JS
_.

*
Johnson cont.

platform kept her in demand across Canada
and the U.S. and even in the salons of
London, England. Although her work had a
resurgence of popularity in the 1920's, it
was later disparaged by critics of Canadian
literature, and has received very little
notice for the last five decades or so.

Born on the Six Nation Indian Reserve near
Brnatford Ontario into a most unusual
family, Johnson did not start her career
as poet and performer until about the age
of 30. Her first recitation took place in
January 1892 in Toronto, and was the
beginning of a 16 year career of one-night
recital stands. An Evening with Pauline
begins at her recital debut, and will be
held only twice: Tuesday, Feb. 11 at 12:10
and Wednesday the 12th at 8 pm in room
R105. Tickets are $5, $3 for students.

The Ballad at.V ands

(A Legend of the Pacific Coast) by Pauline Johnson

There are fires on Lulu Island, and the sky is
opalescent

With the peal and purple tinting from the smouldering of
peat.

And the Dream Hills lift their summits in a sweeping,
hazy crescent,

With the Capilano canyon at their feet.

There are fires on Lulu Island, and the smoke, uplifting,

lingers

In a faded scarf of fragrance as it creeps across the
day,

And the Inlet and the Narrows blur beneath its silent
fingers,

And the canyon is enfolded in its grey.

But the sun its face is veiling like a cloistered nun at

vespers;

As towards the altar candles of the night a censer
swings,

And the echo of tradition wakes from slumbering and
whispers,

Where the Capilano river sobs and sings.

It was Yaada, lovely Yaada, who first taught the stream
its sighing,

For ‘twas silent till her coming, and 'twas voiceless as
the shore;

But throughout the great forever it will sing the song
undying

That the lips of lovers sing for evermore.

He was chief of all the Squamish, and he ruled the
coastal waters— ;

And he warred upon her people in the distant Charlotte
Isles;

She, a winsome basket weaver, daintiest of Haida
daughters,

Made him captive to her singing and her smiles.

Till his hands forgot to havoc and = weapons lost
their lusting,

Till his stormy eyes allured her from the land of Totem
Poles,

Till she followed where he called her, followed with a
woman's trusting,

To the canyon where the Capilano rolls.

And the women of the Haidas plied in vain their magic
power, !

Wailed for many moons her absence,wailed for many moons
their prayer,

"Bring her back, 0 Squamish foeman, bring to us our
Yaada flower!"

But the silence only answered their despair.

But the men were swift to battle, swift to cross the
coastal water,

Swift to war and swift of weapon, swift to paddle
trackless miles,

Crept with stealth along the canyon, stole her from her
love and brought her

Once again unto the distant Charlotte isles.

But 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 ips
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,
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.

lonely spirit sought the Capilano

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.