THE WOLF

Like a grey shadow lurking in the light,
He ventures forth along the edge of night;
With silent foot he scouts the coulie’s rim
And scents the carrion awaiting him. 
His savage eyeballs lurid with a flare
Seen but in unfed beasts which leave their lair
To wrangle with their fellows for a meal
Of bones ill-covered.  Sets he forth to steal,
To search and snarl and forage hungrily;
A worthless prairie vagabond is he. 
Luckless the settler’s heifer which astray
Falls to his fangs and violence a prey;
Useless her blatant calling when his teeth
Are fast upon her quivering flank—­beneath
His fell voracity she falls and dies
With inarticulate and piteous cries,
Unheard, unheeded in the barren waste,
To be devoured with savage greed and haste. 
Up the horizon once again he prowls
And far across its desolation howls;
Sneaking and satisfied his lair he gains
And leaves her bones to bleach upon the plains.

THE MAN IN CHRYSANTHEMUM LAND

WRITTEN FOR “THE SPECTATOR”

There’s a brave little berry-brown man
At the opposite side of the earth;
Of the White, and the Black, and the Tan,
He’s the smallest in compass and girth. 
O! he’s little, and lively, and Tan,
And he’s showing the world what he’s worth. 
For his nation is born, and its birth
Is for hardihood, courage, and sand,
  So you take off your cap
  To the brave little Jap
Who fights for Chrysanthemum Land.

Near the house that the little man keeps,
There’s a Bug-a-boo building its lair;
It prowls, and it growls, and it sleeps
At the foot of his tiny back stair. 
But the little brown man never sleeps,
For the Brownie will battle the Bear—­
He has soldiers and ships to command;
  So take off you cap
  To the brave little Jap
Who fights for Chrysanthemum Land.

Uncle Sam stands a-watching near by,
With his finger aside of his nose—­
John Bull with a wink in his eye,
Looks round to see how the wind blows—­
O! jolly old John, with his eye
Ever set on the East and its woes. 
More than hoeing their own little rows
These wary old wags understand,
  But they take off their caps
  To the brave little Japs
Who fight for Chrysanthemum Land.

Now he’s given us Geishas, and themes
For operas, stories, and plays,
His silks and his chinas are dreams,
And we copy his quaint little ways;
O! we look on his land in our dreams,
But his value we failed to appraise,
For he’ll gather his laurels and bays—­
His Cruisers and Columns are manned,
  And we take off our caps
  To the brave little Japs
Who fight for Chrysanthemum Land.

CALGARY OF THE PLAINS