POETRY.
FREEDOM'S SLAVE.
SHAKE the poisoned dust of cities from your feet, Shun the vice, the masquerade, and the veneer, Where all-devouring envy sits at meat, And the wealthy greets the beggar with a sneer; Leave behind the sullen stillness of the Post,* The death-in-life that turns the heart to atone, Be yourself the guest, let Nature be your host, And seek for hope where cities are unknown!
Cinch the saddle to the cayuse till he squeals, Sling on the flour, the bacon, and the tea; Lift the halter, go and take what fortune deals, And breathe the magic air of liberty; Out, out, beyond the farthest track of man, Where his foot has not defiled the virgin sod, To the land that was before the race began, To the chosen amphitheatres of God!
Ab, to watch the ranges lifting through the haze The nameless river brawling by his bars ; To forget the names and numbers of the days, To sleep beneath the winking of the stars ; To see the moon reflected from the lake, The silent forest dreaming at its rim, The yellow light when dawn begins to break, And the glitter of the heavens growing dim!
The squirrel and the porcupine, the owl, The wolverine and beaver are your kin, And the echo of the dog-wolf's dismal howl Is your serenade when dusk is drawing in ; For the mountain-tops are canopied in mist, The forest-lakes are bluer than the sky, Nature's freeman, go and wander where you list, Taste the joy of living once before you die !
The gale that tears the balsam from his place, And whips the treble chatter of the streams, Will bear your weary spirit into space,
And lull you to the passage of your dreams ; And the breeze that shakes the aspen from her sleep, When the spangled veil of night is plucked away, Will waft it once again from out the deep, To the doing and the living of a day.
Are you hungered ? Go and seek the giant moose, Fall-fed and sleek become since summer's prime, Where he harbours in the gloomy belt of spruce, And his lordly flesh will serve you for the time ; Or choose among the fatted caribou, That score the glossy velvet from their tines ; Do you thirst P A river's headspring wells for you, Beneath the purple shadow of the pines.
When the ptarmigan are calling from the fells, And the zephyr whispers idly to the leaves, Their voices are the story Nature tells, The meshes of the trammel that she weaves ; For each sound will leave a record on the ear, And each sight will stamp an imprint on the brain, A treasure-hoard of memory to revere When you tread the artificial world again.
When your latest fire in camp has smouldered low, And your last march to the trading-post is done, Go and tell the shackled cities what you know Of the secrets of the limitless Unknown; Go and fill the old accustomed groove again, Listen blankly to the babble of the crowd, And perchance 'twill bring to mind the lost refrain Of the mountain-torrent calling you aloud.
Satin= Island, Britjsh Columbia.
LEONARD S. HIGGS.
• I.e., trading-poet.
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