



Produced by Al Haines










  INDIAN AND
  OTHER TALES




By M. L. HOPE




Toronto

William Briggs

1911




Copyright, Canada, 1911,

By M. L. Hope.




{5}

  INDIAN AND OTHER TALES


    O beautiful wind of the West,
  In your wand'rings o'er land and sea,
    What have you seen in your quest?
  Come, tell your story to me.

    In the isles of the southern seas,
  Where the crystal-clear ocean a melody sang
    To the beautiful kauri trees,
  I wandered the summer day through,
    In the forest's dappled shade,
  Where the graceful fern-tree bowed its head
    To woo the Maori maid.
  A nymph of the woods was she
    In her kiwi mantle brown;
  And the fern-tree wooed her with tender grace
    From dawn till the sun went down;
  But a Maori chieftain came
    In the glory of life's young morn,
  And the maiden forsook her mystic love,
    Leaving it sad and forlorn.
  But the tui-bird saw its grief,
    And in loving sympathy
  Built her beautiful, woven nest
    In the heart of the lonely tree.

{6}

    And when its liquid notes echoed the woodland through,
  The fern-tree lifted its drooping head
    And was fresh as the morning dew;
  So I left them in their joy--the youth and his fairy bride,
    The tree with its nest of callow birds--
  And I crossed the ocean tide.

  In the early morn I came to a land where the orchards were white
  With their wealth of apple blossoms, and bathed in the spring sunlight;
  There I found a winding road with banks where the wild-flowers grew,
  And through a vista of blossoming trees the sea came into view,
  As it sparkled in the sun and kissed the golden shore,
  Then laughed aloud in its mirth and ran back to the sea once more.

  And again I wandered on, until in the twilight dim
  I came where the scent of the wattle seemed the incense to Nature's hymn,
    For a brooding peace lay o'er land and sea
    As I sank to rest in a blue gum-tree,
  And when I awoke in the dawn, the dew lay on vineyards green,

{7}

  Where they nestled in valleys of red-hued loam;
  And a river whose fount was a cascade clear,
  Which burst from the brow of a mountain near,
  Wended its way through the verdant land,
  Till it reached at last the ocean strand,
  Where it lost itself in the waters deep,
  And only the mermaids saw it leap
  With joy, as it reached the Garden of Sleep.

  And still I wandered on until I came to tropical seas,
  Where the odors of spices were wafted afar by every passing breeze;
  And in the pearly light of the coming day
  I saw the feathery bamboo groves, where the elephant loves to stray;
  I heard his mighty trump, as he waked from his dream,
  And the sound of women's voices as they wended their way to the stream;
  A laughing, chattering throng, they passed me on their way
  To bathe in the limpid waters, ere the sun held his sovereign sway.
  I followed a Purple Emperor to the cinnamon gardens near,
  Then chased a laughing rickshaw boy, and whispered in his ear;
  What the secret was I may not tell,
  But the rickshaw boy seemed to know it well.

{8}

  Then I left behind me this island fair,
  With its wondrous charm and fragrant air,
  And ere night had fallen had crossed the sea,
  And come to the land of the banyan tree,
  Where nature is wrapped in mystery deep,
  And the gods in the cups of the Lotus-flower sleep;
  And even my spirit felt its spell,
  For I scarcely breathed as the twilight fell;
  And when o'er the palm-trees and temples fair
  The crescent moon hung in the evening air,
  And from shadowy doorways and wayside shrines near
  The chant of the Koran fell on my ear;
  Still more did its mystery my spirit fill,
  For I felt that I only could breathe and be still.

  And so on to the Isles of the West I roam,
  Which the hearts of the exiles ever call home;
  And I think that the primrose and hare-bells blue
  Are emblems of hearts that are ever true,
  And the shamrock doth also with elfin grace
  Claim for itself in my heart a place;
  So I whisper them each that no fairer land
  Have I found in my wanderings from strand to strand;
  They each have their charm and magic spell,
  And loving hearts in each one doth dwell.

  ----------

{9}

  It was night and the tired villagers were wrapped in sleep;
  Only within her lonely hut did a mother her vigil keep.
  All day she had toiled and labored, carrying bricks and stone,
  While her child lay sick with fever, and uttered his weary moan.
  Oft she had paused in her work, and in soft, caressing tone
  Had soothed his plaintive crying, then gone back to her work alone,
  And now, though tired and weary, and heavy her eyes with sleep,
  She sat and nursed her baby with a mother love true and deep;
  And when with a last little cry he turned in her arms and was still,
  She knew that no more would his baby love the place in her
        hard life fill.
  She was only a coolie mother, but her heart was heavy with pain,
  For she knew that she never would clasp her child in her
        lonely arms again.
  What had mattered the daily toil in the heat of the burning sun,
  When she knew that she had her little one to caress when
        the day was done?
  To you he was only a coolie child with his baby limbs dimpled and bare,
  But now he is one of those favored ones who are safe