Wayside Weeds

Of happy hours
’Mid dewy flowers;
The hum of bees; the silvery gleams
Of leaping trout in amber streams.

Soon as the snows of winter yield
To April sun and April floods,
Retiring from the open field
To strongholds in the thickest woods,
Then like a scout,
Dost thou peep out,
And cheerily lift up thy head
To tell the flowers the foe has fled.

O thou that comest our hearts to cheer,
The first of all the flowers of spring,
Brave herald of the opening year,
Accept the tribute that I bring,
When now once more,
The winter o’er,
Thy honest face has greeted us,
O Symplocarpus fœtidus![2 - The fickle botanists have changed the generic name of the Skunk Cabbage to Spathyema. For reasons which will be obvious to the intelligent reader, the author prefers to retain the older designation.]

    1904.

The Wanderer’s Song

We have left far behind us the dwellings of men,
We have traversed the forest, the lake and the fen,
From island to island like sea birds we roam,
The waves are our path, and the world is our home.
Juvallera, Juvallera, Juvallera, lera, lera!
Juvallera, Juvallera, Juvallera, lera, lera!

On the lone rugged rocks a rich table we spread,
The balsam and hemlock afford us a bed;
While the gleam of our camp fire illumines the sky,
And the murmuring pines sing a soft lullaby.
Juvallera, etc.

When the orient hues of the dawning of day
Emblazon the clouds and smile back from the bay,
We spring from our couch like the stag from his lair,
And drink in new life with the free morning air.
Juvallera, etc.

Then we launch our light bark on the silvery lake,
That dimples and breaks into smiles in our wake;
While we sweeten our toil with a tale or a song,
Or rest while the winds waft us bravely along.
Juvallera, etc.
At night when the deer to the thicket has fled,
And the scream of the night hawk is heard overhead,
We startle with laughter the wilderness dim,
Or the forests resound with our evening hymn.
Juvallera, etc.

Then Hurrah for the north, with its woods and its hills;
Hurrah for its rocks, and its lakes and its rills!
And long may its forests be lovely as now,
Untouched by the axe, and unscathed by the plow!
Juvallera, etc.

    1870.

The Cowdung Fly

Of all the flies that ever I see
The Cowdung Fly is the fly for me
In cloud or shine, in wet or dry
You can’t find the beat of the Cowdung Fly!
So early in the morning or when the sun is sinking,
So early in the morning or any time of day.

The salmon fly shines in purple and gold
Brighter than Solomon shone of old
But give me the finest that money can buy
And I’ll give it you back for the Cowdung Fly!
So early, &c.

A cute little chap is the silver trout
When the wind is still and the sun shines out!
No maiden so coy and no widow so sly
But he’ll jump like a shot at the Cowdung Fly!
So early, &c.

A tough old cuss is the big black bass
It’s a mighty hard job to bring him to grass
But it makes no odds how hard he may try
He can’t resist the Cowdung Fly!
So early, &c.

There’s many a fly of old renown
Green Drake, Red Spinner and little March Brown,
Coachman, Professor, but Oh my eye!
They ain’t a patch on the Cowdung Fly!
So early, &c.
There are Hackles black and Hackles white
Good by day and good by night
Hackles brown and Hackles red