Old Man Savarin Stories

Old Man Savarin Stories

William Thomson

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"Yes, indeed, my grandfather wass once in jail," said old Mrs. McTavish, of the county of Glengarry, in Ontario, Canada; "but that wass for debt, and he wass a ferry honest man whateffer, and he would not broke his promise—no, not for all the money in Canada. If you will listen to me, I will tell chust exactly the true story about that debt, to show you what an honest man my grandfather wass.

THE CANADIAN ABROAD

When the croon of a rapid is heard on the breeze,

With the scent of a pine-forest gloom,

Or the edge of the sky is of steeple-top trees,

Set in hazes of blueberry bloom,

Or a song-sparrow sudden from quietness trills

His delicate anthem to me,

Then my heart hurries home to the Ottawa hills,

Wherever I happen to be.

When the veils of a shining lake vista unfold,

Or the mist towers dim from a fall,

Or a woodland is blazing in crimson and gold,

Or a snow-shroud is covering all,

Or there's honking of geese in the darkening sky,

When the spring sets hepatica free,

Then my heart's winging north as they never can fly,

Wherever I happen to be.

When the swallows slant curves of bewildering joy

As the cool of the twilight descends,

And rosy-cheek maiden and hazel-hue boy

Listen grave while the Angelus ends

In a tremulous flow from the bell of a shrine,

Then a faraway mountain I see,

And my soul is in Canada's evening shine,

Wherever my body may be.

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