[woop] LAURENCIANA 39 
And the perfume of some burning 
Far-off brushwood, ever turning 
To exhale; 
All its smoky fragrance dying, 
h In the arms of evening lying, 
Where I sail. 
My canoe is growing lazy 
In the atmosphere so hazy, 
While I dream; 
Half in slumber I am guiding, 
Eastward, indistinctly gliding 
Down the stream. 
LAURENTIAN FALL. 
Along the lines of smoky hills 
The crimson forest stands, 
And all the day the blue-jay calls 
Throughout the autumn lands. 
Now by the brook the maple leans, 
With all her glory spread; 
And all the sumachs on the hills 
Have turned their green to red. 
Now, by great marshes wrapt in mist, 
Or past some river’s mouth, 
Throughout the long, still, autumn day, 
Wild birds are flying south. 
_ VII. TI rejoice to the full in the glories of our Laurentian seasons; 
and rejoice in especial with Bliss Carman, Pauline Johnson and Wilfred 
Campbell. Yet their three poems remind me how much more we think 
of the scenes than of the sounds in Nature. Why is this; for, in all 
Nature, we have nothing more deeply varied than the sounds of water, 
from the softest breath drawn by a little infant lowland river to the 
cataclysmal roar of a hurricane at sea? If we have an inward eye 
that is the bliss of solitude, have we not also an inward ear, through 
which Nature may call our soul of memory? I think it must be so; 
for Nature is visible spirit, spirit invisible Nature; and though there is 
neither speech nor language, their voices are heard among them.... 
twin voices: the inward voice of the human soul and the outward voice: 
of many waters. These things are a mystery, a symbol and a name— 
the thread of life between the macrocosm of Earth and Sea and the 
microcosm of Man and the Soul. The Eleusinian mysteries were 
wrought within sound of the sea, which beats through all the religious: 
poetry of the old free Greeks. The first Teutonic name for the: 
