor workmen's skill
Can save their homes from alien ravish then,
Or lift their fallen capitols to place again.
16
Then give us rifles — rifles everywhere —
Ready rifles, tipt with bayonets!
And men of iron to lead, who little care
For parlor tactics or for social sets;
Red captains worthy of their epaulets;
Not rich men's sons to make a passing show
Lace-loving fops or wooden martinets,
But clear-eyed stalwarts o'er the ranks, who know
How best to train a naval gun or trap a foe.
17
And tho' the burden and the fret of life
Still wear upon us with unequal weight,
We'll ne'er give way to fratricidal strife.
We are a people strong to tolerate,
Till form'd opinion tranquilly abate
Entrenched abuses of an earlier age,
Rather than, impatient, emulate
Those hapless nations that in sudden rage
Of revolution wreck their ancient heritage.
18
Our Saxon temper, that 'gainst Church and Crown,
And tyrant Castles of the feudal plan,
Made steady way until it wore them down,
And widen'd all their maxims till they ran
Current for the right of every man
Freely to change his state and circumstance,
Is verile yet unbrokenly to span
What gulf ahead, what unforeseen mischance,
Would threat the front of our magnificent advance.
19
And we have those whose dreams of betterment
Outrun their fleeting day; whose hearts' ideal
Beat evermore against discouragement,
In high endeavor not to cease till all
The bars to opportunity shall fall
Within the Union of the British bred;
Nor rest content until the mutual
Machinery of State be perfected,
So that no least of all our brethren go unfed.
20
I never saw Britannia carved in stone,
Or figured out in bronze, but loyally
I've thought what merit shall be all her own
In that great Brotherhood that's yet to be —
The crystal Empire of Futurity —
Whose equal citizens, all thron'd elate,
And treading each a sovran destiny,
Shall count it yet their pride and best estate
To steadily for commonwealth co-operate.
21
Who'd be the bard of that triumphant time?
Who hath the pen of promise, and the skill,
To tell its periods in exultant rhyme?
For I am but a dreamer on a hill,
And fain withal fantastic hours to fill
With fancies running wild of thought, or gloat
Eerie on the rising Moon, until
Betimes I hear her dim, harmonic note —
Boding of forbidden things and themes remote.
22
But so a passing ship — a bugle call —
Did tempt me to essay a song of State
Beyond the range of my poor art, as all
You rank'd Olympians, that loom serrate
Against the azure upper air, are great
O'er this low hill. To them young Morning throws
His golden first largesse — there, lingering late,
Rose-mantled Eve her deep allegiance shows,
Glorious 'mid unconquer'd peaks and virgin snows.
1
P RONE on a grassy knoll where runs the sea
In from the North Pacific, deep and blue,
Whose tide-ript waters many a century
But parted for the painted war-canoe,
Till Juan de Fuca and his swarthy crew
Sail'd on a treasure cruise to regions cold,
Idle I dream'd a summer evening through,
Watching the ruddy Western Sun enfold
The snowy-peaked Olympians in transient gold.
2
Our air hath yet some tang of Spanish days,
Some glow of stories fading from the past
Of pioneers, and wreckt and curious strays
From distant lands along this coast up-cast,
Since brave Vancouver, from his eager mast,
Beheld the island of his lasting fame,
And, veering to its pleasant shore, made fast
To raise our flag in George's royal name,
While group'd around his brawny tars gave loud acclaim.
3
Across the rocky harbor-mouth still fall
Echoes to tell of England's easy crown,
And timely bugles from the barracks call
A challenge to the careless little town
That lies like a pretty maid in tatter'd gown
'Mid tangled gardens, tempting one to halt
Where gnarled oaks, with ivy overgrown,
Are all accord with her one charming fault —
So drowsy nigh the hidden guns of Esquimalt.
4
And nonchalant lay I that afternoon,
The air a scent of wild white-clover bore,
And I could hear the tumult and the tune
Of tumbling waves along the pebbled shore;
Such gipsy joys to me were ever more
Than chase of gold or fame; but yet withal
I felt the first fine tremor o'er and o'er
Of some vast traffic without interval
To traverse soon these waterways imperial.
5
Where now some tug-boat leaves a smoky trail
To pencil on the air a coiling blot
Athwart the lighthouse, or the infrequent sail
Of some slow lumber-bark, or vagrant yacht, —
Where glides some British cruiser, grimly wrought,
Beside the schooners from the Bering seas, —
To largely feed the crowded world methought
Here soon shall pass great annual argosies
Full-freighted with the yield of prairie granaries.
6
And musing thus upon that gentle mound,
Far down the reach of waters to the right
I saw an Empress liner inward bound,
Speeding thro' the Narrows, trim and white,
And every moment growing on my sight,
Like something clear unfolding in a dream;
Her very motion was a clean delight,
That woke the sapphire sea to curl and cream
Smoothly off her curving prow and snowy beam.
7
And easily as up the Straits she roll'd,
My fancy rambled over her to see,
Bulging richly 'gainst her steely hold,
Bales of flossy silk stow'd solidly
With matted rice and tons of fragrant tea;
Or else, her quainter cargo fain to scan,
Wee China toys in silver filagree,
And cunning ivories of old Japan,
Pack'd with iris-woven rugs from Ispahan.
