To saw the timber, thresh the grain
  And even haul the loaded train
  By energy electrical
  As though some wizard wove a spell.

  Such small beginnings mark this stream,
  It almost seems to be a dream
  That carries me in mind away
  Along its course to Hudson's Bay.

  Far down the other branch we roam
  By smiling lakes, and watch the foam
  Of rapid streams that flow between
  Fair orchard lands and meadows green.

  The silv'ry salmon leaps the falls;
  And everywhere insistent calls
  Arise from forest, stream and hill,
  To charm the sense or test the skill.

  Oft times by restlessness oppressed,
  I long to see that lonely crest;
  And once again to dream beside
  The arch, that's lettered "Great Divide."

[*]A watershed of the Rockies—a stream passing beneath an arch on the summit is divided, one part being directed eastward and the other westward.

Above the Clouds

  On the shores of a sea of mist
    I chanced to roam,
  Where sunlit the surface gleamed
    Whiter than foam.

  But the voice of the restless main
    Was absent there,
  For the billows that rolled along
    Were waves of air;

  And the isles of that silent sea
    Were mountain peaks
  That, far from the haunts of man,
    The wild goat seeks.

  O, that day above the clouds
    Was bright and fair!
  With pines and the sparkling snow
    Unsullied there;

  But, a thousand fathoms down
    A city street
  Was shrouded in sunless gloom
    Where shadows meet;

  It knew not the fairer day
    And matchless view;
  That snowfields gleamed above
    And skies were blue:

  That the clouds which gloomed below
    Were seas of light
  From another point of view
    At greater height.

Winter Sunset in the Cascade Range

  Picture a world of snowfields
  Aglow in the sunset light,
  Great fir trees snow-flake laden
  And broken clouds piled white;
  While bathed in a silver sheen
  The pines on a crest are seen.

  Would I could frame the language
  Worthy those sunset tints,
  Hued from saffron to coral,
  Aflame where the sunlight glints;
  And the clear steel blue of the sky
  Where the clouds had drifted by.

  The daylight slowly faded.
  Weakly mere words convey
  The ivory white of snowflakes,
  Decking the hills that day;
  And the softening yellow tone
  That fell from the sun god's throne.

  Far beyond wooded ridges
  Lit with a twilight ray,
  Sentinel like in the cloudland
  A nameless peak held sway;
  Keeping a silent guard
  O'er valleys by cloud wreaths barred.

  'Twas crowned with flaming colours
  Of sunset's fleeting hour;
  Giving its best expression
  To nature's lavish dower
  E're the ebbing tide of day
  Should fade from the world away.

  Then light melted softly to shadow
  And the blue of the sky turned grey,
  While a veil of deepening twilight
  Warned us to haste away,
  For the winter nights are bleak
  In the wilds by that lonely peak.

[*]Beside the Ocstall

  I mused one day beside the Ocstall River
  Where trailing mists went drifting softly by;
  And waterfalls in thunderous voices calling,
  Their vaporous breath raised to a burdened sky.

  What mystic spell? what strange compelling passion
  Did hold the sons of Britain toiling there?
  What charm was there in that great lonely region
  Enticing them from distant lands, more fair?

  Fantastic cloud wreaths draped a sea of mountains:
  Forest and muskeg in the vales held sway;
  To win a fortune from those wild surroundings
  Men came, then could not from them break away.

  They tried the lands where everlasting sunshine
  Caressed lush fruits and kissed the waves at play;
  But no place gripped them like this western outpost
  Where men with large ambitions hewed their way.

  It was the challenge to the daring spirit
  Of vast resources in their native state.
  It was the lure of gold, romance of action,
  The chances of success where stakes were great.

[*]Ocstall River—a tributary of the Skeena near its mouth.

Jansen's Curse

  'Twas out upon a gold stampede,
  And Jan had always planned to lead.
  The man who has the greatest might,
  He surely must be in the right,
  Was part of Jansen's creed;
  For very skookum[1] was this man,
  Built on a most ambitious plan;
  But with a domineering trait,
  Would have his own, no other way;
  And often had been heard to say:
  "I'll be no 'also ran.'"
  The river trip he hoped to make
  With an old-timer nicknamed Jake,
  Who'd hired a canoe;
  And with a bunch of sourdoughs[2]
  Intended, e're the river rose
  In flood, to push on through.
  This man soon got himself disliked
  As up the rapid stream they piked
  And oft by rapids lined.
  His overbearing ways were met
  With keen expressions of regret
  He'd not been left behind.
  At length the crew a village saw
  Of Indians who had a store
  In goods where Jan did trade.
  The others knew their chance at last
  They could not get away too fast
  When off ashore he'd strayed.
  They threw his pack out on the bank,
  Their late companion's health they drank
  With hopes they'd never meet;
  But Jan, their move when he realized,
  Came hurrying greatly surprised,
  And flushed with angry heat.
  Some most profane remarks he made
  And said that he was not afraid
  To thrash the blooming crew,
  Their ancestors were not forgot,
  He hoped old Nick would make it hot
  For any that he knew.
  One parting curse did Jan call down,
  He hoped they all would surely drown
  Before they reached their goal;
  The waters be their winding sheet,
  That Hell would raise a double heat
  To welcome every soul.
  Then taking up his pack he set
  His face towards the trail that yet
  Along the river ran.
  But soon the blazes were no more,
  His path was barred by creeks, a score,
  Which now no bridges span.
  He felled the towering cottonwood,
  That graceful by the river stood,
  To bridge each torrent wide.
  But longest spans were swept away,
  By the wild waters in their play
  At the last creek he tried.
  So plunging in the torrent wild
  Which swept him helpless as a child,
  He braved its swollen tide.