Wilfred S. Skeats

From afar, in the dead of night, By the moon's dim, uncertain light, To salute thee with loving rite,

'Tis Christmas day; the bells ring out The joyous tidings far and near, And children hail with gladsome shout

Dear little Ethel, Child that I love, Come, as an angel,

To Thee, whose cheering words have urged me on When fainting heart advised me to stay My halting pen, and leave my task undone:

A Response to "Courage," by Celia Thaxter. You have said that there is not a fear Or a doubt that oppresses your soul,

I know a maiden, scarce thirteen, A sweet and gentle maid, With dignified and graceful mien,

Silent yet fiercely the battle is raging; Blood is not flowing, but poison is spread; Freedom and slavery madly are waging

Canada, the time approaches, And is even now at hand, When thou must declare what ruler

CANTO THE FIRST. I. Ye shores of England, as ye fast recede

(In imitation of A. Lindsay Gordon.) Well, Douglas, I'm sorry you've got to be homing, Though I grant it's unwise to continue your roaming,

So you think you will be a Scotch lassie; The braw Hieland lad in a kilt Has taken your fancy, dear, has he?

When the path of my life Lay through trouble and strife, And temptation encompassed me round,

I. THE NEW RESOLVE. Last night, as I sat in my study,

You wrong me, Kate, you wrong me In harbouring the thought That he who loves so fondly