8
All hail to her! the white forerunner sent
From out the lavish West to rouse the old
Lethargic portals of the Orient,
Till all its stolid habitants be told
Of quick new modes of life, and manifold
Swift engines of exchange, and how by these
To run their times within a finer mould,
And from the rut of Chinese centuries
To reach for wider joys and soother luxuries.
9
O sure it is no small thing to be said
That under us the East and West have met!
And our red route shall yet be perfected
Around the World, and our old flag shall yet
Much vantage o'er its younger rivals get,
Whether it wave from Windsor's kingly pile,
Or on the farthest verge of Empire set,
'Bove fearless towns, whose heart-strings all the while
Shall thrill to every chord from their old Mother-isle.
10
We feel the centre now, where'er we stand,
And touch community in everything,
Since Science, with her patient, subtle hand,
Hath snar'd the Globe as in a witch's ring,
And set all elements a-quivering
To our desire. What marvels more she'll show —
What new delights from Nature conjuring —
Small wit have I to guess, but this I know,
That more and more the scattered World as one must grow.
11
Then closer blend for empire — that is power:
No thing of worth e'er came of feebleness,
And union is the genius of the hour.
The virtues that by master-craft and stress
Wrought hugely on primeval palaces,
And 'stonish'd Egypt and great Babylon
With monuments of admirable excess,
Seem once again from out Oblivion drawn
To lighten o'er the Earth in unexampl'd dawn.
12
We front the threshold of a giant age,
Foremost still, but others follow fast;
We may not trust o'ermuch the written page,
Or measure with the measures of the past.
For all our millions, and our regions vast,
And arm'd array, in boastful numbers told,
To keep the treasures that our sires amass'd,
Hath need of statesmen lion-like to hold,
And still forestall the changing times alert and bold.
13
The impulse of a thousand centuries
Strikes upward now in our united race,
Not for a Roman triumph, but to ease
The intercourse of nations and to place
The social fabric on a happier base;
The very enginry of war abhorr'd,
So soon as may, is bended to erase
The stain and bloody ravage of the sword;
The vanquish'd now are all to equal right restor'd
14
But cry contempt upon that sickly creed
That would not fire a shot to save its own,
Whose piety perverse doth only feed
The hope of leaner nations, bolder grown,
To tread the path that we have hewn alone:
'Twas not for them we found that path so hard —
'Twas not for them the Earth so thick was sown
With British dead! Nay, rather let us guard
The barest rock that flies our flag at all hazard.
15
And e'en for the sake of rich and plenteous peace,
Let mastery in arms be honor'd still!
So only shall the fear of foemen cease.
For this is naked truth, say what they will,
That when a people lose the power to kill
They count for naught among the sons of men;
Nor tongue, nor pen, nor art, nor workmen's skill
Can save their homes from alien ravish then,
Or lift their fallen capitols to place again.
16
Then give us rifles — rifles everywhere —
Ready rifles, tipt with bayonets!
And men of iron to lead, who little care
For parlor tactics or for social sets;
Red captains worthy of their epaulets;
Not rich men's sons to make a passing show
Lace-loving fops or wooden martinets,
But clear-eyed stalwarts o'er the ranks, who know
How best to train a naval gun or trap a foe.
17
And tho' the burden and the fret of life
Still wear upon us with unequal weight,
We'll ne'er give way to fratricidal strife.
We are a people strong to tolerate,
Till form'd opinion tranquilly abate
Entrenched abuses of an earlier age,
Rather than, impatient, emulate
Those hapless nations that in sudden rage
Of revolution wreck their ancient heritage.
18
Our Saxon temper, that 'gainst Church and Crown,
And tyrant Castles of the feudal plan,
Made steady way until it wore them down,
And widen'd all their maxims till they ran
Current for the right of every man
Freely to change his state and circumstance,
Is verile yet unbrokenly to span
What gulf ahead, what unforeseen mischance,
Would threat the front of our magnificent advance.
19
And we have those whose dreams of betterment
Outrun their fleeting day; whose hearts' ideal
Beat evermore against discouragement,
In high endeavor not to cease till all
The bars to opportunity shall fall
Within the Union of the British bred;
Nor rest content until the mutual
Machinery of State be perfected,
So that no least of all our brethren go unfed.
20
I never saw Britannia carved in stone,
Or figured out in bronze, but loyally
I've thought what merit shall be all her own
In that great Brotherhood that's yet to be —
The crystal Empire of Futurity —
Whose equal citizens, all thron'd elate,
And treading each a sovran destiny,
Shall count it yet their pride and best estate
To steadily for commonwealth co-operate.
21
Who'd be the bard of that triumphant time?
Who hath the pen of promise, and the skill,
To tell its periods in exultant rhyme?
For I am but a dreamer on a hill,
And fain withal fantastic hours to fill
With fancies running wild of thought, or gloat
Eerie on the rising Moon, until
Betimes I hear her dim, harmonic note —
Boding of forbidden things and themes remote.
22
But so a passing ship — a bugle call —
Did tempt me to essay a song of State
Beyond the range of my poor art, as all
You rank'd Olympians, that loom serrate
Against the azure upper air, are great
O'er this low hill. To them young Morning throws
His golden first largesse — there, lingering late,
Rose-mantled Eve her deep allegiance shows,
Glorious 'mid unconquer'd peaks and virgin snows.
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