Canadian Forestry Journal, December, 1917 



1441 





:: The Ghost of the Tree :: 



♦ 



By liOLMAN F. Day, in "Kin o' Ktaadn" 



"I have heard some of you woodsmen talk about the ha'nts and the 

 swogans and the witherHcks and the side-hill loungers — says The Stranger, 

 I know these arc jokes, my friends, but do you know when I am up here 

 among these trees that are doomed in these days to the grinders of the great 

 paper mills, I feel a queer obsession. 



I feel that each tree has a sort of soul, — a spirit in it, and one potent both 

 for tremendous good and trertiendous evil. 



Strong as the weight of the avalanche, 

 Yet weak as brook-breathed vapor, 

 I must obey — but then I sway — 

 Behold me — I am paper. 



I am ha'nt of the heart of the Tree, 



the ghost of the hemlock and spruce, 

 Phantom of fibre and wraith of the 



wood by the axe of the chopper 



turned loose. 

 Cased in the coffining bark long was 



I hidden and furled, 

 But now by the manual magic of men 



I carry the news of the world. 



I am free — free — free — 



I, the soul of the Tree, 



Joy and sorrow and terror or smiles — 



seek for them all through me. 

 Fame and name and shame. 

 To me they are all the same, 

 I carry them all to the ends of the 



earth. 

 Horror and pleasure and mourning 



and mirth. 

 And to me neither credit nor blame. 



I am Paper, I am Paper, pallid spirit 



of the spruce. 

 Summoned far from soughing forests, 



patient servant for your use. 

 They were sent who stormed the 



mountains on which, silent and 



serene, 

 Crowding massed the ranks of wood- 

 land, mighty Army of the Green. 

 First the woodelves saw with terror 



flash and flicker of the axe. 

 And they watched the steady heaving 



of the broad, red-shirted backs; 



Then they heard the pulsing chopping 

 as the axes chocked and checked. 



And they lelt the forest's tremor as 

 the toppHng giants rocked. 



Then as back and ever backward 

 were the elves constrained to flee, 



On the bark they knocked and whis- 

 pered: "Wake. Genii of the 

 Tree " 



I am Paper, I am Paper. Have you 



praises or abuse 

 For the message I am bearing? Look 



to them, who set me loose; 

 Look to them who sent me whirling 



through the boiling sluices' jaws, 

 And to them who held the tree trunks 



to the yelling teeth of saws. 

 Yes, to them who tossed the gobbets 



of the sodden, dripping wood 

 To the slavering, grating, grinder, 



grunting neath its iron hood. 

 For they free from solid fibre might 



and spirit of the tree 

 That in race o'er whirring steam- 

 drums texture book and form in 



Me. 

 If I wrench your soul with anguish 



by the message that I bear, 

 Look to them who dull my whiteness 



-those who spread the poison there. 



I am Paper, I am Paper, standing 



ready for your call. 

 White and silent and unspotted; I am 



serf and slave to all. 

 Have you thought or inspiration? 



Have you word to send or sav 

 I am waiting, calm and patient, st 



your servant and your slave. 



