



Produced by Al Haines










[Illustration: Cover]





The White Canoe

And other Verse



BY ALAN SULLIVAN




TORONTO:

THE J. E. BRYANT CO. (LTD.)

1891.




  The White Canoe
  And other Verse.




  The White Canoe.

  There's a whisper of life in the grey dead trees,
    And a murmuring wash on the shore,
  And a breath of the South in the loitering breeze,
    To tell that a winter is o'er.
  While free, at last, from its fetters of ice
    The river is clear and blue,
  And cries with a tremulous quivering voice
    For the launch of the White Canoe.

  Oh, gently the ripples will kiss her side,
    And tenderly bear her on;
  For she is the wandering phantom bride
    Of the river she rests upon;
  She is loved with a love that cannot forget,
    A passion so strong and true,
  That never a billow has risen yet
    To peril the White Canoe.

  So come when the moon is enthroned in the sky,
    And the echoes are sweet and low,
  And Nature is full of the mystery
    That none but her children know;
  Come, taste of the rest that the weary crave,
    But is only revealed to a few:
  When there's trouble on shore, there's peace on the wave,
    Afloat in the White Canoe.




  A Vision.

  To-night, sweetheart, when all about me lay
    In shadow deep the wood,
  I felt my soul within me reel and sway
    And pulse my sluggish blood,
  As when along a quiet land-locked bay
    Swells some resistless flood.

  My spirit leapt from out its earthly prison,
    Higher and ever higher,
  Until it reached those barriers Elysian
    Where the eternal fire
  Creates one great impassable division
    Twixt us and our desire.

  Up, till it left the regions of the night,
    Of sorrow and of fear,
  Emerging into that soft mellow light,
    That radiance pure and clear,
  Where Love reigns all supreme, and all is bright
    If only Love be near.

  There through sweet meadows, on by brimming streams,
    Wandered my soul at will,
  And saw such forms as haunt our loveliest dreams
    And, waking, haunt us still;
  Voices like music, smiles like sunny beams
    Lost in a rippling rill.

  But ah! my soul saw one supremely fair,
    One form the most divine,
  One face enhaloed all with golden hair,
    In beauty most benign,
  Surpassing all the perfect beauty there:
    Heart of my heart, 'twas thine!

  My soul went forth, but all grew strange and dim--
    Meadow and stream were gone--
  I heard a sound as of a far-off hymn
    By night winds softly blown;
  Then all around me seemed to sink and swim,
    And I am here alone.




  A Question.

  Pale Moon, whose tranquil orb resplendent sails
    The ethereal main; thy curved prow
  For ever braving the celestial gales,
          Serene and slow:

  Myriads of Stars, that ever dot the blue
    Great vault of heaven: eyes that keep
  Eternal watch, unshaken, strong, and true,
          Yet never sleep:

  Ye southern Zephyrs, redolent with balm
    Of myrtle, orange, and the rose;
  Blowing from islands where the fronded palm
          In beauty grows:

  Wind of the North, whose trumpet voice can shake
    The shuddering echoes of the cave;
  Storm-born, blast-driven; thou, whose breath doth make
          The mighty wave:

  Perpetual Fire, whose never-dying flame
    Consumes the glowing heart of earth,
  Until a wide destruction shall proclaim
          A second birth:

  Tell me, oh! mighty concourse, have ye seen
    In all this great infinity
  Of worlds unborn and planets that have been,
          A place for me?




  Confession, Creed, and Prayer.

  Silent around me a cathedral dim,
  Still throbbing with the echoes of a hymn,
  Lifted its ghostly arches, great and grim;

  Slowly the worshippers had filed away;
  Untenanted the vacant cloisters lay;
  As even followed on the steps of day;

  But one remained, who bent his reverent head
  Where graven figures slumber with the dead,
  And spake with faltering accents, and he said:

  "Light, light, more light; Great Father, give me light;
  I cannot see my way, so dark the night;
  My finite heart shrinks from the infinite.

  "Anon the shadow lifts: my straining eyes
  One moment see that which before me lies;
  This fades,