Blacker and loftier grow the woods, and hark! The freshening roar! The chute is near us now, And dim the canyon grows, and inky dark The water whispering from the birchen prow. One long last look, and many a sad adieu, While eyes can see and heart can feel you yet, I leave sweet home and sweeter hearts to you, A prayer for Picaud, one for pale Lisette, A kiss for Pierre, my little Jacques, and thee, A sigh for Jeanne, a sob for Verginie. Oh, does she still remember? Is the dream Now dead, or has she found another mate? So near, so dear; and ah, so swift the stream; Even now perhaps it were not yet too late. But oh, what matter; for before the night Has reached its middle, we have far to go: Bend to your paddles, comrades; see, the light Ebbs off apace; we must not linger so. Aye thus it is! Heaven gleams and then is gone Once, twice, it smiles, and still we wander on. NEW YEAR'S EVE. Once on the year's last eve in my mind's might Sitting in dreams, not sad, nor quite elysian, Balancing all 'twixt wonder and derision, Methought my body and all this world took flight, And vanished from me, as a dream, outright; Leaning out thus in sudden strange decision, I saw as it were in the flashing of a vision, Far down between the tall towers of the night, Borne by great winds in awful unison, The teeming masses of mankind sweep by, Even as a glittering river with deep sound And innumerable banners, rolling on Over the starry border glooms that bound The last gray space in dim eternity. And all that strange unearthly multitude Seemed twisted in vast seething companies, That evermore with hoarse and terrible cries And desperate encounter at mad feud Plunged onward, each in its implacable mood Borne down over the trampled blazonries Of other faiths and other phantasies, Each following furiously, and each pursued; So sped they on with tumult vast and grim, But ever meseemed beyond them I could see White-haloed groups that sought perpetually The figure of one crowned and sacrificed; And faint, far forward, floating tall and dim, The banner of our Lord and Master, Christ. UNREST. All day upon the garden bright The sun shines strong, But in my heart there is no light, Or any song. Voices of merry life go by, Adown the street; But I am weary of the cry And drift of feet. With all dear things that ought to please The hours are blessed, And yet my soul is ill at ease, And cannot rest. Strange spirit, leave me not too long, Nor stint to give, For if my soul have no sweet song, It cannot live. SONG.