Full Online Books
Authors Authors Short Stories Short Stories Long Stories Long Stories Funny Stories Funny Stories Love Stories Love Stories Stories For Kids Stories For Kids Poems Poems Essays Essays Nonfictions Nonfictions Plays Plays Folktales Folktales Fairy Tales Fairy Tales Fables Fables Learning Kitchen Learning Kitchen
Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional Free Classified Website Without Registration Free Classified Website Daniel Company
Twitter Twitter Add book
Full Online Book HomePoemsPilot
Famous Authors (View All Authors)
Pilot Post by :gerhard Category :Poems Author :Arthur Weir Date :October 2011 Read :1442

Click below to download : Pilot (Format : PDF)


Merry Carlo, who runn'st at my heels
Through the dense-crowded streets of the city,
In and out among hurrying wheels,
And whose run in the suburbs reveals
Only scenes that are peaceful and pretty.

Raise to mine your intelligent face,
Open wide your great brown eyes in wonder
While I tell how lived one of your race
Years ago in this now busy place--
Ay, and ran at the heels of its founder.

Mistress Pilot, for that was her name,
And you could not have called her a better,
Was a gallant and dutiful dame--
Since her breed is forgotten by Fame,
For your sake I will call her a setter.

Pilot lived when Ville Marie was young,
And the needs of its people were sorest;
When the rifle unceasing gave tongue,
And the savage lay hidden among
The Cimmerian shades of the forest;

When the hearts of frail women were steeled
Not to weep for the dead and the dying;
When by night the fierce battle-cry pealed
And by day all who worked in the field
Kept their weapons in readiness lying;

When full oft at the nunnery gate,
As the darkness fell over the village,
Would a swart savage crouch and await,
With the patience of devilish hate,
A chance to kill women, and pillage.

Every one had his duty to do,
And our Pilot had hers like another,
Which she did like a heroine true,
At the head of a juvenile crew
Of the same stalwart stuff as their mother.

In a body these keen-scented spies
Used to roam through the forests and meadows,
And protect Ville Marie from surprise,
Though its foes clustered round it like flies
In a swamp, or like evening shadows.

Oftentimes in the heat of the day,
Oftentimes through the mists of the morning,
Oftentimes to the sun's dying ray
There was heard her reechoing bay
Pealing forth its brave challenge and warning.

And so nobly she labored and well,
It was fancied--so runneth the story--
She had come down from heaven to dwell
Upon earth, and make war upon hell,
For the welfare of man and God's glory.

"When her day's work was over, what then?"
Well, my boy, she had one of your habits;
She would roam through the forest again,
But instead of bold hunting for men,
Would amuse herself hunting jack rabbits.

(The end)
Arthur Weir's poem: Pilot

If you like this book please share to your friends :

The Secret Of The Saguenay The Secret Of The Saguenay

The Secret Of The Saguenay
Like a fragment of torn sea-kale,Or a wraith of mist in the gale,There comes a mysterious tale Out of the stormy past:How a fleet, with a living freight,Once sailed through the rocky gateOf this river so desolate, This chasm so black and vast.'Twas Cartier, the sailor bold,Whose credulous lips had toldHow glittering gems and gold Were found in that lonely landHow out of the priceless hoardWithin their rough bosoms stored,These towering mountains poured Their treasures upon the strand.Allured by the greed of gain,Sieur Roberval turned again,And sailing across the main, Passed up the St. Lawrence tide.He

The Priest And The Minister The Priest And The Minister

The Priest And The Minister
From Old France once sailed a vessel,Bearing hearts that came to nestleIn Acadia's breast and wrestle With its Winters cold.Priests and ministers it bore,Who had sought that desert shore,Filled with ardor to restore Lost sheep to the fold.Yet though on such errand wending,They debated without ending,Each his cherished faith defending Morning, noon and night.Never on the balmy airHeavenward rose united prayer,Stout Champlain was in despair At the godless sight.Late and early they debated,Never ceasing, never sated,Till the very sailors hated Them and their debates.Not at dinner were they able,Even, to forego their Babel,But, disputing, smote the