Wilfred Skeats

From afar, in the dead of night,
By the moon's dim, uncertain light,
To salute thee with loving rite,
    I come, sweetheart, I come.

Oh! refuse not to hear my lay;
From the depths of my soul I pray.
Let my accents my love betray
    To thee, sweetheart, to thee.

As I sing in the shade below,
As the words of my greeting flow,
I am thrilled with the fervent glow
    Of love, sweetheart, of love.

I have come from the silent moor,
In the still of the midnight hour;
I have come by my passion's power
    For thee, sweetheart, for thee.

Then awake from thy slumbers light;
Ere he speed on his homeward flight,
Bid thy lover a last good-night.
    Good-night, sweetheart, good-night!

'Tis Christmas day; the bells ring out
The joyous tidings far and near,
And children hail with gladsome shout
The merry sound of Christmas cheer.

'Tis Christmas day, the children's day,
When He was born a little child,
To take Creation's sin away,
And purify the Truth defiled.

He taught the world to walk by faith,
And, lest their feet should go astray,
He trod Himself the faithful path,
And showed His followers the way.

He taught a Hope to all oppressed
By Sorrow's weight or Sin's remorse;
Himself the contrite sinner blessed,
To give His words a greater force.

Oh! ye who tread in Trial's way,
Nor scarce can murmuring resist,
Remember, on His natal day,
The faithful suffering of Christ.

And ye, whose thoughts in...

Dear little Ethel,
    Child that I love,
Come, as an angel,
    Down from above.

Golden-rayed tresses,
    Shining and bright,
Inviting caresses,
    Mirroring light.

Eyes blue and tender,
    Beaming with joy.
Who would offend her?
    Who would annoy?

Ripple thy laughter!
    Bubble thy glee!
Loud will the rafter
    Echo to thee.

Clinging to mother,
    Set on her knee;
She has no other
    Dearer than thee.

Slave thou hast bound her;
    Nestles thine arm,
Twining around her,
    Telling thy charm.

Innocent speeches
    Silencing strife;
Hallowed each is:
    Pearls of a life.

Come, come and kiss me,
    Child of my heart.
Oh! I would miss thee<...

To Thee, whose cheering words have urged me on
When fainting heart advised me to stay
My halting pen, and leave my task undone:
To Thee, I humbly dedicate this lay.
Strong, womanly heart! whose long-enduring pain
Has not sufficed to rend thy faith in twain,
But rather teaches thee to sympathise
With those whose path through pain and darkness lies
Thyself forgetting, if but thou canst be
Of aid to others in adversity;
The helpful word, the approbative smile
From thee have ever greeted me, the while
None other cheered. Then let this tribute be
A token of my gratitude to Thee.

A Response to "Courage," by Celia Thaxter.


You have said that there is not a fear
Or a doubt that oppresses your soul,
    That your faith is so strong
    That it bears you along,
Ever holding you in its control.

'Tis a comfort to know there is one
Whose allegiance cannot be denied,
    But I fain would enquire,
    (For your faith is far high'r
Than is mine): Have you ever been tried?

Have you sought to aspire to a life
Higher far than the one that is past?
    Have you laboured through years,
    By your hopes crushing fears,
But to meet disappointment at last?

Have the friends who should love you the best,
In your absence forgotten that love,
    And refused to impart
    To your grief-stricken heart

I know a maiden, scarce thirteen,
    A sweet and gentle maid,
With dignified and graceful mien,
    And manner calm and staid.
            But I've seen her, when none but her parents are nigh,
            When her spirits are flowing exuberantly,
            With her feet tossing high, while her arms in accordance,
            Are wildly upraised in the Fling or the Sword-dance.

I know a maid whose hazel eye
    Outshines the light gazelle's,
And hid beneath its brilliancy,
    A pensive shadow dwells.
            But I've seen it illumed with a mischievous light,
            Which the sparkles displayed in the meteor's flight
            Cannot meet, as her laughter reverberates round,
            And merrily echo responds to the sound.

I know a...

Silent yet fiercely the battle is raging;
    Blood is not flowing, but poison is spread;
Freedom and slavery madly are waging
    A war that will last till its cause shall be dead.

Canada, thine is the field of the battle,
    Nor would the conflict be long or severe,
Were not thy statesmen, "like dumb, driven cattle,"
    Led by emolument, daunted by fear.

Slowly advances the Jesuit faction,
    Crafty and subtle the means they employ.
Protestants fight, but uncertain their action--
    Party dissensions their power destroy.

