Alexander Anderson Poems
A Legend Of St. Patrick
I heard this old legend a few days ago—
A legend so quaint
Of Ireland's saint,
That to lighten my time
I have put it in rhyme,
Just to see how it looks with the lines all a-row.
When St Patrick, that worthy dear man, came to see
How the reptiles polluted his darling 'conthree,'
He determined to stamp them, so set out with glee
To hunt them with curses until they should flee
To less favour'd nations over the sea,
Where they might rest their feet,
Safe in some snug retreat,
And have leisure to cool themselves down from their heat,
And make ...
City And Village
Once again within the city, 'mid its multitudinous din,
Stand I, while, as sinks a leaf when left by the uncertain wind,
So the daily village quiet, and the calm I had within,
Shrinks before the magic contact of the ever-shaping mind.
In the village life is sluggish, waking up but for a space,
As the engines shriek and whistle down by hill and wooded glen;
But here a mightier striving stamps itself upon my race—
Here are all the active ages, and the tramp of busy men.