And, gazing far

upon the dim sea-waste,

Which holds our joys, our tears, our loves of yore,
Wait till some treasure at our feet be cast
From the unsounded deeps of Nevermore.

DOMINION DAY.

JULY 1ST, 1867.

I.

OUR land is flushed with love; through the wealth of her gay-hued tresses

From his bright-red fingers the sun has been dropping his amorous fire,

And her eyes are gladly oppressed with the weight of his lip's caresses,

And the zephyr-throbs of her bosom keep time with the voice of his lyre.

II.

'Tis the moon of the sweet, strong summer, the King of the months of the year,

And the King of the year is crowning our Land with his glory of love,

And the King of all Kings, in whose crown each gem is the light of a sphere,

Looks smilingly down on our Land from the height of his heaven above.

III.

For to-day she breathes what to her is the first of a nation's breath,

As she lies 'neath the gaze of the sun, as a bride, or a child new-born

Lies with fair motionless limbs in the beautiful semblance

of death,

Yet awake with the joy of a bird that awakes with the whisper of morn.

IV.

And her soul is drinking the music that flows through the golden lyre,

From the deeps of the woods and waters and wonderful hearts of men,

From the long-hushed songs of the forest, the wild primeval choir,

Till she feels the breath of the spirit move over her face again.

PART VIII.

I.

The ocean has kissed her feet
With cool, soft lips that smile,
And his breath is wondrously sweet
With the odours of many an Isle.

II.

He has many a grand old song

Of his grand, old fearless Kings;
And the voice from his breast is strong,
As he sings and laughs as he sings.

III.

Though often his heart is sad

With the weight of the grey-haired days
That were once as light and as glad

As the soul of a child that plays.

IV.

But to-day at Canada's feet,

He smiles, as when Venus was born,
And the breath from his lips is as sweet
As the breath of wet flowers at morn.

IN MY HEART.

I.

In my heart are many chambers through which I wander free;

Some are furnished, some are empty, some are sombre, some are light;

Some are open to all comers, and of some I keep the key, And I enter in the stillness of the night.

II.

But there's one I never enter, it is closed to even me! Only once its door was opened, and it shut for ever

more;

And though sounds of many voices gather round it, like

a sea,

It is silent, ever silent, as the shore.

III.

In that chamber long ago, my love's casket was concealed, And the jewel that it sheltered I knew only one could

win;

And my soul foreboded sorrow, should that jewel be revealed,

And I almost hoped that none might enter in.

IV.

Yet day and night I lingered by that fatal chamber door, Till she came at last my darling one, of all the earth

my own;

And she entered—and she vanished with my jewel, which she wore;

And the door was closed-and I was left alone.

V.

She gave me back no jewel, but the spirit of her eyes Shone with tenderness a moment, as she closed that chamber door,

And the memory of that moment is all I have to prize

But that, at least, is mine for ever more.

VI.

Was she conscious, when she took it, that the jewel was my love?

Did she think it but a bauble, she might wear or toss aside?

I know not, I accuse not, but I hope that it may prove A blessing, though she spurn it in her pride.

PROFESSOR CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS

ROBERTS.

[Professor of English Literature at the University of King's College, Windsor, Nova Scotia. Born in New Brunswick.]

COLLECT FOR DOMINION DAY.

FATHER of nations! Help of the feeble hand!
Strength of the strong! to whom the nations kneel!
Stay and destroyer, at whose just command,
Earth's kingdoms tremble and her empires reel !
Who dost the low uplift, the small make great,
And dost abase the ignorantly proud,

Of our scant people mould a mighty state,

To the strong, stern,-to Thee in meekness bowed! Father of unity, make this people one!

Weld, interfuse them in the patriot's flame,-
Whose forging on their anvil was begun

In blood late shed to purge the common shame ;
That so our hearts, the fever of faction done,
Banish old feud in our young nation's name.

CANADA.

O CHILD of nations, giant-limbed,
Who stand'st among the nations now
Unheeded, unadored, unhymned,
With unanointed brow,-

How long the ignoble sloth, how long
The trust in greatness not thine own?
Surely the lion's brood is strong

To front the world alone!

How long the indolence, ere thou dare
Achieve thy destiny, seize thy fame-
Ere our proud eyes behold thee bear
A nation's franchise, nation's name?
The Saxon force, the Celtic fire,

These are thy manhood's heritage!
Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek higher
The place of race and age.

I see to every wind unfurled

The flag that bears the Maple Wreath;
Thy swift keels furrow round the world
Its blood-red folds beneath;

Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas;
Thy white sails swell with alien gales;
To stream on each remotest breeze
The black smoke of thy pipes exhales.

O Falterer, let thy past convince

Thy future, all the growth, the gain, The fame since Cartier knew thee, since Thy shores beheld Champlain !

Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm!

Quebec, thy storied citadel

Attest in burning song and psalm

How here thy heroes fell!