she faded, ever faded, and her eyes were ever turning
Southward toward the Capilano, while her voice had hushed its song,
And her riven heart repeated words that on her lips were burning:
"Not to friend--but unto foeman I belong.

"Give me back my Squamish lover--though you hate, I still must love him.
"Give me back the rugged canyon where my heart must ever be--
Where his lodge awaits my coming, and the Dream Hills lift above him,
And the Capilano learned its song from me."

But through long-forgotten seasons, moons too many to be numbered,
He yet waited by the canyon--she called across the years,
And the soul within the river, though centuries had slumbered,
Woke to sob a song of womanly tears.

For her little, lonely spirit sought the Capilano canyon,
When she died among the Haidas in the land of Totem Poles,
And you yet may hear her singing to her lover-like companion,
If you listen to the river as it rolls.

But 'tis only when the pearl and purple smoke is idly swinging
From the fires on Lulu Island to the hazy mountain crest,
That the undertone of sobbing echoes through the river's singing,
In the Capilano canyon of the West.

[5] "The Ballad of Yaada" is the last complete poem written by the
author. It was placed for publication with the "Saturday Night" of
Toronto, and did not appear in print until several months after
Miss Johnson's death.

"AND HE SAID, FIGHT ON" [6]

(Tennyson)

Time and its ally, Dark Disarmament,
Have compassed me about,
Have massed their armies, and on battle bent
My forces put to rout;
But though I fight alone, and fall, and die,
Talk terms of Peace? Not I.

They war upon my fortress, and their guns
Are shattering its walls;
My army plays the cowards' part, and runs,
Pierced by a thousand balls;
They call for my surrender. I reply,
"Give quarter now? Not I."

They've shot my flag to ribbons, but in rents
It floats above the height;
Their ensign shall not crown my battlements
While I can stand and fight.
I fling defiance at them as I cry,
"Capitulate? Not I."

[6] E. Pauline Johnson died March 7th, 1913. Shortly after the
doctors told her that her illness would be her final one, she
wrote the above poem, taking a line from Tennyson as her theme.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Flint and Feather, by E. Pauline Johnson

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