(William Henrv Drummond.
Sovereign of Joy and Prince of Tears: Entered Elysium April 6th. 1907.)
O lost Canadian Singer
of winsome lays,
How farest thou along the Elysian ways,—
Art thou companionless as we And sorrowing?
This April day we hear the caroling
Of songsters on the tree,
But no new note from thee To us shall come:
For lo! the time is genial Spring
When the Bird of Life begins to sing
His joyous matins and his praise
Of Earth growing lovelier with the April days,—
But thine own lips are dumb!
O gentle heart, we
wonder if thou farest happily
With Homer and the Attic strain,
With Milton and the Tragic train,
Or with those warblers of sweet poesy
Whose song is as the loveliest notes
That ever rose from bird like throats,—
Short, plaintive lays of kind humanity?
Howe'er thou farest, we
grieve this Apr11 day,
When Death called to thee and thou went'st away.
Yet if thou nearest our low lament,
Thou smilest, poet, and art content:—
No graven pillar, no frescoed coronal,
But thine own music, sweet and magical,
Shall be, as now, thy best memorial
And lasting monument.
O lost Canadian Singer,
Canadian hearts are true:
They hail the o'er the void:—"Bonne nuit, AdieuI"