OUR ISLAND Or Bonshaw 's hills the far horizon swell: I hear the jocund sleigh bells silvery sound, See the smooth runners glancing into the light And well known casements glowing red around. While the pale stars loop up the robe of night. Oh! would that wishes might my willing feet Speed to the strand and bridge the distance o'er, And by one cheerful hearth my vacant seat Give me but now, as oft in years before,— Then, as in years before, should Christmas prove Though bright with mirth, yet brighter still with love. Remembrance of "The Bar By Alberton " is shown in these lines written in Bois de Boulogne, Paris: While faint at eve, through sylvan ways, The City's gathered murmurs die, And voiceful of historic days Her towers oppose the pallid sky,— A fainter strain, entrancing more, In memory's mystic world floats on, The echoes of the surges' roar About the Bar by Alberton . OhI far away. Oh! far away— Though tones from old Cathedral bells, Steal sweetly forth, give me to stray Where the dark wave resounding swells Against the fir tree's solemn gloom To see days level fires grow wan, And hear the billows sullen boom About the Bar by Alberton . Recalling faded days of yore When wide the unbroken forest lay Primeval to the , And the lone Indian on his way Heard the deep voice his sires had known, Or when his evening camp fires shone Caught the 's ceaseless moan