Love of their country still loudly professing,
    On to the conflict divided they go.
Firmest allegiance to Britain confessing,
    Still disunited they fight with her foe.

Canada, these are the men...

Canada, the time approaches,
    And is even now at hand,
When thou must declare what ruler
    Thine allegiance shall command.

In thy midst there creeps a Serpent--
    Deadliest of all thy foes--
Gliding in among thy councils,
    Spreading venom where she goes.

Like the fatal boa-constrictor
    Charming those who soon must die,
She can so transfix her victim
    By the glitter of her eye,

That the greatest of thy statesmen
    Dares not question her decree,
But in meek humiliation
    Bows to her, abjuring thee.

Rise, Canadians! and boldly
    Thrust the Serpent from your land;
And should any strive to help her,
    Crush them with your martial hand.

Rise unanimous, and fear not
    In your country's c...

(In imitation of A. Lindsay Gordon.)


Well, Douglas, I'm sorry you've got to be homing,
Though I grant it's unwise to continue your roaming,
But the evening's to spare ere you drop me astern,
So come up to my room and indulge in a yarn.

Here's tobacco in plenty--"Gold Flake," very good;
No "Birdseye," or "Honeydew," that's understood.
But this isn't bad, though a stranger to you--
(Here is Dick: Bring up ginger and whiskey for two).

And now take a seat, there are two, as you see,
The red rocker for you and the other for me.
Don't demur, for no guests will arrive, I am sure;
If they do, why there's room on the bed or the floor.

So you're going to England again. Well, your visit
Has nigh made me homesick--no miracle, is it?
I was b...

So you think you will be a Scotch lassie;
    The braw Hieland lad in a kilt
Has taken your fancy, dear, has he?
    And you, too, would be clad in a "tilt."

Well, not one will gainsay you nor blame you,
    For your wishes are ever fulfilt;
And how proudly your father will claim you,
    When arrayed in a tartan and "tilt"!

And your mother will certainly further
    The hopes that her Ethel has built;
You have only to ask to ensure their
    Fulfilment concerning the "tilt."

And I--(Oh! I know I don't count, dear,
    And for speaking acknowledge my guilt,
For my wishes to nothing amount, dear,)
    I would rather you hadn't a "tilt."

For although thou wilt take us by storm, dear,
    Looking sweet, as thou certainly wilt,
Ye...

When the path of my life
Lay through trouble and strife,
    And temptation encompassed me round,
As a light in the shade
Thou wast sent to mine aid;
    And a harbour of refuge was found.

I beheld in thine eye,
As a beam from on high,
    The ray of compassion revealed;
And I turned in relief
From the Valley of Grief;
    I turned to be strengthened and healed.

In the words that you breathed
All my sorrow was sheathed,
    And peace, like a dove, settled down.
And the calm of your presence,
Like mercy's pure essence,
    Recaptured the faith that had flown.

Since then, if perplexed,
If harassed or vexed,
    If tempted, afflicted or tried,
I have sought thee to cheer,
Thou hast ever been near
    To comfort...

I.

THE NEW RESOLVE.

Last night, as I sat in my study,
    And thought o'er my lonely life,
I was seized with a passionate longing
    To escape from the weary strife;

To flee far away from my fellows,
    And far from the city's roar,
And seek on the boundless prairie
    A balm for my burning sore--

The sore of the weary spirit,
    The burn of the aching heart
Of him who has known true friendship--
    Has known it--but only to part.

And I said in that hour of anguish:
    "I will fly from the haunts of men,
And seek, in the bosom of Nature,
    Relief from my ceaseless pain."

As lonely I sat, and thus pondered,
    A voice seemed to speak in my ear;
And the sound of that voice was like music,
    ...

You wrong me, Kate, you wrong me
    In harbouring the thought
That he who loves so fondly
    Would injure thee in aught.
The pang that I must feel, Kate,
    When dark suspicion lurks
Within thy breast, is real, Kate,
    And mischievously works.

The tone with doubt inflected,
    The calm, reproachful look,
The name of one suspected
    In light arraignment spoke;
These, these enforce the heart-ache,
    And instigate the strife,
And these, in chiefest part, take
    The joy from out my life.

For bright within my soul, dear,
    On Love's unsullied throne,
With absolute control, dear,
    Thou reignest Queen alone.
With reverence I chose thee,
    With pride I placed thee there;
And none did e'er oppose thee,
 ...