Produced by Judith Wirawan, Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: _Reduced fac-simile of original of page 34._]
TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS WESLEY BUILDINGS. MONTREAL: C. W. COATES. HALIFAX: S. F. HUESTIS. 1897
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven, by THEODORE H. RAND, at the Department of Agriculture.
SHARER OF PERFECT SUMMER DAYS AT PARTRIDGE ISLAND BASIN OF MINAS
A body of beauty is mine. O poet, moulder of me, Withhold not the breath divine, The soul of truth that makes free.
Fair form in repose for a day (The body of beauty of me) With the pulse-beats of life all away, Is well, for beauty and thee.
Yet give to me life all aglow,-- Not a demon of darkness to blight, But a love-lit soul pure as snow,-- Beckon me an angel of light.
A body of beauty is mine. O poet, moulder of me, Inbreathe with breathings divine, Or body alone let it be.
Dian and Fundy.--(Designs for a Time-Piece) 134
About the buried feet of Blomidon, Red-breasted sphinx with crown of grey and green, The tides of Minas swirl,--their veilëd queen Fleet-oared from far by galleys of the sun. The tidal breeze blows its divinest gale! The blue air winks with life like beaded wine!-- Storied of Glooscap, of Evangeline-- Each to the setting sun this sea did sail. Opulent day has poured its living gold Till all the west is belt with crimson bars, Now darkness lights its silver moon and stars,-- The festal beauty of the world new-old. Facing the dawn, in vigil that ne'er sleeps, The sphinx the secret of the Basin keeps.
Swift changed to storm tones is the golden air, And shut the heavens with the descending veil Of cloud,--here warm and brown, there cold and pale, White-veined with sudden fire and red with glare. Now falls the twisted rain, like unbound hair, Dusking the wooded hills and mountain trail, Now, marshalled by the trumpets of the gale, Sweeps wide with level lances to their blare.
O rain cloud, minister of cooling dew To waiting harvests sheathed in mystery, Bearer of blessed balms for fevered ills! Thy rending veil breaks on the holiest blue, All quick and palpitant as angels see, And God's smile falls upon the breathing hills.