Author: Mrs. Humphry Ward
Cites
- NULL (1)
- IN: Canadian Born (1910) Fiction, British
EPIGRAPH: I can see the farmers seeding
By the brown Assiniboine,
And a turnin' prairie gumbo
Into heaps of shining coin.
In the foothills of the Rockies
I can see the steers at rest,
And that's why in old Toronto
I'm a-pinin' for the West.
Where the sparkling sunbeams glance
All across the wide expanse
And the ozone in the breezes
Makes your pulse throb and dance.
On the road to Rupert's Land
Are the boys that understand.
For in spring their feet are turning
To that free and fertile land.
I can see the smacks a-fishing
On Lake Winnipeg so wide,
And the lumber steamers loading
By the humming sawmill's side.
I can see the silent redmen
As they row the livelong day
In the big fur-laden York boats
On the road to Hudson Bay.
And the lonely miners stand
To wash out the golden sand
And the summer throw her lilies
Like a garment o'er the land.
On the road to Rupert's Land
Are the girls that understand,
For when nations are a-building
You will find them close at hand.
Put me somewhere west of Selkirk
When the prairie roses bloom,
Where you run clean out o' fences.
And a man has elbow room.
Let me ride upon the pilot
When the first through train goes out,
Let me hear the settlers welcome it
With joyous ringing shout.
Let me be upon the prairie
When they start a baby town,
When they're living under canvas
While the first mud-sills go down ;
For it rarely stirs the bloos
To see the cities in the bud
And to feel a nation growing
From that sticky prairie mud.
On the road to Rupert's Land
You will find a mighty band,
For they're going West by thousands
Now they've come to understand.
FROM: NULL, (None), Poem, NULL
- William Wordsworth (1)
- IN: The Case of Richard Meynell (1911) Fiction, British
EPIGRAPH: Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear
The longest date do melt like frosty rime,
That in the morning whitened hill and plain
And is no more; drop like the tower sublime
Of yesterday, which royally did wear
His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain
Some casual shout that broke the silent air,
Or the unimaginable touch of Time.
FROM: Mutability, (1822), Poem, NULL