XLIV THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF CANADA 



That "land of golden calm" was the ide3l Canada, the .new vision 

 of the community to be, to which his full heart yearned, and to which 

 he gave prophetic utterance. 



Every one of the Confederation School instinctively contributed 

 his share to the edifice, some more directly than others. Some were 

 the landscape aitists of our verse, some the historical composers, 

 others the mystics, others refined musicians in the art of words. 

 None composed with more Celtic passion of patriotism than our late 

 colleague Wilfred Campbell. Of him one could always feel that he 

 was the thoroughgoing poet, his own first convert to his message, 

 untamed in soul, unapologetic for his art, the incarnation of noble 

 earnestness, a despiser of ignoble things and ignoble men : 

 "Earth's dream of poetry will never die. 



Wrong cannot kill it. Man's material scheme 



May scorn its uses, worship baser hope 



Of life's high purpose, build about the world 



A brazen rampart: through it all will come 



The iron moan of life's unresting sea; 



And through its floors, as filtered blooms of dawn, 



Those flowers of dream will spring, eternal, sweet." 



His lyric pictures are often most happy: 



"Along the line of smoky hills, 



The crimson forest stands; 

 And all the day the bluejay calls 



Throughout the autumn lands." 



And his "Lake Lyrics" are transcripts reflecting all the misty vastness 

 of our inland seas. To him the best moral impulses we have came 

 from our British ancestors, and present and future generations could 

 not do better than treasure and build upon the deposit of British 

 traditions. 



"England, England, England, 

 Girdled by ocean and skies. 

 And the power of a world and the heart of a race, 



And a hope that never dies. 

 England, England, England, 



Wherever a true heart beats, 

 Whereever the glories of liberty grow, 

 'Tis the name that the world repeats. 



Till the last great freedom is found. 



And the last great truth is taught. 

 Till the last great deed is done, 



And the last great battle is fought, 

 Till the last great fighter is slain in the last great fight, 



And the warwolf is dead in his den, 

 England, breeder of hope and valor and might. 



Iron mother of men." 



