THE MONARCH'S BATTLE CRY. 



R. T. L. 



A streak of soft light in the Eastern sky 

 Proclaimed the coming of another day; 



And ere the hilltops gleamed with sunshine 

 bright, 

 The birds took up again their happy lay. 



Among the hills reposed a placid lake, 

 A little cottage on its wooded shore ; 



And when the sun the cabin windows kissed. 

 An honest hunter stood without the door. 



While gazing on this pleasant, peaceful 

 scene, 

 His memory took him to anotner place 

 Where, mid the city's turmoil, strife and 

 din, 

 The people strove in gain's mad, wearing 

 race. 



But hark! across the wateis of the lake 

 There comes a sound which stirs the 

 hunter's blood ! 



It echoes clearly now from shore to shore, 

 Then dies away within the distant wood. 



All rangers of the forest know that sound — 

 The call to battle of the forest king ; 



And as the hunter stands with mind intent, 

 He hears once more that call to combat 

 ring! 



The hunter turns with eager, noiseless tread, 

 And steps within the little cabin door; 



But soon appears, with trusty rifle grasped, 

 And glides along the path which skirts 

 the shore. 



He halts at last among the forest trees, 

 And from some birchen bark a trumpet 

 makes. 

 Now quick the answering battle cry rings 



forth, 

 And o'er the rippling waves an echo wakes. 



At first no answer greets his list'ning ear. 



Then clear, above the sighing of the trees, 

 In swelling cadence comes again the sound 



Across the limpid waters on the breeze. 



With keen suspense, and rifle held in poise, 

 He waits the coming moose — that noble 

 game 

 Which oft, in woodland glades in regions 

 wild, 

 Has made for huntsmen long enduring 

 fame. 



With ponderous tread, and mighty head 

 upraised, 

 The monarch of the woods comes into 

 view. 

 The rifle cracks ! The warrior's days are 

 o'er ! 

 He reels and falls, his valiant heart 

 pierced through. 



ATTENTION ! 



176 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY E. T. WOOD. 



