Two Rivers
[The Tantramar and the St. John]
Two rivers are there hold my heart
And neither would I leave.
When I would stay with one too long
The other tugs my sleeve.
For both are in my blood and bone
And will be till I die.
Along my veins their argument
Goes on incessantly.
The one, inconstant as the wind
And fickle as the foam,
Disturbs my soul with strange desires
And pricks my feet to roam.
The other, a strong and tranquil flood
With stars upon its breast,
Would win me back from wandering
And snare desire with rest.
To you, my moon-led Tantramar,
I turn, who taught my feet to range, —
You and the vagrant moon conspiring,
Twin arbiters of change, —
To you I turn, my Tantramar.
A wide-eyed boy I played beside
Your wastes of wind-swept green and chased
Your ever-changing tide.
I watched your floods come tumbling in
To fill your inland creeks remote,
Assail your prisoning dykes, and set
Your long marsh grass afloat.
I watched your venturing floods at full
Falter and halt, turn and retreat,
And race with laughter back to sea,
Mocking their own defeat.
Far up to Midgic's farms you flow
And there for a brief space rest your fill,
Then back past Sackville's studious halls
To Westcock on her hill.
Draining your vast red channels bare
To shine like copper in the sun
You tremble down the gleaming chasm
And whimper as you run;
But, soon repenting your dismay,
With challenging roar you surge again
To brim your dykes and reassume
Your lordship of the plain.
Across the estranging, changing years,
Blind puppet of my restless star,
In discontent content alone,
You urge and drive me, Tantramar.
To you I turn again, St. John,
Great river, constant tide, — return
With a full heart to you, beside
Whose green banks I was born.
A babe I left you, and a youth
Returned to you, ancestral stream,
Where sits my city, Fredericton,
A jewel in a dream.
Your broad tide sweeps her storied shores
Where loyalties and song were bred,
And that green hill where sleeps the dust
Of my beloved dead.
From many a distant source withdrawn
You drain your waters, — from the wash
Of Temiscouata's waves, and lone
Swamps of the Allegash, —
From many a far and nameless lake
Where rain-birds greet the showery noon
And dark moose pull the lily pads
Under an alien moon.
Full-fed from many a confluent stream
Your fortunate waters dream toward sea, —
And reach the barrier heights that hold
Your calm estates in fee.
In that strait gate you stand on guard
While Fundy's floods, without surcease,
In giant wrath assault in vain
The portals of your peace.
Outside, reared on that iron rock
Where first the Ships of Freedom came,
Sits the proud city, foam begirt,
That bears your name and fame, —
Saint John, rock-bound, rock-ribbed, secure,
To her stern birthright constant still,
She fronts the huge o'er mastering tides
And bends them to her will.
Dear and great River, when my feet
Have wearied of the endless quest,
Heavy with sleep I will come back
To your calm shores for rest.
Two rivers are there hold my heart
And neither would I leave.
When I would stay with one too long
The other tugs my sleeve.
For both are in my blood and bone
And will be till I die.
Along my veins their argument
Goes on incessantly.
The one, inconstant as the wind
And fickle as the foam,
Disturbs my soul with strange desires
And pricks my feet to roam.
The other, a strong and tranquil flood
With stars upon its breast,
Would win me back from wandering
And snare desire with rest.
To you, my moon-led Tantramar,
I turn, who taught my feet to range, —
You and the vagrant moon conspiring,
Twin arbiters of change, —
To you I turn, my Tantramar.
A wide-eyed boy I played beside
Your wastes of wind-swept green and chased
Your ever-changing tide.
I watched your floods come tumbling in
To fill your inland creeks remote,
Assail your prisoning dykes, and set
Your long marsh grass afloat.
I watched your venturing floods at full
Falter and halt, turn and retreat,
And race with laughter back to sea,
Mocking their own defeat.
Far up to Midgic's farms you flow
And there for a brief space rest your fill,
Then back past Sackville's studious halls
To Westcock on her hill.
Draining your vast red channels bare
To shine like copper in the sun
You tremble down the gleaming chasm
And whimper as you run;
But, soon repenting your dismay,
With challenging roar you surge again
To brim your dykes and reassume
Your lordship of the plain.
Across the estranging, changing years,
Blind puppet of my restless star,
In discontent content alone,
You urge and drive me, Tantramar.
To you I turn again, St. John,
Great river, constant tide, — return
With a full heart to you, beside
Whose green banks I was born.
A babe I left you, and a youth
Returned to you, ancestral stream,
Where sits my city, Fredericton,
A jewel in a dream.
Your broad tide sweeps her storied shores
Where loyalties and song were bred,
And that green hill where sleeps the dust
Of my beloved dead.
From many a distant source withdrawn
You drain your waters, — from the wash
Of Temiscouata's waves, and lone
Swamps of the Allegash, —
From many a far and nameless lake
Where rain-birds greet the showery noon
And dark moose pull the lily pads
Under an alien moon.
Full-fed from many a confluent stream
Your fortunate waters dream toward sea, —
And reach the barrier heights that hold
Your calm estates in fee.
In that strait gate you stand on guard
While Fundy's floods, without surcease,
In giant wrath assault in vain
The portals of your peace.
Outside, reared on that iron rock
Where first the Ships of Freedom came,
Sits the proud city, foam begirt,
That bears your name and fame, —
Saint John, rock-bound, rock-ribbed, secure,
To her stern birthright constant still,
She fronts the huge o'er mastering tides
And bends them to her will.
Dear and great River, when my feet
Have wearied of the endless quest,
Heavy with sleep I will come back
To your calm shores for rest.
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